Disability, Invisibility, & The Model Minority When people look at me, they’ll see my most visible identity, my Asianness. What they might not see are my hearing aids hidden underneath my long hair, allowing me to essentially “pass” as someone with normal hearing. I don’t use sign language, and I don’t have a “deaf accent” that people with hearing loss might have. But even though my disability seems invisible to others, the internal conflict I once felt between my Asian and hard-of-hearing identities did not. During high school, I always felt that both identities intersected to give me a sense of invisibility. I was aware of the stereotype that Asians were supposed to be smart and excel in school, so I felt that my own academic achievements would render me as another model minority. At the same time, I wanted to prove that I could excel in spite of my disability, fearing that society regarded me as less capable because of my disability. But I did this by acting almost as if I didn’t have a disability, staying quiet about my struggles to hear during class discussions where I couldn’t hear everyone clearly or see their facial expressions for
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context. As I fought against being relegated to one stereotype, I found myself entrapped by the other one. Looking back, my perception of these two identities was simplistic and lacked nuance. I’ve learned more about both my identities since then, and have come to appreciate how each label does not adequately capture how diverse individuals really are. Asian Americans aren’t a monolith, and disability isn’t either; in fact, the word disability encompasses a hugely diverse group of people. I don’t have to feel pressured to excel in everything just because I am Asian, and there are plenty of high-achieving students with disabilities, including those with hearing loss. There was also the fact that hiding my hearing aids meant that my experiences with being hard-ofhearing remained hidden, while my Asian identity was always visible. Outside of the classroom, there are subtle ways that being hardof-hearing affects my life: I prefer my 3-syllable full name over the nickname “Jess” so I’m more likely to hear my name. I might seem shy in loud settings because I’m afraid I’ll mishear what people say and respond with the wrong thing. If I kept my disability hidden, it prevented others from communicating with and understanding me better, adding on to my self-perceived invisibility from the model minority myth. I’m now much more comfortable talking about my hearing loss - making what was once invisible visible.