My brother, Sern, turns 20 this year. Yet, he can’t talk. Once in a blue moon, he mutters something intelligible, and I’m ready to pop a bottle of champagne.
When Sern was 5 years old, he was diagnosed with autism. My parents went through the usual motions of therapy, despair, therapy, hope, therapy.
Today, Sern has his quirks. He has an obsession with flushing toilets, watching the water swirl down the bowl. He loves the feel of his saliva… outside his mouth. I know, ugh. And he has a penchant for throwing random objects out of the window.
BUT. He has amazing eye contact — something that people with autism often struggle with.
Sometimes, when our eyes meet, I’ll give him a cheeky grin, and he’d respond with a bright smile that could melt the coldest heart.
And that’s the first lesson my sweet brother taught me.
1) Sern taught me to be honest about my emotions.
Unlike two-faced friends and backstabbing colleagues, I know I can always count on Sern to show me how he is truly feeling.
Sern always wears his emotions on his sleeves.
When he’s happy, he literally LOLs — laughs out loud. Serve him his favorite food — laugh out loud. Take him for a walk on a windy, cooling day — laugh out loud. Soothing acoustic music that calms his spirits — laugh out loud.
On the other hand, when he’s upset, a massive frown would tiptoe onto his lips, sometimes graduating into a full-blown howl.
There’s no guessing game with him, and I love it.
2) Sern taught me patience.
One thing I had to learn is that although Sern is very compliant, his neurotransmitters function at a different speed from mine.
When I say, “Sern, go take a shower,” he listens to my instruction, and has every intention to comply. However, it takes some time before he summons his limbs to obey.
All I have to do is wait…
Which used to be hard, because I was an impatient person.
Sern has taught me patience.
3) Sern taught me to live in the moment.
As a second-generation Malaysian of Chinese descend, the immigrant mentality and my community are still pretty much synonymous. For most Chinese, everything is about investing the present for a better future.
Work hard and suffer now to make money and enjoy your golden years.
Have kids now in hopes that they will care for you in your old age.
But caring for Sern is not an investment (investment as defined by the Chinese culture).
The enjoyment is now. When he tugs on my hand, and a warmth spreads to my heart, the pleasure is now.
When he’s enjoying his dinner so much that peals of laughter escapes his lips every now and then, the pleasure is now.
When he dances to the rhythm of the blasting tunes, the pleasure is now.
Sern has taught me to enjoy the now.
4) Sern taught me that sh*t comes in all shapes and forms. Deal with it and move on.
Sometimes, Sern causes a mess in the bathroom. Other times, he soils his underwear or towel. I’ve become so accustomed to cleaning up after him that I don’t think twice anymore.
At this point, I’ve dealt with sh*t in all shapes, sizes, forms, and colors. I see it, I deal with it, then move on.
Of course, we’re trying to train him to do better, but that takes time.
Meanwhile, I’ve learned to accept that life is full of sh*t. Just deal with it and move on.
5) Sern taught me that we have to reevaluate our metric for success.
A colleague once told me that Sern is probably happier than most people are.
While the rest of us are slaving away, caught in endless cycles of meaningless toil, all Sern needs is a full stomach and a stack of legos to be happy.
So what if Sern will never earn a doctorate, direct a company, or become a submarine commander? He’s happy, and that’s already one step better than a large percentage of human civilization.
I know I do what I do to achieve my definition of success, with the goal of being happy. But Sern just skipped over all the punishing routines and landed right at happy.
I admit I’m jealous.
