CHAPTER 52

First written: 2007-06-08

rewritten: 2026-03-10

Lun rarely paid attention to his younger brother. Most of the time, our energy and attention had to be focused on caring for Lun, so his brother had always been a quiet observer.

His younger brother, Nam, is five and a half years younger than Lun. In the year of the original writing (2007), he was fifteen years old. We affectionately call him “Sai-lo,” which simply means “younger brother.” I have always used both Chinese and English and also call him “Little Old,” because although he is young, his mind is rather mature.

Last night, Sai-lo told us that early last year, when he heard that we were going to send his older brother to live in a residence, he felt like crying when he went to bed at night, but in the end he held it in. This was the first time since his brother moved into the residence that he clearly expressed his feelings.

Just the day before, I had told my wife that Sai-lo had recently begun to talk about his brother Lun on his own initiative, and his attitude had become much warmer.

All along, the way the two brothers got along could be described as keeping a respectful distance—if you stood one foot from me, I would stand a yard away from you.

When Lun was four years old and was confirmed to have autism, we considered not having another child so that we could devote all our attention to him. Later we even thought of buying a small dog—something like a “little person”—to keep him company. We once took a liking to a pug, with its big watery eyes, black face, and flat nose. Fortunately, that idea did not materialize; it turns out that this breed often suffers from eye, ear, nose, throat, and tracheal problems.

Later our family doctor told us that it might actually benefit Lun to have a younger brother or sister, and that the chance of the sibling having autism was no higher than usual—at least that was the view at the time.

So the two of us took a gamble. If we lost, we would stop gambling forever.

After his brother was born, Lun seemed to regress into childhood again. He pretended to be a baby, lying in the crib and sucking from a milk bottle. Sometimes he would even hold his baby brother’s face and give him a kiss. But as Sai-lo grew older, the bond between the two brothers gradually became as light as water.

Lun dislikes noise. When Sai-lo cried loudly as a baby, Lun simply ignored him. In fact, Lun himself was not quiet either; at night he was often noisier than the baby. Sai-lo therefore developed the remarkable ability to sleep through anything—once he closed his eyes, within a few minutes even thunder and lightning could not wake him.

That was how Sai-lo adapted to having such an unusual brother.

Lun dictated the rhythm and emotional atmosphere of the entire household. Whenever he had an outburst, the two of us parents would be running around in circles, flustered and overwhelmed. Sai-lo would quietly step aside and make sure not to disturb us.

By the time Lun finally calmed down, we were already exhausted. From a young age Sai-lo understood this very well, so he still chose not to disturb us.

The two brothers would eat together and watch television together, but because Lun was an autistic child, he did not play with his brother—he did not call him, look at him, touch him, or quarrel with him. They never chased each other around the house, nor did they ever have a single fight.

At home, Sai-lo had always been a silent observer. To him, life was simply like that. On his very first day at daycare, he stood still and watched for two hours. He went three times a week, and for two whole weeks he just stood there observing.

Later he joined the Scouts. This time, wearing his uniform, he went every Monday evening from 6:30 to 8:00 and observed for an entire year. When he came home, he would tell us what activities the Scouts had done and which Scout had broken the rules.

I am grateful that our family lives in Canada, where both the physical space and the social environment are spacious enough.

Lun played a part in shaping such an unusual younger brother. I have long felt guilty about neglecting Sai-lo. My sister-in-law reminded me not to think that way. Later, Sai-lo himself told us that many of his choices in growing up were decisions he made on his own.

Now that Sai-lo can express his longing and feelings toward his older brother, we feel a sense of reality and comfort. He is no longer the silent observer he once was.