№ 69: What's It Like To Have An Autistic Brother

My brother Alan has autism.

We are four years apart — I'm the older sibling.

My brother is a gentle soul. Yes, there are times when he can be irrationally angry. But most of the time, he’s so quiet and lost in his own world that it’s difficult to sense out what he’s thinking.

When he’s angry, Alan finds it difficult to explain what is hurting him. I can tell he wants to say something but is unable to find the words to express himself.

Growing up, I found it difficult to be around him. We didn't share the same interests, so I found it hard to relate to him. I still do. But we’ve managed to bond over food.

Alan is interested in two things: cars and soap operas. Every night when I look across my room and peer into his room, I see him quietly laugh and smile to himself as he watches his beloved soap operas. It brings me so much joy to see how something so simple can bring him so much happiness.

He is 27 years old now. But for a long time, I hid the fact I had an autistic brother. I hated that we didn’t have a normal relationship like any other siblings. I would see the other kids Alan's age and feel jealous of them. They were able to enjoy this world and have friends. They were able to communicate their needs and wants and have opportunities Alan would never be able to experience.

As a psychology graduate, a former poker player and an ad man, I have the skill of cognitive empathy. This is the ability to understand someone else’s perspective and what they might be thinking and feeling. But it saddens me so much to not be able to understand what he is feeling.

He’s aware of his cognitive challenges. There are times when he comes to me and says, “If I don’t have learning difficulties, I have girlfriend and get married.” This breaks my heart every time I hear him say this.

I don’t know what the future holds. Many people see me as put together, but the truth is I wake up every day terrified. My mum thinks she will be able to take care of him for the rest of her life. But I think she’s failed to confront the question of what happens after she passes away. I understand. No one likes thinking about death. However, I know that once my parents pass away, it is my responsibility to look after my brother.

In my last relationship, my ex asked me how I was going to take care of Alan. In my head, building a successful business was the only answer. However, she felt my decision to pursue a business instead of a job was a reckless decision. The way I saw it was, if I took a shot at getting wealthy, I could give him part of a life that he's always wanted to live. Financial success would allow me to take Alan to car conventions around the world, travel to Vietnam together, or take him the set of a soap opera. Yet, despite having hope and faith, I'm terrified that I don’t know if I’ll ever succeed in providing my brother a better life.

A part of me wants to run. It’d be so easy to pack up my things and move to the other side of the world and have little contact with Alan. That’s always been the problem with me. I’ve always chased perfection. I’ve always wanted the perfect life and wife. But I wanted it to come easy. So when things get hard, my first thought is to give up and run away.

Sometimes I find myself asking why me? Why do I have my brother? Why is life so hard? Why do I have so much responsibility to bear? What's going to happen?

I can't tell what's going to happen in the future. Thinking about it is difficult — it leads to more questions than I can answer. But I've learned when life gets overwhelming, it's helpful to reframe perspectives:

I asked for strength, and life gave me challenges to be strong. I asked for wisdom, and life gave me problems to solve. I asked for wealth, and life gave me brains and brawn to work. I asked for courage, and life gave me dangers to overcome.

I asked for love and life gifted me Alan so that I could learn to love someone because of their shortcomings.

— Jason Vu Nguyen