How to Say 사랑해 Out Loud

Chapter 4

By six-thirty on that first Tuesday of the school year, all I want out of life is Racoon's Ramen.

Eomma (Mom) and I go out to eat at my favorite restaurant every year on the first day of school. It's rare that we go out to eat during the week; in fact, it's rare that my family goes out to eat at all. This is something special for me. Another rarity. Most weeks, days, minutes in the Bae household revolve around my brother, Sangmoon. But I don't usually complain, at least not out loud.

Fair doesn't mean equal, fair means everyone gets what they need.

It's a concept that's been with me since I was four years old. Sangmoon needs a lot more than I do and any equitable division of time, attention, resources, or perference goes straight out of my parents' attempt to apply this concept of fairness.

But on the first night of the school year, it's my turn to come first for once and I look forward to our trip to Racoon's after a month of at-home meals during July. It's not only the delicious soup to slurp I'm craving. It's nice to have my mom's undivided attention for a couple of hours.

I know my mom looks forward for tonight, too. I usually find her waiting at the front porch, lipstick freshly applied, dressed in a pair of reasonably fashion-forward jeans. (My parents don't really goes out that much.)

But when I enter the door, I find Sangmoon instead, hooked up to one gaming system to another, headphones on. He makes happy little grunting noises and every now and then flaps his hands at his sides. My arrival didn't register on his face, flashing with the bright colors from the screen.

I look at him for a moment. It's be easy enough to ignore him - he prefers to be ignored. But every once in a while, Sangmoon checks back to the real world and there are these moments of clarity. He sometimes says my name, reminding me that he actually knows it. He might look right at me with those shocking brown eyes. Confused expression on his face, he might questioned, "Will you help me?" as if he actually wanted someone to take his hand and guide him out of the confusing maze of existence he's typically lost in.

So I sigh, let my hockey bag slide off my shoulder, and approach my brother, even though I really don't have the energy for this right now.

Bending down in front of him, I waited for eye contact before speaking. I would take his headphones off, too, but that would drive him out of control. Instead, I smile and wave. "Hi, Sangmoon. How's Sangmoon today?" Pronouns doesn't make any sense to Sangmoon.

He granted me eye contact for less than five seconds before returning his gaze back to the screen. Then he laughs maniacally. "Awww, cheer up, Crong, it could be worse."

"Sangmoon-ah, look at me. Look at Suzy."

"It could be worse." He laughs again. "It could be worse."

Weird as they are, something about his words actually resonates, given the day I've had.

I grit my teeth and stand, quads screaming in protest. It's not a clarity kind of day, apparently. Sangmoon's not in Seoul, he's in Singapore with Pororo and his friends.

I stare down at Sangmoon's shaggy hair, which overgrown because haircuts are a battle. My brother is sixteen years old. We are two years apart. I guess he's considered a high school sophomore, but he's been in an ungraded program for so long now, the term doesn't really apply.

Sangmoon's autistic.

If you Google "famous people with autisim," the search engine will give names such as Mozart. Daryl Hannah. Andy Warhol. Even Albert Einstein! If you didn't know better, you might think most people with autism are brilliant, accomplished, interesting, even glamourous.