When My Profoundly Autistic Son “Spoke” and Someone “Responded” Kindly
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It had been a long night. Sebastien, my profoundly autistic son, and I had just gotten off after a six-and-a-half-hour flight from Seoul. I knew he was tired, and our 18-day holiday in an unfamiliar, built-up and fast-paced environment of South Korea, with its distinctive social customs and practices, had taken quite a toll on him. We had anticipated it, but we just thought that we would try.
High-speed train from Seoul to Busan: Sebastien, my profoundly autistic son is delighted Our family reunion once every six months for three weeks Sebastien coping with the crowds of Seoul train station Sebastien managing the large and heavy suitcase, blending with the pace of the crowd Sebastien managing his sensitivity to his environment as I "communicate" with a hug and a kiss Sebastien exposed to "ginseng chicken" and managing
As we arrived at the immigration hall of the Bali airport, Sebastien emitted long, deep, and drawn-out “AAAHHH"s intermittently. Somehow, this low, monotonous sound reverberated at just the right frequency, consistency, and volume to pierce through the common din and capture everyone's attention. Heading toward the immigration line, I braced myself at the prospect that Sebastien's "expressiveness" would grate on the nerves of fellow passengers in the special queue designated for the disabled, the elderly and those with children.
Yet, to my surprise, just when we entered the queue, the young immigration officer manning the counter looked directly at us and summoned us forward. Ahead of the parents with young children and the elderly people in wheelchairs in the queue. His quiet, though firm and focused, demeanour brooked no dissent.
I led us forward, keeping my head and my eyes fixed on him as though his gaze was a magical force field protecting us from the resentment and injustice of the others in the queue. When we finally reached the counter, which felt like an eternity, I acknowledged him with a quiet nod, while showing my translated-into-Indonesian explanation of Sebastien's autism. I wanted to validate his decision, but he barely glanced at it.
This young officer could not have known how moved I was by his gesture. It is likely that he didn't know that Sebastien was autistic or knew much about autism. Certainly, he would not have known that Sebastien did not sleep much the night before. It was the last night of our holiday together, which meant confronting the prospect that we wouldn’t see each other in person again for another six months.
But something in Sebastien's “AAAHHH” got his attention, and he prioritised Sebastien's needs right away.
As a mother of a profoundly autistic loved one, I have always been Sebastien's voice. Little did I know that one day, Sebastien, despite his tendency to express his emotions with sounds and body, would connect with another person. Without my intervention.
At this juncture of my parenting journey, I have become a passionate proponent of the mainstream world opening itself to alternative means of expression and communication. In fact, to me, the language of profoundly autistic individuals, which I call ALIS (Authentic Language based on Instincts and Sensing) in my book, is no less than ours. For it encapsulates the essence and complexity of what they truly feel inside and seek to express to others. The question is whether we are willing to listen to something that we are not accustomed to and learn to interpret it.
Most people at the airport might have thought that I was mortified at Sebastien's "AAAHHH". But, in reality, I was proud of the progress that he has made in coping with the depth of feeling that he was experiencing, which is far greater than most neurotypical individuals. Once upon a time, Sebastien could have lost it completely, banging his scalp so hard that it would sound as though someone was bouncing a basketball on the pavement, or even striking me, repeatedly as his way of releasing his tsunami of emotions. A commingling of sadness at leaving his family and excitement at seeing his carers again in his familiar environment.
This young immigration officer in Bali has given me hope that one day, our world will change to be far more open to the profound divergences of our autistic loved ones and respond with the instinctive kindness that we all possess within us. That's what an inclusive world is really about.
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