CHAPTER 30

Original (Published in "Lun's World): 2005-07-01

Rewritten: 2025-09-25

As the long holiday began, life became less orderly than usual. Lun sat on the long sofa, sighing, worrying about how to get through the days.

Lun’s world is very simple: he only lives in today and tomorrow. What comes after tomorrow is beyond his reach.

Each day’s top priority is knowing what activities are planned for today, and whether they will go ahead as scheduled. Once the day’s activities are done, his next concern is: what will happen tomorrow, and who will take care of him? Once he knows the answers, he can return to his bedroom, happily crawl under the covers, and begin his daily life of ease—eating, drinking, resting, watching TV, dinner, and then bath time—each activity following the natural rhythm of his body.

The highlight of the day is always bath time, which he enjoys as a long period of recreation. In the bathroom stands a big laundry basket filled with plastic toys—really just lunch boxes, empty cans, and bottles. Beyond the basic hygiene tasks, Lun takes a towel, covers a container with it, and pours water over it again and again. He loves the sight of water trickling down; for him, it is soothing and calming.

Even such a simple life has its troubles. The first trouble arises when activities change at the last minute. Often, this happens when the babysitter (male or female) who is supposed to care for Lun cannot come. That is a real headache, because Lun has been patiently waiting all evening, joyfully anticipating the outing. His memory is like an inscription carved in stone—impossible to erase. Sudden changes are simply unbearable to him.

The younger he was, the stronger his reactions. He would call the babysitter’s name again and again, insisting on seeing him or her. If a weekly activity was canceled, that meant a seven-day wait for the next one. For Lun, even waiting one day is already stretching his patience; two days is almost too much—how could he possibly understand having to wait seven?

For the following days, he would repeat the same request over and over, and all we could do was give him the same answer again and again—that the person was unavailable—until time itself gradually dulled his memory. Now that he is older, he can understand more words and reasoning. As long as we can immediately arrange some alternative activity he likes, he is willing to cooperate.

The second trouble comes with long holidays. Extended breaks disrupt the usual rhythm of life, with small changes every day, and he cannot cope with too much variation. People with autism are naturally sensitive; they are easily exhausted by filtering, sorting, and processing information, and so they choose to live in a simpler, more orderly world, where they can find peace.

Whenever a long holiday begins, we often see Lun sitting alone in the living room on the long sofa, brows furrowed, eyes staring blankly at the carpet, sighing from time to time. Then we know: he is worrying again about how to get through the days.

“One day’s trouble at a time is enough.” But Lun insists on making sure both today and tomorrow’s schedule are certain. He ends up carrying two days’ troubles in a single day—making life, of course, even harder.