CHAPTER 33

Original (Published in "Lun's World"): 2005-09-21

Revised: 2025-10-13

Lun usually doesn’t show affection or concern for others. Yet, a week before I was to undergo surgery (September 2005), he quietly came to my bedside in the middle of the night and touched my nose.

Do autistic children feel the joy and sorrow of others? And if they do, how deeply?

Because autistic children cannot process complex information all at once, they often close themselves off, creating a world that feels safe and comfortable to them. In truth, their emotions are often rich and pure.

There is a renowned American expert in livestock management who is herself autistic. Half of the slaughterhouses in the United States use her designs, which help calm cattle before they are slaughtered.

She discovered that when cattle are terrified, their bodies release chemicals that affect the quality of their meat. Her success came from being able to see the world through the eyes of cattle, allowing her to redesign the passageways to minimize fear. When it came to human emotions, however, she confessed she could not comprehend how people could love someone deeply and hate them at the same time.

Lun often sits quietly by himself, gazing upward with a broad smile. I never know what makes him laugh. Sometimes, when my wife, our younger son, and I are joking together, he also laughs along. Although I can’t be entirely certain, I am convinced he has a sense of humor—only his reactions come a little slower than most.

When my wife and I argue, Lun becomes uneasy. But when we scold his younger brother, he often laughs gleefully, almost as if taking secret delight in the situation. And when we gossip about others for too long, he protests, showing clear impatience.

I agree with the general view that autistic individuals cannot fully grasp complex human relationships, but their emotions are no less profound.

Once, I went to the hospital to visit a gravely ill friend while my wife and Lun waited in the car. Later, my wife told me that as I walked toward the hospital, Lun kept calling out, “Come back, come back…”—only settling down once he saw me return.

He has always been afraid of hospitals. Was he worried something bad would happen to me once I went inside? Or did he simply want me to stay close by his side? Less than a week later, I was to be hospitalized for liver cancer surgery. What would he have felt if he truly understood? Over the months leading up to the operation, discussions about medical arrangements were unavoidable—it was impossible to hide everything from him.

On the Sunday evening before my surgery, our extended family gathered for a Mid-Autumn Festival dinner. The topic of my operation came up. That night, in the middle of the night, Lun suddenly woke me, touched my nose, and then did it again a few minutes later. Realizing what he might be feeling, I told him, “Daddy’s going to have surgery, but Daddy will come back to be with Lun.”

He looked at me, touched my nose four more times, and then peacefully went back to sleep.

The next morning, he decided to touch his younger brother’s nose instead. After several times, the younger one tried to get away, hiding in his room. Lun then switched from touching noses to touching teeth, which upset his brother so much he almost cried.

Later, a specialist diagnosed Lun with anxiety disorder and prescribed medication.

Autistic children express emotions in unique and unpredictable ways. Families can only adapt moment by moment—responding to whatever comes their way.