#WhyISupport
“That's cool; you're changing someone’s life!” my friend exclaimed. This is why I support. This is why I care.
My mother is a special education teacher, so I have grown up around children with disabilities, beginning to volunteer with them at the age of ten. When I was fifteen years old, I bonded with a child in her class. He is severely autistic and nonverbal, but this does not seem to impede his communication. He was the “tough kid” that no one was able to earn the attention of. Through consistent volunteering, I quickly became in-tune with his behaviors. If he did not want something, he would push your hands away or cover his ears. If he was particularly frustrated, he would drop to the floor, biting his hand in an attempt to comfort himself. Sometimes, you could coax him up with his favorite toy, but other times, you weren’t so lucky. If he wanted something or was excited, he would clap and scream. He often had a hard time focusing, especially at circle time, and would often run away. When I sat next to him hoxwever, he would stay put, and sometimes lean on me, or fiddle with the loose strings on my ripped jeans for tactile comfort. He rarely made eye contact, but when he did, he would smile, and it was the type of smile that could brighten anyone’s day. I helped to feed him at lunch, with the aid of an app called LAMP that enables him to say what he wants to eat and drink. He used the program efficiently and was able to use minimal sign language to fill the gaps. Slowly but surely, he became comfortable with me, and earning his trust, watching his walls break down, is something that I will never forget. One day after volunteering, I walked outside to find him in tears, with everyone unable to calm him down. I sat on a nearby bench and he immediately walked over, sat next to me, wiped his eyes, and smiled. Shortly thereafter, I found out that his mother was pregnant with a second child, and offered to help watch him whenever she needed. I began working with him outside of school, babysitting him and guiding him through his baseball games.
For me, it was never about money. It was never something that I did to reach a certain quota of volunteer hours for a club. It was never something I did so that I could “look good” to admissions officers on college applications. It was much more than that. It was about the connection. It was about helping the kids and supporting them in their endeavors. Communication is not solely verbal, and the ability to bond with and care for him showed me that. The most fulfilling part of working with him was seeing his improvement. Some days he cried out of frustration, but others, he did not stop smiling. Nothing was more rewarding than seeing his progress, as he efficiently communicated through sign language and his iPad, and was able to accurately express his feelings and desires. Everyday, he fought the barrier that his lack of speech created. Everyday, he persisted. He taught me many valuable lessons, and these lessons, combined with his positivity and determination, made working with him worthwhile. His capabilities never ceased to amaze me. It seemed that everyday, he had accomplished something new. The ability to wash his hands on his own, drying them and turning on and off the lights. The ability to ride a tricycle, and steer it around tight corners. The ability to match colors and shapes. The ability to understand and respond to questions wordlessly. I am grateful that I was able to witness such improvements in his motor skills and transitions. I am grateful that I was able to work with him, and I will forever cherish the bond that I formed with him.
My friend was right, but she failed to mention the most important part: that he changed my life too. I have done my best to make his life better, and in return, he has unknowingly done the same. This is why I support. This is why I care.
“That's cool; you're changing someone’s life!” my friend exclaimed. This is why I support. This is why I care.
My mother is a special education teacher, so I have grown up around children with disabilities, beginning to volunteer with them at the age of ten. When I was fifteen years old, I bonded with a child in her class. He is severely autistic and nonverbal, but this does not seem to impede his communication. He was the “tough kid” that no one was able to earn the attention of. Through consistent volunteering, I quickly became in-tune with his behaviors. If he did not want something, he would push your hands away or cover his ears. If he was particularly frustrated, he would drop to the floor, biting his hand in an attempt to comfort himself. Sometimes, you could coax him up with his favorite toy, but other times, you weren’t so lucky. If he wanted something or was excited, he would clap and scream. He often had a hard time focusing, especially at circle time, and would often run away. When I sat next to him hoxwever, he would stay put, and sometimes lean on me, or fiddle with the loose strings on my ripped jeans for tactile comfort. He rarely made eye contact, but when he did, he would smile, and it was the type of smile that could brighten anyone’s day. I helped to feed him at lunch, with the aid of an app called LAMP that enables him to say what he wants to eat and drink. He used the program efficiently and was able to use minimal sign language to fill the gaps. Slowly but surely, he became comfortable with me, and earning his trust, watching his walls break down, is something that I will never forget. One day after volunteering, I walked outside to find him in tears, with everyone unable to calm him down. I sat on a nearby bench and he immediately walked over, sat next to me, wiped his eyes, and smiled. Shortly thereafter, I found out that his mother was pregnant with a second child, and offered to help watch him whenever she needed. I began working with him outside of school, babysitting him and guiding him through his baseball games.
For me, it was never about money. It was never something that I did to reach a certain quota of volunteer hours for a club. It was never something I did so that I could “look good” to admissions officers on college applications. It was much more than that. It was about the connection. It was about helping the kids and supporting them in their endeavors. Communication is not solely verbal, and the ability to bond with and care for him showed me that. The most fulfilling part of working with him was seeing his improvement. Some days he cried out of frustration, but others, he did not stop smiling. Nothing was more rewarding than seeing his progress, as he efficiently communicated through sign language and his iPad, and was able to accurately express his feelings and desires. Everyday, he fought the barrier that his lack of speech created. Everyday, he persisted. He taught me many valuable lessons, and these lessons, combined with his positivity and determination, made working with him worthwhile. His capabilities never ceased to amaze me. It seemed that everyday, he had accomplished something new. The ability to wash his hands on his own, drying them and turning on and off the lights. The ability to ride a tricycle, and steer it around tight corners. The ability to match colors and shapes. The ability to understand and respond to questions wordlessly. I am grateful that I was able to witness such improvements in his motor skills and transitions. I am grateful that I was able to work with him, and I will forever cherish the bond that I formed with him.
My friend was right, but she failed to mention the most important part: that he changed my life too. I have done my best to make his life better, and in return, he has unknowingly done the same. This is why I support. This is why I care.
#WhyIAmAware
For most, our daily routine allows us to remain secure in a comfort zone with which we are well acquainted. For my brother Barclay, however, each day presents new and unseen challenges that place him in a constant state of vulnerability. Seemingly simple things such as getting lunch or going to the dentist push him into a state of insecurity.
Barclay was diagnosed with autism at age 2 and has undergone strenuous speech pathology, participated in social integration programs, and attended special needs institutions in order for him to get to the place where he is now. The normalcy of living with my brother provided me with a heightened sense of empathy for those with both physical and neurological disorders. I found it easy to be understanding of their situation and everyday struggles. Even though I had not experienced it first-hand, I knew what it meant for my brother.
As I grew older, I began to realize that not everyone shared the same mindset as I did. Walking through a restaurant, mall, or airport I could see people staring, whispering, or looking away uncomfortably. People had difficulty understanding Barclay’s condition and thus felt uneasy around him. The problem was not any fault of the individuals but existed due to their lack of knowledge. I began to realize that within my personal world, much was known and understood about the disorder. In the world at large, however, ignorance was prevalent and was at the root of misunderstanding, inaccurate stereotypes, and discomfort surrounding autism as a whole. In high school, I had to constantly explain and re-explain how autism could not be classified as a set of diagnoses, but rather that it presents unique challenges and manifests differently for every individual.
My experience with autism has shaped the person I am today. I have volunteered at my brother’s school, Woodview Learning Centre, for about 6 years now. In interacting with children of various ages and at various points on the spectrum I have learned and gained more than I had ever thought imaginable. The sense of positivity, enthusiasm, and authenticity that each of these children brings to their everyday lives has been a source of inspiration for me. The experiences of volunteering at Woodview have broadened and shaped my perspective on being open-minded, accepting, and inclusive to everyone we interact with throughout our lives. It has allowed me to truly appreciate our differences and be able to see the value that each and every person brings to life.
Autism is not something that can be defined, categorized, or even fully understood. It is not something to be afraid of, uncomfortable about, or framed as ‘other’. Accounting for over 1% of the global population, autism is something that impacts people everywhere, and as a result, it should be embraced, understood, and talked about in society in order to create a much more healthy dialogue and open narrative about the disorder and how it impacts the people around us.
For most, our daily routine allows us to remain secure in a comfort zone with which we are well acquainted. For my brother Barclay, however, each day presents new and unseen challenges that place him in a constant state of vulnerability. Seemingly simple things such as getting lunch or going to the dentist push him into a state of insecurity.
Barclay was diagnosed with autism at age 2 and has undergone strenuous speech pathology, participated in social integration programs, and attended special needs institutions in order for him to get to the place where he is now. The normalcy of living with my brother provided me with a heightened sense of empathy for those with both physical and neurological disorders. I found it easy to be understanding of their situation and everyday struggles. Even though I had not experienced it first-hand, I knew what it meant for my brother.
As I grew older, I began to realize that not everyone shared the same mindset as I did. Walking through a restaurant, mall, or airport I could see people staring, whispering, or looking away uncomfortably. People had difficulty understanding Barclay’s condition and thus felt uneasy around him. The problem was not any fault of the individuals but existed due to their lack of knowledge. I began to realize that within my personal world, much was known and understood about the disorder. In the world at large, however, ignorance was prevalent and was at the root of misunderstanding, inaccurate stereotypes, and discomfort surrounding autism as a whole. In high school, I had to constantly explain and re-explain how autism could not be classified as a set of diagnoses, but rather that it presents unique challenges and manifests differently for every individual.
My experience with autism has shaped the person I am today. I have volunteered at my brother’s school, Woodview Learning Centre, for about 6 years now. In interacting with children of various ages and at various points on the spectrum I have learned and gained more than I had ever thought imaginable. The sense of positivity, enthusiasm, and authenticity that each of these children brings to their everyday lives has been a source of inspiration for me. The experiences of volunteering at Woodview have broadened and shaped my perspective on being open-minded, accepting, and inclusive to everyone we interact with throughout our lives. It has allowed me to truly appreciate our differences and be able to see the value that each and every person brings to life.
Autism is not something that can be defined, categorized, or even fully understood. It is not something to be afraid of, uncomfortable about, or framed as ‘other’. Accounting for over 1% of the global population, autism is something that impacts people everywhere, and as a result, it should be embraced, understood, and talked about in society in order to create a much more healthy dialogue and open narrative about the disorder and how it impacts the people around us.
#WhyIEncourage #WhyIHope
Watching my younger brother, Benjamin, run to his heart’s delight along the Glade for the first time is an inexplicable feeling. I had studied, napped, played Frisbee, and walked past the Glade several times during my two years so far at Cal. Is it the greenness of the pasture or the collective student sigh that I hear as I lay down that silences the roar of the thoughts in my head? However, the day that Benjamin ran along it for the first time brought about a different roar of thoughts in my head, full of happiness but also of fear. Would Benjamin be this happy if he went to college someday?
My younger brother, Benjamin, is an incredibly happy 4-year old boy who loves trains, books, and McDonald’s. He also happens to be on the Autism Spectrum. Someday, I hope to see Ben in high school and college, being completely and utterly himself without having to shy away from the criticism of others. If he continues to have difficulty in speech, I hope that others are willing to listen and try to understand how special his mind is. If he has trouble interacting socially, I hope he will find and maintain a close group of friends who support him always. These are just some of the wishes I have for Ben as he grows up. In reality, most of it depends on the words and actions of others. Are others willing to respect him? Support him? Befriend him? I hope so.
Ben was diagnosed at 18 months, which is earlier than the average individual on the spectrum (3 years old). That’s when early intervention programming began. As so many professionals have told my mother and I, autism therapy is a marathon, not a sprint. Amidst everything, Ben is an extremely happy boy. Since he can’t pronounce my name, we call each other “buddy”. He always screams it at me when he sees me through video chat or during one of my visits. Like a true Salvadoran, Ben loves pupusas especially the ones with frijol y queso. He doesn’t get as nervous anymore when our extended family visits during birthdays or holidays. And just like that, Ben changes and grows day by day with his disability as intact as his joy. But what most people don’t acknowledge about autism is that it is not limited to children; There isn’t an age when individuals just “don’t have autism anymore”. And personally, that idea is the most scary for me and for most families worldwide.
I joined Spectrum because I need to understand what life beyond childhood is going to look like for Ben. I feel grateful knowing that at Spectrum and in Berkeley itself, the birthplace of the disability rights movement, I am educating myself to be prepared for our increasing influx of students with disabilities. That is one of the things we’re working towards in Spectrum. We want to promote visibility and awareness not only in academic settings, but especially among peers and build a loving community. And because I want to see all the things I hope for Ben come true, I feel that need and responsibility to spread awareness about autism. If you take 5 minutes out of your day and think about what it means to have autism or any kind of non-visible disability, would you consider being a support system for someone who may have it? How would you go about doing that? For starters, becoming involved in your own community during your spare time is a great step forward to comprehending what children or students our own age experience on the spectrum.
Another way to get involved is right here at Spectrum! We wish to make sure that people on our very own college campus understand that they have more peers surrounding them with autism and other disabilities than they realize through our meetings, awareness week, and 5K Run events. I recall a general meeting where I learned about the difficulties that adults with autism face during voting season such as environmental stressors, the complexity of the polls, etc. During Awareness Week last semester, I realized that the only people in movies I had seen that were autistic were not very accurately portrayed and learned about misconceptions of autism. And now with the 5K Run on April 7th, I am very excited to see the campus, the community, and my family come support our fundraiser for local autism-focused non-profit organizations. I can tell that one of the most satisfying things I can do during my time here at Cal is to see Benjamin run through the Glade at Spectrum’s 5K.
I truly believe that the more people know, the better they can understand that each person may be different and can carry a disability, visible or not, but at the end of the day should be loved, included, and cherished. That’s #WhyIEncourage. That’s #WhyIHope.
Watching my younger brother, Benjamin, run to his heart’s delight along the Glade for the first time is an inexplicable feeling. I had studied, napped, played Frisbee, and walked past the Glade several times during my two years so far at Cal. Is it the greenness of the pasture or the collective student sigh that I hear as I lay down that silences the roar of the thoughts in my head? However, the day that Benjamin ran along it for the first time brought about a different roar of thoughts in my head, full of happiness but also of fear. Would Benjamin be this happy if he went to college someday?
My younger brother, Benjamin, is an incredibly happy 4-year old boy who loves trains, books, and McDonald’s. He also happens to be on the Autism Spectrum. Someday, I hope to see Ben in high school and college, being completely and utterly himself without having to shy away from the criticism of others. If he continues to have difficulty in speech, I hope that others are willing to listen and try to understand how special his mind is. If he has trouble interacting socially, I hope he will find and maintain a close group of friends who support him always. These are just some of the wishes I have for Ben as he grows up. In reality, most of it depends on the words and actions of others. Are others willing to respect him? Support him? Befriend him? I hope so.
Ben was diagnosed at 18 months, which is earlier than the average individual on the spectrum (3 years old). That’s when early intervention programming began. As so many professionals have told my mother and I, autism therapy is a marathon, not a sprint. Amidst everything, Ben is an extremely happy boy. Since he can’t pronounce my name, we call each other “buddy”. He always screams it at me when he sees me through video chat or during one of my visits. Like a true Salvadoran, Ben loves pupusas especially the ones with frijol y queso. He doesn’t get as nervous anymore when our extended family visits during birthdays or holidays. And just like that, Ben changes and grows day by day with his disability as intact as his joy. But what most people don’t acknowledge about autism is that it is not limited to children; There isn’t an age when individuals just “don’t have autism anymore”. And personally, that idea is the most scary for me and for most families worldwide.
I joined Spectrum because I need to understand what life beyond childhood is going to look like for Ben. I feel grateful knowing that at Spectrum and in Berkeley itself, the birthplace of the disability rights movement, I am educating myself to be prepared for our increasing influx of students with disabilities. That is one of the things we’re working towards in Spectrum. We want to promote visibility and awareness not only in academic settings, but especially among peers and build a loving community. And because I want to see all the things I hope for Ben come true, I feel that need and responsibility to spread awareness about autism. If you take 5 minutes out of your day and think about what it means to have autism or any kind of non-visible disability, would you consider being a support system for someone who may have it? How would you go about doing that? For starters, becoming involved in your own community during your spare time is a great step forward to comprehending what children or students our own age experience on the spectrum.
Another way to get involved is right here at Spectrum! We wish to make sure that people on our very own college campus understand that they have more peers surrounding them with autism and other disabilities than they realize through our meetings, awareness week, and 5K Run events. I recall a general meeting where I learned about the difficulties that adults with autism face during voting season such as environmental stressors, the complexity of the polls, etc. During Awareness Week last semester, I realized that the only people in movies I had seen that were autistic were not very accurately portrayed and learned about misconceptions of autism. And now with the 5K Run on April 7th, I am very excited to see the campus, the community, and my family come support our fundraiser for local autism-focused non-profit organizations. I can tell that one of the most satisfying things I can do during my time here at Cal is to see Benjamin run through the Glade at Spectrum’s 5K.
I truly believe that the more people know, the better they can understand that each person may be different and can carry a disability, visible or not, but at the end of the day should be loved, included, and cherished. That’s #WhyIEncourage. That’s #WhyIHope.
#WhyIWalkedTowardHim
My cousin Chen and I did not have a pleasant first acquaintance.
It was nine years ago. I was lying in my bed, watching TV until my mother brought Chen into my room: “Judy, meet your cousin Chen!” He was skinny and had frowning eyebrows. Out of manners, I waved passionately to him and took out all of my toys. Different from everyone I had met, he did not wave back or show any interests in my toys. He did make any eye contact either; whenever he got excited, he screamed for his mom, or in his language, “Me-me.” All he did was continuing watching an episode of Teletubbies. And me, well, I just sat beside him, confused, and…mad.
My mom told me that he had a “self-isolating disease,” the Chinese translation for autism spectrum disorder (ASD). Ahhh...Okay...so autism is a disorder, and my cousin has autism, so he is sick! Ah hah! That’s why he acted so strangely and was obsessed with Teletubbies. I sympathized with him, but I still found myself avoiding him at family reunions and wouldn’t talk about him with others – maybe just as Chinese media called children with autism “stars,” he were an isolated star beyond the horizon, where I could never reach.
I know I was a terrible cousin.
We did not see each other for a long time after that acquaintance. Until one day, my mom asked me to pick him up from school with her and I couldn’t refuse to go. It was a school of special education. At the gate, I hesitated to enter while mom went in to bring him out — I did not want a throwback to that intense confusion and madness when we first met. To kill time, I started reading the progress reports on the wall: May 3rd, pays more attention; May 5th, patience improves; May 8th, finishes a puzzle. Besides the entries are some artworks by the kids — they were not perfect, but the colors, moving animals, and their bold imagination were not the ones I would expect from a kid who seems to be non-verbal and only interested in Teletubbies. The perspective in these entries and drawings struck me — he was not a patient, but merely a regular student who required more time and tolerance to develop his potential.
I inched my way through the hallway and reached the activity room. I surprisingly found my mom with a big smile, humming that familiar Teletubbies song while he numbly scanned her up and down. I felt urged to call my mom back and stop this awkward scene, but suddenly, he started to giggle shyly, hands covering her blushing face.
Did my autistic cousin just smile? I took a cautious step into the classroom. When he saw me, I smiled timidly and stared quietly at her face for a few seconds — the first time I had looked into his eyes. Chen seemed scared and buried her head into my mother’s arms. Seeing how he trembled at that moment, I panicked.
“Teletubbies!” I yelled excitedly. “Time for Teletubbies, time for...” I waved my hands uncoordinatedly around for a lame rendition of the Teletubbies theme song, but immediately started regretting it. Just as I was extremely embarrassed, Chen lifted his head and looked at me. And smiled.
It was our first real interaction. I suddenly realized that once I put my guard down, Chen was actually willing to approach me, and give me the first glimpse into his world as well. That trust was mutual. In the following years, I learned about what made him happy and ways to communicate with him, whether through words, movements, or Teletubbies.
Now, I also devote time to other children with autism. Regret for how I treated Chen accompanied me for years, but what now outweighs that is my gratitude. Without him, I wouldn’t see how autism has led to inaccessibility to the social services he and many others deserve; I wouldn't have been motivated to found the autism awareness campaign in high school to spread autism awareness, conduct interviews with parents of people on the spectrum, or organize one-to-one volunteer activities to have people experience the world from their viewpoint. Now that I am in college, I am also a member of Spectrum: Autism at Cal, where I luckily found a group of awesome and compassionate people working to promote acceptance and uniqueness for people like him in a larger community. Most importantly, as I gradually learn to become a qualified cousin, he has taught me how to put myself in the position of others — who might seem completely different from me — to empathize, care for, and love.
I have, and I will keep on learning to be a better cousin. Thank you, Chen!
My cousin Chen and I did not have a pleasant first acquaintance.
It was nine years ago. I was lying in my bed, watching TV until my mother brought Chen into my room: “Judy, meet your cousin Chen!” He was skinny and had frowning eyebrows. Out of manners, I waved passionately to him and took out all of my toys. Different from everyone I had met, he did not wave back or show any interests in my toys. He did make any eye contact either; whenever he got excited, he screamed for his mom, or in his language, “Me-me.” All he did was continuing watching an episode of Teletubbies. And me, well, I just sat beside him, confused, and…mad.
My mom told me that he had a “self-isolating disease,” the Chinese translation for autism spectrum disorder (ASD). Ahhh...Okay...so autism is a disorder, and my cousin has autism, so he is sick! Ah hah! That’s why he acted so strangely and was obsessed with Teletubbies. I sympathized with him, but I still found myself avoiding him at family reunions and wouldn’t talk about him with others – maybe just as Chinese media called children with autism “stars,” he were an isolated star beyond the horizon, where I could never reach.
I know I was a terrible cousin.
We did not see each other for a long time after that acquaintance. Until one day, my mom asked me to pick him up from school with her and I couldn’t refuse to go. It was a school of special education. At the gate, I hesitated to enter while mom went in to bring him out — I did not want a throwback to that intense confusion and madness when we first met. To kill time, I started reading the progress reports on the wall: May 3rd, pays more attention; May 5th, patience improves; May 8th, finishes a puzzle. Besides the entries are some artworks by the kids — they were not perfect, but the colors, moving animals, and their bold imagination were not the ones I would expect from a kid who seems to be non-verbal and only interested in Teletubbies. The perspective in these entries and drawings struck me — he was not a patient, but merely a regular student who required more time and tolerance to develop his potential.
I inched my way through the hallway and reached the activity room. I surprisingly found my mom with a big smile, humming that familiar Teletubbies song while he numbly scanned her up and down. I felt urged to call my mom back and stop this awkward scene, but suddenly, he started to giggle shyly, hands covering her blushing face.
Did my autistic cousin just smile? I took a cautious step into the classroom. When he saw me, I smiled timidly and stared quietly at her face for a few seconds — the first time I had looked into his eyes. Chen seemed scared and buried her head into my mother’s arms. Seeing how he trembled at that moment, I panicked.
“Teletubbies!” I yelled excitedly. “Time for Teletubbies, time for...” I waved my hands uncoordinatedly around for a lame rendition of the Teletubbies theme song, but immediately started regretting it. Just as I was extremely embarrassed, Chen lifted his head and looked at me. And smiled.
It was our first real interaction. I suddenly realized that once I put my guard down, Chen was actually willing to approach me, and give me the first glimpse into his world as well. That trust was mutual. In the following years, I learned about what made him happy and ways to communicate with him, whether through words, movements, or Teletubbies.
Now, I also devote time to other children with autism. Regret for how I treated Chen accompanied me for years, but what now outweighs that is my gratitude. Without him, I wouldn’t see how autism has led to inaccessibility to the social services he and many others deserve; I wouldn't have been motivated to found the autism awareness campaign in high school to spread autism awareness, conduct interviews with parents of people on the spectrum, or organize one-to-one volunteer activities to have people experience the world from their viewpoint. Now that I am in college, I am also a member of Spectrum: Autism at Cal, where I luckily found a group of awesome and compassionate people working to promote acceptance and uniqueness for people like him in a larger community. Most importantly, as I gradually learn to become a qualified cousin, he has taught me how to put myself in the position of others — who might seem completely different from me — to empathize, care for, and love.
I have, and I will keep on learning to be a better cousin. Thank you, Chen!
#WhyICare #WhyIAdvocate
My cousin strayed from the “societal norm”. My cousin, Junho, was born with severe autism. Amidst the underlying scorn of disabilities within my family’s conservative culture, Junho was the living scar that my family tried conceal. He was never brought to any extended family gatherings or even mentioned in family conversations. I always knew of Junho’s existence but I rarely knew anything about him. From this deeply rooted stereotype, I learned to never ask about him and slowly enough, it was as if he never existed.
It was many years later that I finally began to understand the severity of our situation. During a family tradition engraving each family member’s name, I was appalled to witness my aunt consciously forgo writing Junho’s name. It was only after Junho’s sister reproached her, “Is Junho not even family to you?”, that she squeezed his name onto the edge, almost begrudgingly. That moment hit me with a wave of shock. How? Why? I couldn’t answer the circling questions in my head as I awkwardly sat there, trying to make sense of the situation. This unwarranted contempt towards Junho made me question, does a disability make someone less human?
The answer came through Milal Class Agape, an organization dedicated to empowering those with developmental and intellectual special needs. Through volunteering at Milal for four years, I met Erin. Erin, like my cousin Junho, was on the autism spectrum. She was not able to see, hear, walk or talk, yet Erin and I formed an inexplicable bond like no other. Coming from a background of ignorance, I learned that the physical and mental barriers between us were insignificant. Erin was just a teenage girl.
As many teenagers would, Erin absolutely despised broccoli but loved kimbap and spaghetti & meatballs. She would gladly eat a grape but profusely refuse to chew another bite of a watermelon. She loved basking out in the sun and amusement parks -- especially the Studio Tour ride from Universal Studios. Erin would scream, scream of joy, when she felt the vibrations of the songs during our morning song routine or when I would hand her the white cane to improve her walking. Anyone would have felt her joy from her exuberant screams and giant smiles. From the two years we spent together, I slowly gained her trust. I learned that if I tapped her nose gently, she stopped biting immediately. I learned that her rabbit doll gave her comfort and a peace of mind. From the endless hair pulling, biting, and pinching, I learned that those actions did not mean she hated me; it was simply her way of expression. But the greatest moment came when I finally learned that she trusted me; I’ll always remember the day that she quietly reached out into the air and held my thumb. I dedicated my Saturdays for Erin not out of moral obligation, but out of a genuine friendship of love and dependence.
But I wish I could have been a friend to Junho like I was to Erin. I wish I had fought for him, for him to have a voice and part in our family. I wish I knew more to tell my aunt that Junho wasn’t different or abnormal. Although now we live thousands of miles apart, I wish I could tell my family that Junho is not “less human” because of his differences. I joined Spectrum: Autism at Cal to create a bridge between those with autism with others not only within our community but also within our friends and families. Autism is something to understood and embraced and I want to advocate for that within our community. I aspire to break the status quo, the misunderstood stereotypes, and the negative views surrounding those with neurological disorders, for the small differences in the brain fail to justify the dehumanization of those with special needs. One day I hope that we can all come together to learn from each other to include autism to the conversation of love and acceptance. This is #WhyICare #WhyIAdvocate.
My cousin strayed from the “societal norm”. My cousin, Junho, was born with severe autism. Amidst the underlying scorn of disabilities within my family’s conservative culture, Junho was the living scar that my family tried conceal. He was never brought to any extended family gatherings or even mentioned in family conversations. I always knew of Junho’s existence but I rarely knew anything about him. From this deeply rooted stereotype, I learned to never ask about him and slowly enough, it was as if he never existed.
It was many years later that I finally began to understand the severity of our situation. During a family tradition engraving each family member’s name, I was appalled to witness my aunt consciously forgo writing Junho’s name. It was only after Junho’s sister reproached her, “Is Junho not even family to you?”, that she squeezed his name onto the edge, almost begrudgingly. That moment hit me with a wave of shock. How? Why? I couldn’t answer the circling questions in my head as I awkwardly sat there, trying to make sense of the situation. This unwarranted contempt towards Junho made me question, does a disability make someone less human?
The answer came through Milal Class Agape, an organization dedicated to empowering those with developmental and intellectual special needs. Through volunteering at Milal for four years, I met Erin. Erin, like my cousin Junho, was on the autism spectrum. She was not able to see, hear, walk or talk, yet Erin and I formed an inexplicable bond like no other. Coming from a background of ignorance, I learned that the physical and mental barriers between us were insignificant. Erin was just a teenage girl.
As many teenagers would, Erin absolutely despised broccoli but loved kimbap and spaghetti & meatballs. She would gladly eat a grape but profusely refuse to chew another bite of a watermelon. She loved basking out in the sun and amusement parks -- especially the Studio Tour ride from Universal Studios. Erin would scream, scream of joy, when she felt the vibrations of the songs during our morning song routine or when I would hand her the white cane to improve her walking. Anyone would have felt her joy from her exuberant screams and giant smiles. From the two years we spent together, I slowly gained her trust. I learned that if I tapped her nose gently, she stopped biting immediately. I learned that her rabbit doll gave her comfort and a peace of mind. From the endless hair pulling, biting, and pinching, I learned that those actions did not mean she hated me; it was simply her way of expression. But the greatest moment came when I finally learned that she trusted me; I’ll always remember the day that she quietly reached out into the air and held my thumb. I dedicated my Saturdays for Erin not out of moral obligation, but out of a genuine friendship of love and dependence.
But I wish I could have been a friend to Junho like I was to Erin. I wish I had fought for him, for him to have a voice and part in our family. I wish I knew more to tell my aunt that Junho wasn’t different or abnormal. Although now we live thousands of miles apart, I wish I could tell my family that Junho is not “less human” because of his differences. I joined Spectrum: Autism at Cal to create a bridge between those with autism with others not only within our community but also within our friends and families. Autism is something to understood and embraced and I want to advocate for that within our community. I aspire to break the status quo, the misunderstood stereotypes, and the negative views surrounding those with neurological disorders, for the small differences in the brain fail to justify the dehumanization of those with special needs. One day I hope that we can all come together to learn from each other to include autism to the conversation of love and acceptance. This is #WhyICare #WhyIAdvocate.
#WhyIListen
“I believe we all have an inner voice. We just need to find a way to get it out.” This is one of my favorite quotes from Carly Fleischmann, an author, and public speaker on the spectrum who communicates through a computer. Outspoken or timid, verbal or nonverbal, we all have voices. We just need to be accepting and willing to be patient to let these voices be heard. This is #WhyIListen.
My first exposure to Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) was not through a family member or friend; it was through a science textbook about neurological disorders. I read about the chemical substances that were either lacking or excessively produced in certain conditions, the pathways that created certain symptoms and movements. I remember learning about how autism is diagnosed, its prevalence, and the research underway to detect the rare mutations in single genes for those on the spectrum. Autism, to me at that time, was science. It was something to read and learn about, a list of facts and findings to memorize. It took me a while to connect with ASD beyond the level of “science” and to realize that research alone is exceedingly insufficient to comprehend the complexity of autism.
In Junior year of high school, I took my first step to understand and experience the word “spectrum.” As a weekly volunteer at a facility for adults with developmental disabilities, I witnessed a wide range of abilities- some required a more sensitive and attentive approach while others rarely needed assistance. Lizzie, Mark, and Laura typically needed help with eating, communicating, and grabbing puzzle pieces; on the contrary, Kim and Jenny dominated in their games of checkers and puzzles. Even within the same umbrella diagnoses, there was such a wide range of abilities and difficulties within these residents. The most enjoyable moments were connecting with them at a more personal level. Although many were frequently unresponsive to my questions initially, they began to show more emotions through hand movements and facial expressions. Even though most were nonverbal, I learned the recreational activities that each resident liked and disliked, their preferences for seats when playing Bingo, their differing personalities, and moods. I paid more careful attention to understand the messages they were trying to convey through their motions; if they started to stim or pace, I immediately thought about what was making them anxious or what they were trying to tell me. I looked forward to hanging out with them on Sundays.
As a volunteer at the facility, there were some breakthrough moments that helped me understand neurological differences and autism at a deeper level. During one of our training workshops, we watched a video of Carly Fleischmann. As a teenage girl with severe autism, Carly couldn’t speak a word until the age of 11 when she started communicating by typing words into a computer. Through the keyboard, she explained her constant struggle in controlling her own body and displayed intelligence and wit that others had not expected. A typing board had unlocked the barrier between her voice and the rest of the world. Today, she owns a blog, writes novels, interviews celebrities, and speaks about her experiences through typing. Here at Cal, I met Hari Srinivasan who also communicates through typing. As an active speaker, writer, and blogger, he not only allows the public to be more aware of neurological differences but inspires those on the spectrum and others to share their voices. One of his most memorable articles on the Daily Cal is “The Women in My Life,” in which he talks about the people who have pushed him to be where he is today.
Carly’s quote in one of her blogs, “I believe we all have an inner voice. We just need to find a way to get it out” is one I will remember and keep. The residents at my volunteer facility, Carly Fleischmann, and Hari have a lot in common. In my opinion, the biggest of all is the continued support and faith they have received from those around them. These efforts are what help them confront everyday challenges and feel welcomed about expressing their thoughts and emotions.
This is why I will try harder to listen. This is why I will continue to spread acceptance about autism so that people are aware of neurological differences and try, themselves, to hear the voices of all those on the neurological spectrum.
“I believe we all have an inner voice. We just need to find a way to get it out.” This is one of my favorite quotes from Carly Fleischmann, an author, and public speaker on the spectrum who communicates through a computer. Outspoken or timid, verbal or nonverbal, we all have voices. We just need to be accepting and willing to be patient to let these voices be heard. This is #WhyIListen.
My first exposure to Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) was not through a family member or friend; it was through a science textbook about neurological disorders. I read about the chemical substances that were either lacking or excessively produced in certain conditions, the pathways that created certain symptoms and movements. I remember learning about how autism is diagnosed, its prevalence, and the research underway to detect the rare mutations in single genes for those on the spectrum. Autism, to me at that time, was science. It was something to read and learn about, a list of facts and findings to memorize. It took me a while to connect with ASD beyond the level of “science” and to realize that research alone is exceedingly insufficient to comprehend the complexity of autism.
In Junior year of high school, I took my first step to understand and experience the word “spectrum.” As a weekly volunteer at a facility for adults with developmental disabilities, I witnessed a wide range of abilities- some required a more sensitive and attentive approach while others rarely needed assistance. Lizzie, Mark, and Laura typically needed help with eating, communicating, and grabbing puzzle pieces; on the contrary, Kim and Jenny dominated in their games of checkers and puzzles. Even within the same umbrella diagnoses, there was such a wide range of abilities and difficulties within these residents. The most enjoyable moments were connecting with them at a more personal level. Although many were frequently unresponsive to my questions initially, they began to show more emotions through hand movements and facial expressions. Even though most were nonverbal, I learned the recreational activities that each resident liked and disliked, their preferences for seats when playing Bingo, their differing personalities, and moods. I paid more careful attention to understand the messages they were trying to convey through their motions; if they started to stim or pace, I immediately thought about what was making them anxious or what they were trying to tell me. I looked forward to hanging out with them on Sundays.
As a volunteer at the facility, there were some breakthrough moments that helped me understand neurological differences and autism at a deeper level. During one of our training workshops, we watched a video of Carly Fleischmann. As a teenage girl with severe autism, Carly couldn’t speak a word until the age of 11 when she started communicating by typing words into a computer. Through the keyboard, she explained her constant struggle in controlling her own body and displayed intelligence and wit that others had not expected. A typing board had unlocked the barrier between her voice and the rest of the world. Today, she owns a blog, writes novels, interviews celebrities, and speaks about her experiences through typing. Here at Cal, I met Hari Srinivasan who also communicates through typing. As an active speaker, writer, and blogger, he not only allows the public to be more aware of neurological differences but inspires those on the spectrum and others to share their voices. One of his most memorable articles on the Daily Cal is “The Women in My Life,” in which he talks about the people who have pushed him to be where he is today.
Carly’s quote in one of her blogs, “I believe we all have an inner voice. We just need to find a way to get it out” is one I will remember and keep. The residents at my volunteer facility, Carly Fleischmann, and Hari have a lot in common. In my opinion, the biggest of all is the continued support and faith they have received from those around them. These efforts are what help them confront everyday challenges and feel welcomed about expressing their thoughts and emotions.
This is why I will try harder to listen. This is why I will continue to spread acceptance about autism so that people are aware of neurological differences and try, themselves, to hear the voices of all those on the neurological spectrum.
#WhyISelfAdvocate
It was my first interview with a large corporation—and a summer finance internship opportunity was on the line. The interviewer’s initial questions were straightforward, and I thought I had a strong chance to move on to the second round. At the conclusion of the interview, I was asked: “Why is there so much autism on your resume?” I nervously responded, “I was diagnosed at three….” and before I could relate my experiences of overcoming the struggles that autism has presented to my motivations to work in finance, the interviewer uttered a condescending “Oh.” I knew what the interviewer insinuated by his reaction— that my character as a candidate had been reduced to the negative stereotype of individuals on the autism spectrum. That’s why I have to self-advocate for others on the spectrum and myself.
According to a study by Drexel University, only 58% of people on the autism spectrum have ever been employed after high school, and a large percentage of individuals are overqualified for the jobs. In my experience with networking sessions and the interview process, it is more difficult for someone with the Knowledge, Skills, and Abilities to receive a job offer with a competitive firm when the recruiting process has a greater emphasis on social skills. Candidates on the spectrum, such as myself, find it more difficult to get through the interview process because of its dependency on picking up on unspoken social cues, such as when to ask questions and how to answer particular questions without being too personal. My opinion is that if somebody can effectively communicate with managers and members of the team, that alone should be the only social requirements initially for a candidate with strong technical skills.
Since I was diagnosed with autism at the age of three, my family has provided all of the help to assure that I’m able to perform to a high level. As often noted, the Mayo Clinic defines autism as a “serious neurodevelopmental disorder that impairs a child's ability to communicate and interact with others” although this does not mean that it cannot be improved. In my unique case, I had extreme problems with my communication skills to the point where I needed a script to converse with anyone, even with my own family. I still experience social anxiety today, where I sometimes repeatedly knock my knees together to calm myself down and prevent getting rashes on my skin. My family has given me the resources to make me a person who can be independent and formulate his own ideas and perspectives.
I have a unique opportunity to self-advocate because I have been fortunate enough to have access to resources to help combat the challenges that autism has presented for me. I am cognizant that I have a unique opportunity to have a platform to potentially change the perceptions of those who influence the private sector. I have begun to become more of an advocate of potential candidates with disabilities with the company that I had an internship with for the past summer. Earlier this semester, I connected one of the company’s recruiters with the Disability Student Program so that the company will have greater access to talented individuals that happen to have disabilities.
I would want to see the unemployment rate for college graduates with Autism drop below 50% in my lifetime, and having more individuals on the spectrum have more significant influence in corporate America. I also don’t want to individuals on the spectrum feel like that they have to hide their diagnosis and feel ashamed to share their story with future employers, and I have done so in the past.
My story is a part of me—I will not ?hide it any longer—what I gained through those experiences are why I am in this position today. I am aware that more companies are making a conscious effort to increase the pool of candidates with special needs, but the employment data and the prevalent negative stigmas suggest that there is more work to do. I am confident that the experiences on my resume make me qualified and my autism as a strength rather than a weakness because those experiences have taught me what it takes to overcome obstacles. I know that changes in perception take time and patience, and I believe that if my journey to Berkeley has taught me anything, it would be that progress takes time and there will be setbacks along the way.
It was my first interview with a large corporation—and a summer finance internship opportunity was on the line. The interviewer’s initial questions were straightforward, and I thought I had a strong chance to move on to the second round. At the conclusion of the interview, I was asked: “Why is there so much autism on your resume?” I nervously responded, “I was diagnosed at three….” and before I could relate my experiences of overcoming the struggles that autism has presented to my motivations to work in finance, the interviewer uttered a condescending “Oh.” I knew what the interviewer insinuated by his reaction— that my character as a candidate had been reduced to the negative stereotype of individuals on the autism spectrum. That’s why I have to self-advocate for others on the spectrum and myself.
According to a study by Drexel University, only 58% of people on the autism spectrum have ever been employed after high school, and a large percentage of individuals are overqualified for the jobs. In my experience with networking sessions and the interview process, it is more difficult for someone with the Knowledge, Skills, and Abilities to receive a job offer with a competitive firm when the recruiting process has a greater emphasis on social skills. Candidates on the spectrum, such as myself, find it more difficult to get through the interview process because of its dependency on picking up on unspoken social cues, such as when to ask questions and how to answer particular questions without being too personal. My opinion is that if somebody can effectively communicate with managers and members of the team, that alone should be the only social requirements initially for a candidate with strong technical skills.
Since I was diagnosed with autism at the age of three, my family has provided all of the help to assure that I’m able to perform to a high level. As often noted, the Mayo Clinic defines autism as a “serious neurodevelopmental disorder that impairs a child's ability to communicate and interact with others” although this does not mean that it cannot be improved. In my unique case, I had extreme problems with my communication skills to the point where I needed a script to converse with anyone, even with my own family. I still experience social anxiety today, where I sometimes repeatedly knock my knees together to calm myself down and prevent getting rashes on my skin. My family has given me the resources to make me a person who can be independent and formulate his own ideas and perspectives.
I have a unique opportunity to self-advocate because I have been fortunate enough to have access to resources to help combat the challenges that autism has presented for me. I am cognizant that I have a unique opportunity to have a platform to potentially change the perceptions of those who influence the private sector. I have begun to become more of an advocate of potential candidates with disabilities with the company that I had an internship with for the past summer. Earlier this semester, I connected one of the company’s recruiters with the Disability Student Program so that the company will have greater access to talented individuals that happen to have disabilities.
I would want to see the unemployment rate for college graduates with Autism drop below 50% in my lifetime, and having more individuals on the spectrum have more significant influence in corporate America. I also don’t want to individuals on the spectrum feel like that they have to hide their diagnosis and feel ashamed to share their story with future employers, and I have done so in the past.
My story is a part of me—I will not ?hide it any longer—what I gained through those experiences are why I am in this position today. I am aware that more companies are making a conscious effort to increase the pool of candidates with special needs, but the employment data and the prevalent negative stigmas suggest that there is more work to do. I am confident that the experiences on my resume make me qualified and my autism as a strength rather than a weakness because those experiences have taught me what it takes to overcome obstacles. I know that changes in perception take time and patience, and I believe that if my journey to Berkeley has taught me anything, it would be that progress takes time and there will be setbacks along the way.