My beloved brother. A personal story.
'ello reader. My name in this world is Alonso Alons-y. My people live in the far northern regions where the mountains are high and weather cold and bitter. I am what some call a "norse-horse". And today I wish to tell you all about little miracle named Happy Sun.
Keep in mind that the names used here has nothing to do with the story of the Mad Pony In a Trench Coat.
My parents met at a very young age, and felt something at the start. Young, stupid love.
The problem is that they within a year of having just met each other, gave birth to me.
I was never planned for, and my parents had not even though of marriage or even living together until this point.
So because of me they moved together, having no real income as they were still just barely adults.
They managed to get a life working, with very much sacrifice in time. For this, I am thankful.
However having been forced together to live with another so quickly, and for the only real reason being a filly they never expected, they never got the chance to bind properly. And soon the other's flaws shined through..
They began to hate each other, and started blaming me for having forced them together.
I grew up with the disapproval of my parents glooming over me like an umbrella. They sometimes tried to pretend that we were a happy family when other relatives or friends of them came over, but it was clear to everyone that it was a scene. When I was three years old, I was rather tubby as I kept eating whatever I came across to comfort myself.
And at that same time, and to everypony's surprise, I was blessed with a younger brother.
My name given to me by my parents is not Alonso, it is a name I took myself when I started cutting the ropes to them.
My brother, however, was named Happy Sun. His mane was golden white and shined like an holy aura whenever he was close to light. And he smiled all the time. The happiest little filly you would ever see.
However. Both sides of my family suffers from a number of illnesses. Both physical as strong rheumatism and fragile skeletons, as to mental disadvantages... I was early on given the diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. A mental condition that is in the big picture unique between every individual, but most shares the lack of social understanding.
Due to this, I was very awkward as a child. I never understood common logic in behaviour. Like my parents endless rage for both each other and me, or why other ponies bullied me just because I was chubby. These things did not compute for me. And worst part is, I was not the one suffering the most.
We all quickly realized that there was something "wrong" with Happy. He quickly began to loose his smile, and grew distant even as an infant. By the time he was three and still refused to speak or even play with others, we went to the doctors again. He was given the diagnosis of Autism.
For those who do not know, Autism is a mental condition that is most commonly called "retarded" or "fruit-level" amongst most ponies who does not bother to learn. The doctors told us that he would never be able of communication, of showing or understanding emotions, and that we should be satisfied if we could get him to eat without our aid.
For as many wrongs as my parents did... neither of them was at this young point in their lives quitters.
They gathered every saved bit we had and went to Manehattan, knowing that in the giant capital there was professionals of a different calibre. They went there and attended seminaries to learn and evolve...
When they returned a week later, they put their new skills to practice. Every day they simply copied what Happy was doing. If he sat on the floor just patting it, they would do the same. If he stood just staring out the windows for hours, they would too. I joined in myself, as best I could or was allowed at the age of six.
We even moved during this, to a very cheap location out in the forest where both me and Happy could be more free and our parents get away from everything. We still went to see the local doctors and psychiatrists about Happy.
I was put in the corner as he needed all the attention. Something I could not understand.
I was year after year struggling to earn my parents attention and approval. I did all I could in school, even though the bullying of me being strange and my brother stranger drove my underdeveloped mind to crack. And I began to hate my brother for robbing me of what little fun or care I once had from my parents.
Happy got all the privileges. He could eat whatever he wanted whenever he wanted because he was so skinny and picky with real food. He could do whatever he wanted and wreck whatever he wanted as my parents hoped for signs of communication. This tired them. Both working hard and dealing with Happy and each other...
Sadly, this ended up on me. Neither of them could let out steam on Happy for what he did. And they both stayed away from each other best they could to not argue... But I was still but a filly and tried to gain their attention best I could.
This triggered them. And everything that annoyed them with their other half or Happy, with work or other relatives, poured out on me.
This is why I started to hate my brother. He lived in luxury. New toys, new games, all the attention and the best of food and sweetest treats. And sure, anypony can relate to sibling rivalry, but carry in mind that I was born without any kind of social understanding. I could not comprehend any of this on even the most fundamental level..
Time went on. Years passed. And by the time I was 8 and Happy was 5, I had lost all spirit.
I had put myself in acceptance of my situation and simply accepted that this was life.
Constantly forced to babysit the brother I hated, and nothing I did was appreciated or rewarded.
I was in a drone-like state. Like an ant, simply obeying orders without questioning it.
Happy was showing growth, becoming more open and seeking people out to just look at them or try to get them making funny faces. This was a huge step for my brother. Something the world said was impossible.
And as much as my story seems all sobby and self-pitying, it really is not. I am giving the cold truth out of an psychological standpoint of what was going on in my life. And I am about to tell you how it all changed..
When my parents went into a fit over something, it could be anything, they would not stop until they felt that they had raged enough to become tired. A single fit could last for days, refusing to even look at me and everything spoken to me was in a hissing or angry tone. I spent most time I could alone, hiding in my books and games to escape reality.
And one day during a weekend, after one of the longest cold-war-feelings between me and my parents, they exploded on me and let the harsh words hail. Eventually I cracked, screamed and began bashing my head against a wall.
I than rushed out and hid myself in my treehouse I had built in the forest, just crying my eyes out.
I do not know how long time passed, as my mind was just swirling. But I soon realized that I felt comfortable.
I was embraced, hugged. Looking up, I saw Happy sitting next to me, wrapping his hooves around me.
Not a sound. He had just sought me out to give me a hug in my time of need.
I whimpered his name and hugged him back. And it was then and there I realized how wrong I had been.
Happy could not help his situation. He could not even understand it. He was given stuff by our parents and the rest of the world either out of pity or wish to help. He could not help that, it was not his fault. Why had I hated him?
After this, we spent way more time together. Even more so than before, when I had constantly needed to babysit him or hide him when our parents argued because I too pitied that he had to be near it. And I soon realized how much we had in common. We liked the same things. Being left alone and just have fun.
A few years passed, and my brother Happy and I grew closer by the day. He even helped me out on several occasions.
He was once given a popsicle shortly before dinner, because he had pointed at the freezebox, which was a huge step in his communication. And so, I asked if I too could have one. Which caused my parents to spaz out.
Beginning their rant of how I could not expect the same treatment as Happy, since he was handicapped and I was not. And they asked me to give them a single reason to why I should also get one. Once I got the chance to actually say that, I responded that I just did not think it was fair since he teased me with having one.
This was, in the eyes of a filly atleast, true. He was enjoying his popsicle and often did it close or next to me as we companied each other. And my parents was just about to start another fit over how much of a lie that was, since Happy could not communicate, when Happy walked back into the room looked at both our parents, and turned to me.
He lifted his frozen treat slowly to his own mouth, and began licking it manically like a madpony! All while making over-the-top and cartoonish "om nom nom yum nom yum" sounds, and than just left the room. Leaving my parents chocked over seeing such an act from the normally silent and none-communicative Happy.
My brother had never done something like that before, especially not in front of me. He came back, hearing the argument, and I know that somewhere inside, he realized what it was about and that I needed help.
After this, my parents grew more silent. More observant. Constantly seeking me and my brother out as we spent most time together, and saw what I had not realized. How much Happy was communicating with me alone.
When we played, he pointed at things and made sounds, he laughed and he smiled or if he didn't like something he made faces and grunted.
Soon relatives and friends of the family also began to see this, and realized how strong a'bond me and my brother had gotten. I did not know this at the time, for me it was just how things was. But I must tell you how things took yet another turn for the better..
During one of my brother's birthdays, his favourite time of year because he loved presents and cake, something it turned out later he was a natural for making, we all sang the common song. And he was so glad when we did it.
So, because I noticed his giant smile during that song, I kept singing it to him weeks and months after the party.
And one day.. I was aiding my mother in the kitchen with some dishes, when Happy marched in!
He cast a serious-looking face at both my mother and I, standing tall and proud, and opened his mouth.
"Happy bufday to-jo! happy bufday to-jo!" smiled, and walked out.
My brother's, my brother who's hair shined like the sun and always smiled the biggest most innocent smile, first word was "happy". His first-ever spoken word represented him as a being so well. The filly who had never spoken a single word, suddenly began spluttering sentences. And this was just the start!
Soon he began copying everything we said, showing that he had for quite some time understood what we said, but probably just waited to put the pieces together. And soon he began formulating his own sentences, copy-pasting things we said into his own manner of speech. It was basic, and sometimes a bit gibberish, but he was talking!
My brother showed that the professional doctors and psychiatrists who had deemed him basically a walking vegetable, was wrong. And this inspired me. I began to, just as I entered my -utterly- confusing teenage years, study psychology on my spare time. And after a few years, I did not only understand myself and my limits better, but my world.
I understood why my parents acted like they hated me, I understood why people bullied others for seemingly no valid reasons. I understood all the wrongs I did against a pair of parents who were tired to the bones of both working hard and dealing with a handicapped child and a partner they did not like.
So, in the end. I was never as flawless as I had hoped or tried to be. I was a stupid filly who was trying too hard and craving attention from a pair of parents who was too busy. Does this excuse their behaviour? No. But it made me grow up and overcome most of my born-with flaws. It improved my life, gave me friends and a name for myself.
All because of the most jolly and grinning smile I've ever seen. The brother I hated for years, and than realized he was the closest thing to a friend and family I had. Happy Sun, my brother. A brother I would not trade the world for.
Over the past years, I became a lot like a father for Happy. I grew large, tall and strong, while he remained skinny and fragile. I began talking back to our parents, making them realize I could not be sat on as easily anymore.
I took more and more care of Happy, and if he needed something, he came to me.
Today I see my brother in many ways more as my own son than anything else, because in many aspects he is still just a child mentally. And will always be. He needs someone to protect him and hold his hoof when he is outside and maybe starts acting out or just screams in happiness. And I see no reason to not always be there for the pony that turned my life around without intending too, without asking for anything in return, without judging me.
The world calls him handicapped, retarded or slow. I call him the perfect being. He is an adult with a child's mind, the purest of child-mind. He wishes no-one anything bad, he is incapable of doing so. He is just a happy-go-lucky guy who loves his parents and brother. And ice cream. And cake. Lots of cake.
This is the story of me and my brother. Of how I felt growing up with my syndrome making it harder for me to co-op.
And how my brother, whom I love so dearly and would honestly kill to protect, might just have saved my life.
Happy Sun. Thank you for shining on me.