Here’s the third part of Dr. Tzemin’s fiction. A Different Truths exclusive.

Fortunately, from my confusing expression, after all, my mother recognized something. But what was even more funny was that she then asked: “Can you tell me, what did the old hen say to you?”

I felt unimaginable. I originally hoped to tell my mother that the old hen is not a human. How can she talk? But I didn’t know how to express it correctly, so finally had to give up.

I finally realised that in the values of others, everyone has hidden many things that others cannot understand.

Looking at my mother’s anxious and caring eyes, I finally realised that in the values of others, everyone has hidden many things that others cannot understand. Only, in the moment, the persons involved often did not know how to deal with it in the moment. However, these cannot save the fact that I will not speak.

Before I went to elementary school, the little monkey in the firewood house and the old hen in the backyard were mostly fed by me. I was not suffering from matters like these, instead, I was enjoying the moment. This was not the task that my father or mother confesses. It is purely because the little monkey and the old hen are the only two friends in my world. This is not the task that my father or mother exhort me to do. It is purely because the little monkey and the old hen are the only two friends in my world. If I ignored them, then no one will listen to them telling their inner words.

After feeding the hen and the little monkey, I would take an exclusive low bench and sit in the middle of the front door of the barber shop to perform the second great mission.

The front hall of our house was rented to a big fat uncle to run a barber shop. He was the only hairdresser in the village.

The front hall of our house was rented to a big fat uncle to run a barber shop. He was the only hairdresser in the village. A kindly aunt followed him, responsible for the perm of the girls. There were two or three apprentices on the side to help.

There was no need to specifically remind him how amazing his craft was. Just looked at the customers coming one after the other, and everything would be clear. He was an amiable person, just liked his chubby body, always knew what I wanted to do, because he always smiled slightly and touched my head with his huge palm, and said, “Come on! Philosopher.”

He was one of the few people who were kind and insightful about my inner world. At least I thought so at that time in my heart, so I was willing to smile at him. But I didn’t have time to speak with the others.

I liked to look at all sorts of their strange hairs with my big eyes.

In fact, what really interests me was that the guests came from the different families of our village to get a haircut. They were of different ages and physical statures, both male and female. I liked to look at all sorts of their strange hairs with my big eyes. It’s so funny for a kid who didn’t speak but only three or four years old. These thousands of heads alone were enough to make me chuckle to myself incessantly. According to the day-to-day observations, the shape, the angle and density of each person’s hair, were all turned into art in my tender and young mind. I found that some people look like lizards and some look like a ram. I really wanted to suggest that these people should have their heads shaved maybe will look better. There was also an aunt who dyed her hair red and made many rolls, like fritters. It was just these illusions that made me deeply intoxicated, these always made me open eyes wildly. Every time after watching it from the nearest distance, I always felt that I couldn’t find anything more interesting on this planet. Twenty-four hours of almost every day, I used to look at all the guests, who came for a haircut to satisfy my personal fantasies, until one day…

“Boss, would you please ensure that your little son doesn’t look at me like this?” Finally, a customer could no longer afford to stay quiet.

“I can’t help it. First, he is not my son.” Uncle Fatty answered this, spreading his two hands in despair, “Second he is a stubborn philosopher. He needs to dig into the important truths of the world. Maybe it will be better if we let him alone.”

“But, like he is now, watching people with eyes open wide. It gets me totally freaked out!”, the customer complained.

“Well, maybe I should give him a few biscuits to divert his attention?”

At that time, biscuits were an excellent and effective bribe. Therefore, I took the biscuits and ate those with gusto.

The customers desperately nodded. At that time, biscuits were an excellent and effective bribe. Therefore, I took the biscuits and ate those with gusto. However, I still kept my eyes open and stared at everyone’s hair. The degree of satisfaction gained from this never less than from the biscuits. In other words, there was no any sign of looseness in the desire to dryly stare at each person’s hair. The degree of stubbornness was like that of Uncle Fatty originally recognised. But Stoop to compromise can’t be full. The customer’s collapse and begging only could exchange a burst of snickers and cackles that bring down the house except my indifferent is left. Finally, Uncle Fatty had to use a half price for everyone to make a haircut as compensation. Not long after, no one dared to come knocking at our door to ask his service. The barbershop had to choose to go out of business, and Uncle Fatty was out of work.

★    ★    ★

Because I worked so hard in my philosophy, everyone in the village knew me soon, and no one dared to go to my house to get a haircut. Because I worked so hard in my philosophy, with a reputation for twinkling fiercely, everyone in the village knew me soon, and no one dared to go to my house to get a haircut.

I was not an idiot or a philosopher. This is called Asperger’s syndrome

I didn’t blame them at all. The pressure on them was too great. The people around me, the residents in the village, the elders, the neighbors, the teachers, and classmates in the kindergartens, all extremely agreed that I was an idiot, except for my mother. This mystery was not solved until I grew up. I was not an idiot or a philosopher. This is called Asperger’s syndrome.

“Asperger’s disease” is a subtype of autism. Until now, it has not known the cause, and there is no fixed performance. Some children with “Asperger’s disease” have special performance in art, mathematics and music, even extraordinary achievements. For example: Albert Einstein, Marilyn Monroe, and Bill Gates. But most of them encountered difficulties in communicating with others, incapable of making friends, being isolated from the world unable to escape on their own. The speed of learning in some subjects is several times slower than that of ordinary children, and other subjects are extremely talented. In the ordinary education system, they were often classified as low-smart children with IQ problems. They were often discriminated against during their growth. I belong to them. I was ‘a child who lives in a glass bottle’.

In addition to making me unable to face the world properly, “Asperger’s disease” also caused me to have serious communication problems. Didn’t know how to learn and acquire knowledge correctly and didn’t know how to meet friends, know friends correctly, even unable to adapt to the external environment and the crowd were my lingering nightmares that forcibly occupied my whole life. Until high school, I still couldn’t talk to my classmates normally. Therefore, I have been destined, in a situation where it is impossible to learn normally, to struggle between reincarnations of life and death for a lifetime.

©Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai

Photos from the Internet