A Bittersweet Goodbye With My Neurodivergent Friend

I remember the first time I met Omeng, though the memory is more a feeling than a clear picture.

I was five years old, and he was already a teenager — tall, strong, and silent. He had somehow “escaped” and gotten lost, ending up knocking on our front gate. My mom knew where he lived; back then, everyone knew everybody. She brought me along to Omeng’s house, where we were greeted by his anxious mom.

And that’s how it all started — I was allowed to see Omeng.

He communicated with sounds that only a child could understand.

Every day after school, I would knock on his door, and his mother would welcome me with a warm smile. Omeng would greet me with a hug, and we would sit together on the stairs, surrounded by his toys. He was always giving me even his most treasured toys, like the guitar he would play with his big fingers; to both of us, it was music.

I didn’t have many toys as a child, partly why I loved going to his house. But more than the toys, what mattered was the connection we shared — a bond that was beyond spoken words. Omeng was different, but he was my friend — my first friend.

In a world that often felt confusing and unkind, he was my safe place.

I’ve been watching the DNC convention. I’ve followed American politics for as long as I can remember.

Tonight, we all witnessed the outpouring of emotion from Guz Walz when his father, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, accepted his nomination as the Vice Presidential candidate of the Democratic Party.

As Tim Walz was speaking, the camera caught Guz standing up and saying, “That’s my Dad.”

I cried.

Only later did I find out on X that Republicans had begun mocking Guz, a 17-year-old neurodivergent teenager, for showing emotions.

What is neurodiversity?

Neurodivergent is a non-medical term used to describe people whose brains process information differently than most people. The term was introduced in the 1990s by autistic sociologist Judy Singer as an alternative to deficit-based language like “disorder”. Neurodivergent people may have different strengths and challenges from people whose brains don’t have the same differences. — Source

My friend Omeng

I’m not here to discuss science or the lack of empathy, which no longer surprises me coming from any Trump supporter.

But Guz reminded me of all the neurodivergent people in my life, especially one who, from time to time, brings me back to a childhood of quiet innocence.

The memory of Omeng is no longer as vivid as it once was, yet he is one of those people I’ll never forget.

As a child, you don’t put labels on anyone until you hear an adult say it.

I have no memory of us playing at my house. It was always me who would visit. I remember the sounds that came from his mouth were not words, yet, for a five-year-old, I understood him.

I never understood why he wasn’t in school. He would always check my school uniform on the times that I would not change to regular clothes and hurriedly go to his house — the way he touched my ID or the notebooks I had inside my school bag. Back then, I was just happy to share what little I had.

But now I understand why he loved to touch my school stuff. I was his gateway to a world he was never allowed to fit in.

I saw Omeng as a child just like me; only later in life would I understand why he was different.

Like millions around the world, Omeng was nonverbal and neurodivergent, though that wasn’t the word we used back then. We said “mongoloid.” Later, that term was replaced with “Down syndrome,” and today, “neurodivergent” is the umbrella term many prefer.

But for me, as a child, none of the words mattered. Omeng was a friend.

I loved going to his house because I was never bullied there. Omeng was always happy to see me.

As someone with four older sisters, Omeng was like a brother, although he never really spoke. In my mind, he was my protector, tall and strong.

It was a different time then; many families were ashamed of having children like Omeng. He never went to school. He hardly ever went outside and was made fun of on the rare occasions when he did.

His world was small, but his heart was big enough to welcome me as his friend.

Omeng was my first friend.

Goodbye

The big house where I was born and grew up until I was seven was suddenly going to be someone else’s home. All I remember is that we were moving out, and soon after, we did — into a much smaller house in a city far from where we used to live.

I remember the day we left, standing in the empty hallway of our old house, filled with an eerie feeling of cold air brought about by the weight of change.

I wanted to run back to Omeng’s house one last time, but I didn’t. I was too young to understand what it meant to say goodbye.

But even at that age, I knew something was ending, something I couldn’t quite name. I can only imagine what it was like for Omeng.

Did he wait for me to knock on his door? Did he wonder why I never came? To this day, I wonder if he felt the loss as deeply as I did, even if he couldn’t put it into words.

What followed were years of being bullied as a child, maybe because, to some, I was different. I tried hard to hide it, fighting my true self because I wanted the bullying to end.

It would take many more years to accept that I was different, that I was gay.

Looking back, I realize that Omeng and I were more alike than I understood then. We both lived with an unspoken knowledge that we didn’t quite fit the mold others wanted us to.

Yet, in our quiet friendship, we found a space where those differences didn’t matter.

Guz Walz

What’s wrong with America when a show of emotion is deemed “weird,” as Ann Coulter said in her now-deleted tweet?

Now people are learning that Guz has a non-verbal learning disorder, ADHD, and an anxiety disorder.

To his family, these are Guz’s superpowers, a gift he shares with millions around the world.

But in an election season, nothing escapes the venom from the other side — people rallying behind Trump, who share his vision of what America should be: a country without diversity, a nation with no empathy for people like Guz.

When I see Guz, I see Omeng.

I see the same quiet strength, the same misunderstood emotions, the same beauty in difference. And when I see the cruelty with which Guz is treated, I think of all the Omengs who have lived in silence, their hearts too big for the small minds that mock them.

This is not just about politics; it’s about humanity. It’s about whether we choose to embrace the Guzs and Omengs of the world or push them aside because they don’t fit into our narrow definitions of normal.

In Guz’s tears, I see the tears I never saw Omeng cry, and I’m reminded that the world needs more of them, not less.

Final reflection

I miss my friend Omeng. I never knew what happened to him. Life happened. I had to deal with a lot of fear and sadness.

Today, I was reminded of him and a time when I was happy, when I wasn’t judged or bullied. It was a time of quiet innocence. And it was all because of Omeng.

He was different from me. He was strong. He had joy. He had his superpowers, and they all came from his heart.

Thank you for reading.