My name is Marisol, and I have a younger brother named Jude. Jude is different; he's special because he has autism. But I didn't always understand what that meant.

Jude doesn't talk much. He loves trains, and he can spend hours playing with his toy train sets. That's something our parents appreciated–his ability to be self-content.

It was after a parent-teacher meeting that I learned about Jude's condition. Mom and dad sat me down and explained that Jude was unique, he was autistic.

Slowly, I began to notice Jude's unique habits. He preferred routine, and any small change could unsettle him. However, I remember thinking, how different is that from my liking for ice-cream?

For a while, I only saw Jude's autism as a list of his peculiarities. But one day, I noticed his immense focus on his trains. It was impressive, and I wanted to understand him better.

I started reading about autism, pouring over books and articles. Autism wasn't just about being different; it was about experiencing the world in a unique way.

Seeing Jude run his fingers over his train tracks, engrossed in his world, I felt like an intruder. But I knew I needed to be there, to reach out to him on his terms.

I began joining Jude during his playtime, watching the trains travel the tracks. We rarely spoke, but the shared silence seemed to speak more than words ever could.

Jude started accepting my presence. He would make room for me to sit or sometimes hand me a toy train, a small sign of acceptance that meant the world to me.

One day, he moved his train to follow mine, veering from his regular route. It was a small change, but for Jude, it seemed monumental. His routine had changed because I was there.

As weeks turned into months, I found myself included in Jude's world. As his sister, I felt privileged. Autism wasn't a barrier for us; it was just a part of our journey.

We started sharing more, not just silent playtimes. Jude would sometimes sing his favorite songs or paint pictures of his trains. I found him sharing his world with me.

But there were tough days too. Days when Jude would be overwhelmed, retreat into his shell. Those were the days when I learned to give him space, to let him cope on his own terms.

The journey wasn't easy, but it was rewarding. I was learning to understand Jude, learning to perceive the world through his eyes, and finding a beautiful perspective I had never known before.

Our bond deepened, turning into a unique friendship. He was not just my brother, but an inspiration, teaching me patience, acceptance, and the joy in simple things.

I found strength in Jude's quiet resilience. His ability to find joy in repetition, in the familiar, was a lesson for life. It taught me to find happiness in consistency.

School life was different. There were times when kids didn't understand Jude, sometimes mocking him. But I learned to stand up for him, to explain his uniqueness.

The journey of understanding Jude was not just about knowing my brother better but also about creating awareness. I found myself explaining autism to our classmates, teachers, and neighbors.

I learned to be patient, not just with Jude, but with others too. I realized that understanding takes time, and sometimes, a single perception change could make a big difference.

Over the years, I saw a change in the way people treated Jude. It was gradual, but there was acceptance, understanding, and a shared world that was once just his own.

Now, I feel proud when I see Jude. Proud of his resilience, his unique way of experiencing the world, and the progress he has made in his own unique journey.

Understanding Jude has taught me so much. Not just about him, but also about myself, about acceptance and love, about viewing the world through different lenses.

For Jude, trains might just be toys, but for me, they signify our journey. They stand for patience, understanding, acceptance, and the love that binds us.

From the day I embarked on this journey to understand my brother, I have grown as a person. Jude, in his silence and joyous simplicity, has taught me invaluable lessons.

Nowadays, when I see Jude playing with his trains, I see more than just play. I see him expressing his thoughts, his way of conquering the world, one train at a time.

Jude still has his peculiarities, but now I see them as strengths. Each unique trait is a testament to his individuality, his resilience, and his extraordinary way of experiencing life.

Now, Jude isn't just my autistic brother; he's Jude, my brother, my friend, my inspiration. Jude, who loves trains and paints his world beautifully in his unique shades of understanding.

So, if you ask me what it's like to have an autistic brother, I'd say it's about understanding. About learning to see the world through his eyes and finding beauty in difference.

And if you ask me what it's like to be Jude's sister, well, that's simple. It's just the best thing in the world, because Jude, in all his uniqueness, is simply amazing.

This journey of understanding Jude isn't over; it's a lifelong endeavor. But it's a journey I'm privileged to be on because every day with Jude is a new day of discovery and learning.

I'm Marisol, and my brother is Jude. He's wonderfully unique, impressively resilient, and unapologetically himself. And I wouldn't have it any other way.