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Inside a quiet indoor room lit by soft afternoon sunlight, Maya stands flapping her hands with a delighted grin while Sophia watches a step away, smiling warmly and listening to Maya speak about stimming.
I am Sophia, and I'm five. My sister Maya sometimes stims. She flaps her hands when excited. She hums softly when nervous. She says, 'Stimming helps my body feel calm.'
At the sunny park swings, Maya soars forward on a moving seat, hands flapping rapidly and laughing, while Sophia stands beside the metal frame, gazing up with an encouraging smile amid green grass and bright midday light.
At the park, Maya flaps faster on the swing. I ask, 'Are you happy?' She laughs, 'Yes! The swing goes whoosh!' I say, 'Stimming shows big feelings.' We play together.
Under harsh fluorescent lights of a crowded grocery store aisle, Maya squeezes a bright squishy ball against her chest and hums, while Sophia leans close whispering comfort, both framed by towering shelves of colorful packages.
Sometimes the store is loud and bright. Maya hums and squeezes her squishy ball. I whisper, 'Need quiet?' She nods, 'Yes, please.' We breathe together and count to five.
In their dim bedroom at night, bedside lamp glow fading, Maya lightly flaps her hands and smiles near the bed while Sophia, toes wiggling, hugs her beside the wall switch they are about to flip.
At bedtime, I wiggle my toes. Maya flaps gently and smiles. I say, 'We have ways to feel okay.' She says, 'Different is good.' We hug, turn off the light.