The Unseen Student

In school, I most frequently observed two distinct types of individuals. One type exuded a carefree joy, their lives brimming with laughter and cheer. They meticulously documented every little detail of their surroundings, eager to share these moments with anyone they felt connected to. Never stingy with their happiness, they radiated vitality, whether collaborating with peers in club activities or bursting into unrestrained laughter with friends after classes, their energy invariably infectious.

The other type wore a perpetual frown, their minds preoccupied with their future prospects from an early age. They closely monitored societal trends, constantly analyzing how academic knowledge intersected with current realities. Their grades and future employment were paramount concerns. Instead of indulging in their teachers’ personal gossip, they preferred to pore over annual admissions scores and employment policies. Compared to the first group, they were more rigid, yet also quieter and more diligent, embodying an intellectual and steady way of life.

Of course, there was also a third type, the most insignificant among the school’s thousands, the most unnoticed in any class. Their grades were stable, they never slacked off in class, and they always went home on time after school. They never clashed with anyone, and naturally, they never garnered a teacher’s attention. Their appearance was neither remarkable enough to invite comparison nor awkward enough to provoke ridicule. Their conversation was neither so formal as to possess any particular style nor so witty as to be amusing. In short, they were a presence that was almost imperceptible.

I was one such person.

This third type of individual typically went unnoticed, even by me. I never paid much mind to those whose personalities and lifestyles mirrored my own. For when it came to youth, and indeed my entire life, I lacked a compelling reason to shine brightly like my other classmates—neither creating my own story nor influencing the stories of others.

Both students and teachers in school often revolved around a few specific keywords: study, romance, talent, homework, social circles, grades, awards, exams, contributions, future, entering society, finding a job later on… Quite familiar, aren’t they? Yet, the concepts these words represented had never truly entered my life. I never fretted over them, nor was I enslaved by aspirations related to them. This wasn’t due to a privileged family background affording me such composure; on the contrary, my dual-income family had only been classified as ‘moderately prosperous’ by the government two years prior. My detachment simply stemmed from my inherent disposition.

Oddly enough, I quite liked this version of myself, embracing everything that had shaped me thus far. I neither loved nor detested it; I simply knew who I was, acknowledging my existence in the world, and genuinely caring little for anything else. This was how I had lived until now, and I fully expected to continue this way, without any alterations. I saw no issue with it; whenever I pondered late into the quiet nights, I could never unearth a single reason to change my current state.

Yet, some people didn’t see it that way. Who were these ‘some people’? Certainly not my classmates, who were content in their own worlds and rarely concerned themselves with matters unrelated to their own affairs; they would never observe or comprehend my way of life or attitude. So, did it refer to the teachers? Not them either. Teachers were simply grateful if their students didn’t cause trouble or jeopardize their salaries; how could they possibly care about a student’s emotional development?

So, who were these people, then?

My parents. They had always believed I was merely a bit more introverted than other children. However, as I grew older and they encountered more fellow parents, they began to realize that I rarely voiced wishes, needs, or opinions to them… I never even showed affection, complained, or acted out. They started to find their son somewhat peculiar.

Initially, they thought I was simply well-behaved, but slowly, they began to suspect I had autism. Consequently, they had my aunt introduce me to a psychologist. By high school, due to these past concerns, they worried about me being bullied and repeatedly inquired about my situation with my homeroom teacher.

Which is why I found myself in the office now, drinking tea face-to-face with my homeroom teacher. Yes, after all that lengthy preamble, it was time to return to the present. I was currently being questioned by our homeroom teacher because my parents suspected me of having a psychological condition and being bullied at school.

I made no move to touch the tea my homeroom teacher had poured. ‘What was so appealing about this stuff?’ I wondered. The teacher, too, seemed to be struggling with how to begin, for all things are difficult at the start. It was break time, so I wasn’t in a hurry. Having not been to the office in a long while, I scanned the decor but noticed nothing of interest, so I focused my attention on the man before me.

Our homeroom teacher was named Ye Shangheng. Most of us in class usually called him Haihai or Brother Hai, primarily because that was his WeChat name. I, too, typically addressed him this way.

“Student Yi,” he began, having finally marshaled his thoughts, “how have things been for you at school lately? Are you happy?” His questions were rather direct and clumsy, clearly indicating his discomfort with such teacher-student conversations.

‘It was understandable. When we could barely manage our own lives, what energy was left to truly care for others?’

“Mhm,” I replied, unwilling to embellish the reality of my life. “I haven’t encountered any problems.”

My tone was as calm as still water, hoping to prevent him from mistakenly thinking I had genuine worries or was facing some predicament, thus complicating an otherwise trivial matter. I wanted to finish this quickly so I could return to my desk, resting my head and eavesdropping on the mundane chatter of various cliques to pass the remaining school hours.

“Ah, is that so? It’s good that there are no problems.” The homeroom teacher exhaled in relief. Whether it was because I was fine or because I hadn’t added to his workload, I couldn’t tell. He continued, “Have you encountered any problems at home, then?”

“None,” I answered. “Aside from my parents being busy with work and not often being home, we occasionally connect by phone, exchanging greetings and inquiring about each other’s recent lives.”

He nodded. My answer was watertight, devoid of anything strange, for that was simply the truth. My life had no problems; it was as ordinary and as boring as most people’s. Usually, in such a situation, my answer would bring the conversation to a reassuring close, but Brother Hai didn’t end it.

For some reason, he still seemed worried about me, perhaps believing I was feigning strength, harboring unspoken difficulties. Was it perhaps his recent heartbreak, causing him to project his feelings onto me, thinking I, too, was forcing a smile? And thus, he empathized and began to care?

“Half the semester has already passed, and you still haven’t joined a club, have you?” he said.

“Our school doesn’t require everyone to join a club, does it?” My tone sharpened slightly, a subtle reminder that his concern was unnecessary.

“Student Yi, let me be frank with you,” he took a sip of tea, pushing up his white-framed glasses. “Our subject teachers have all noticed you. They’ve observed that you seem to have difficulty integrating into the class, never chatting with anyone, and always going home alone after school. Your parents have also voiced their concerns to me, expressing worry about your school life.”

‘What was wrong with that? Solitude was a normal state of being. Eating, sleeping, walking, even using the restroom—weren’t these inherently solitary acts? What was so wrong with performing them alone? Was a ‘school life’ only valid if one was constantly surrounded by others? Even having someone to confide everything in didn’t mean two people were truly kindred spirits. You should understand this, Brother Hai.’

Brother Hai, being among the youngest of the homeroom teachers, had been dating his girlfriend since middle school—a relationship spanning over a decade. However, she had recently initiated a breakup, and he seemed to be desperately trying to win her back. Consequently, his expressions these days were feigned ease, a forced smile perpetually plastered on his face. As for how I knew such private details, I credited the formidable gossip network of our class and school. Even I, who typically spent my breaks slumped over my desk, couldn’t escape hearing about the teachers’ personal lives. With this realization, a flicker of sympathy entered my gaze as I looked at him.

“I know it’s not easy to find like-minded companions. So I was thinking, perhaps there’s no one in class who shares your interests, which is why you haven’t clicked with anyone,” he offered a strained smile, despite his own recent heartache, still attempting to provide constructive advice. “So, look, if you join a club, you’re bound to find people with similar interests and really enjoy yourself, right? Do you have any hobbies or anything you’re interested in? I can recommend some clubs for you.”

‘My hobbies, my interests. I wanted to say I liked nothing at all, but Brother Hai clearly didn’t want to hear such an answer; uttering those words would surely imply I harbored negative thoughts. The things that brought me joy were remarkably simple and didn’t require me to specifically be with others, or to laugh boisterously with them to achieve. Yet, not everyone was willing to listen to another’s genuine sentiments, nor could they comprehend the true desires held within a heart. Thus, time and again, I had chosen silence.’

“I see… Well, alright, Teacher. I’ll go back and see if there are any clubs suitable for me, and I’ll contact you later,” I feigned a glance at the office clock. “It’s almost time for class, so I’ll head back now, Teacher.”

Seeing my cooperative attitude, he naturally said no more, merely smiling as he watched me depart. The moment I closed the office door, a complex mix of emotions washed over me. It seemed I was compelled to join a club, if only to appease my family and satisfy my teacher. The prospect of having to sacrifice a portion of my time stirred a definite irritation within me. However, a quick thought offered a solution: wouldn’t joining a club with minimal activities resolve everything? Yet, even then, there would surely be meetings or participation requirements, which would still be a hassle. Ultimately, why must I undertake these troublesome tasks for the sake of others? I had no answer. Nor could I blame anyone; it wasn’t my parents’ fault, nor my teacher’s, and certainly not my own. The blame, then, could only fall upon this collective entity of human society.