Every school has them.
The outcasts, the loners, the person who just, for whatever reason, doesn't fit in. In Korean they are known as 왕따.
We had been forewarned about how to deal with the outcasts during orientation, as elementary and middle school kids can be particularly cruel. That is not to say, however, that my school is without its outcasts.
I was on the lookout early on to see if there was anyone who was picked on or left out during activities and the like. Seeing that most of the girls got along fine & worked well together, I don't know, I guess I just got it into my head that everyone, for the most part, got along. Sure, there were more popular students, there were vocal students, there were shy students, and others who distracted the class, but I honestly didn't pick up on any sort of negativity.
I was looking for the wrong things.
At the high school level being ostracized from others doesn't come in the form of taunting, blaming, or snickering. It's a quieter kind of ostracism. It's neglect. It's complete and utter indifference. It's not caring enough to even make fun of you.
I didn't even know that one of my student's was an outcast until it was pointed out to me. I knew she was a bit different than the other girls--but I thought she had some friends at least. She would come around my desk sometimes after school or in between classes, just wanting to talk. I thought she wanted to improve her english, and maybe she did, but after one of our chats, the teacher whose desk is next to mine turned to me and told me that it was nice that I chatted with her.
I was surprised at this. I will always talk with any student who wants to practice their english. I didn't see chatting with this particular student as being anything out of the ordinary. But then the teacher went on to mention that she doesn't have any friends. Not even one. In the entire school.
She was a 왕따.
I was so confused. I thought, at least, that she was friends with the girl who sat next to her in class. I had seen them talking during class. But then I thought, and then really observed, their interaction. They sat next to each other because of assigned seats. They talked, to clarify instructions/directions. The girl who sat next to her wasn't cruel in the slightest, but also, didn't make an effort either.
I couldn't believe I had missed her isolation. During activities, because she's so bright, she often leads the group giving them answers. The group accepts her, albeit temporarily, because she gives them answers. They include her, but again, don't make the effort to befriend her.
This girl puts on a damn brave face. Whenever I speak with her she always puts a smile on her face and she's bright and cheerful. But I also see her wandering the hallways by herself, or lingering around the teacher's room to talk to teachers because she doesn't have anyone else to talk with.
And it breaks my heart just a bit more every time I see it happen.
I mean, I was never the popular girl growing up. I was terribly shy, and while I wasn't a complete outcast, I mean, I definitely could have been. So I know what that loneliness--that sheer anxiety & loneliness--feels like.
And I also know there's nothing for me to do to make her not be the outcast. Such is the dynamic in any sort of school, between any set of students. The best I can do is speak with her--validate her thoughts and her feelings and her existence. Give her the attention she can't get from her peers, and make sure he self-confidence and self-esteem doesn't falter. I know that she'll find people, eventually, who accept her as she is. Unfortunately, it probably won't happen in high school. Considering that she's a second year, I'm hoping that things get better for her here, or that she'll survive the hell that is high school, and start anew at university. There, she can reinvent herself, be whoever she wants because no one will know anything about her.
In the meantime, I enjoy my talks with her.
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