"Every person has at least one secret that would break your heart." -Frank Warren

In the sixth grade, a classmate and I had one of those classic boy-girl cut and thrust friendships. We were constantly making fun of each other, and half the time I couldn't decide whether our interactions were enjoyable or exhausting. One day, when I walked into math class, he was already sitting at his desk, studying for the pop quiz our teacher had so obviously hinted at the day before.

     

     "Oh look who's finally here," he said, still staring at his textbook.

     "Good thing you got here early," I retorted. "You need all the study-time you can get." Pretending to ignore me, he stretched his hand across the book to turn the page. Seeing, for the first time, that he was wearing a silver bracelet, I jumped at the opportunity. "By the way, nice jewelry." He quickly rolled down his sleeves and looked up. 

     "It's religious."

     "Oh..." Knowing that I had already offended him, I thought it best to put the shovel down before I dug any deeper. "It's nice." I sat down at my desk, feeling so small. I obviously didn't mean to hurt him, but it all just happened so fast -- the words, the opportunity (a boy! wearing a bracelet!). I wasn't thinking. 

He never mentioned it again and by the end of high school, we were good friends. But today, sixteen years later, I still feel self-reproach for that situation in which I presumed superior authority over a person -- without really knowing anything about him. 

Last year, I started tutoring a high-school senior in English. She emigrated from China two years ago, and lives in a room with her mom in arguably the most dangerous neighborhood of San Francisco (the tenderloin). Despite the obvious struggles of being an immigrant -- cultural differences and language barriers -- my tutee deals with financial and familial troubles. Her mom can't afford to send her to college unless it's funded by a scholarship. Born to her parents during China's one-child policy, my tutee disappointed her parents by not being a boy (they still resent her for it). If she goes to college, she will be the first in her family to do so. They don't think she's smart enough to get in, though.

Every Sunday, I meet with my tutee for one hour to work through her college and scholarship applications. When the weather was nice, we met at the park, but as the "winter" set in, we opted for the coffee shop next door. Every Sunday, I ask her what I can get her to drink. Every Sunday, she rejects my offer. It is a mix of being polite and her culturally-inspired respect for a teacher. 

Last month, during those cloudy rainy days, we were sitting at the coffee shop's community table going over an essay. We were surrounded by Meet-Up groups, coffee dates, and networking meetings. There were plenty of open tables. At some point, one of the baristas walked up to us. 

     "Um, what is she having?" she asked pointing to my tutee. We both looked up at her, confused. 

     "This is ours," I said pointing to my food and drink. 

     "It doesn't work that way," the barista responded. "It's something for each of you." By this point, the entire table was watching eagerly. Surprised by the rule (this coffee shop is nothing special) and uncomfortable with the attention, I clumsily got out of my chair. 

     "What can I get you?" I asked my tutee.

     "I'm fine," she responded. 

     "Well, you need to get something," I said scrunching my nose. "How about tea?" 

     "Okay," she surrendered. I turned to walk to the register when I felt a hand on my hand. "How much?" Like one of those flashback movie sequences, I thought about all the essays I had read about my tutee's financial situation. I didn't want her to pay. 

     "I got this," I said.

     "No, no, no, no," she insisted, handing me a $5 bill. Still with my audience, I took her money and ordered a tea. 

We finished our session and my tutee left. For a moment I wondered if I should say something to the barista. Explain my tutee's situation. Maybe she would feel some compassion? Maybe she would apologize? I resisted. We could've gone somewhere else. I'm not entirely in the right, perhaps. I left, heavy-hearted. We don't meet there anymore, and I'll never go back to the coffee shop (YEAH for passive-aggressive activism!).  

Over the past couple weeks, there have been multiple suicides at Penn. Suicides by a gorgeous young track star and a "most interesting" math whiz. Having studied psychology and attended Penn myself, I naturally feel somewhat affected by the events. Suicide has that obligatory sidekick named Mystery. But why? She was so beautiful. He was so smart. They had such bright futures ahead. Of course, what none of us can read in these reports, is whatever internal struggles these two individuals were grappling with. And we will never know.

In that infamous sixth grade math class, our teacher would remind us to continually remain on top of the material. "Remember class," she'd smile, "we can have a pop quiz anytime." Human interaction is a lot like a pop quiz. If you don't take the time to connect, you'll find yourself facing undesirable surprises more than you'd like. Take time to consider that not everyone has the same background as you. That, someone's seemingly exploitive behavior is well-intentioned. That external appearances are but the tip of the iceberg. That everyone, regardless of your routine interactions, could use some deep compassion once in a while.