Story Contributed by Xu Yang, Volunteer
During a recent session at Beyond’s Homework Support programme for primary school children, I was playing a math board game with two boys, Frank and Steve, and another volunteer, Stef. As I was still figuring out the instructions, Frank suddenly pulled all the tiles toward himself. Then, out of the blue, he turned to Stef and said, “You wear glasses and have an ugly face. Go away.”
I didn’t quite know how to respond. I suggested that if he wasn’t comfortable, maybe we could return to our original table, since we had joined Stef’s. But he grew more agitated. In the end, Stef quietly moved to the other side of the room.
At the time, I thought giving him space might help things settle. But something about the moment didn’t sit right with me. Feelings were pushed aside and nothing was resolved.
Later, I brought it up with one of the staff. He sat with Frank in a calm and patient manner. There was no scolding, no lecture. Just quiet questions asked with care. Bit by bit, Frank opened up.
He shared that he had greeted Steve the week before but didn’t get a reply. Steve had been playing with another boy at the time, but to Frank, the silence stuck. It planted a worry that maybe their friendship had shifted – that maybe he wasn’t as important anymore.
Seeing Steve interact with Stef brought that worry back to the surface. Frank didn’t have the words to express it, so it came out in a way that pushed others away.
With Frank’s permission, the staff shared this with Steve. Steve reassured him that he hadn’t ignored him on purpose, he simply hadn’t heard. And more importantly, that their friendship hadn’t changed. Frank didn’t say much in response, but when Steve asked if he wanted to meet over the weekend to play, he agreed. Not long after, Frank walked up to Stef and apologised – entirely on his own.
We also learned that Frank had been experiencing bullying in school. Some of the words he used weren’t unfamiliar, they were echoes of what had been said to him before.
Watching how the staff approached him shifted something in me. I had been focused on keeping the peace and managing the situation. But he showed me something else – what it means to pause, to sit with discomfort long enough to uncover what’s beneath it.
Frank’s response didn’t come from nowhere. It came from a place many of us recognise – the sting that comes from being overlooked, and that quiet fear of losing someone who matters. And when we don’t know how to express it, we protect ourselves in whatever way we can.
I’m learning that the work isn’t just about helping kids with their schoolwork. It’s also about learning to listen to the stories they don’t yet know how to tell.
Sometimes, what looks like defiance is really a quiet ask to be seen.
At Beyond, we create spaces where children feel safe enough to express what they may not yet know how to say – and where volunteers, neighbours, and staff grow alongside them in the process.
If this story stayed with you, we invite you to journey with us.
Listen a little longer. See a little deeper.