The loneliest place on earth

That was the topic chosen by my teacher friend Ryan for his Year Eight pupils. Importantly, he wanted to assess the level of difficulty such a topic presented to a gregarious bunch of youngsters who - probably - hadn't sufficiently experienced 'lonely'. Interestingly, as Ryan himself pointed out, each response tended to also portray a facet of the pupil's personality. Outlined here are three such efforts on the same subject.

The first, by a pupil we shall call Daniel, demonstrated a high level of diligence and Internet research. Statistics flew off the page as, in about 60 lines, Daniel took the reader from the shivery nether parts of the earth, namely Antarctica, to the hotter uninhabited desert territories in Africa and from there back up to the icy heights of Mount Everest. Temperatures, population figures, the frequency (or infrequency) of ever meeting another human were all recorded meticulously and compared in neat rectangular boxes. More than an essay this turned out to be a pretty thoroughly documented research study/paper. It was also an example of literalism - dealing with the subject at face value.

Martina's effort, however, introduced a fresh perspective to what we would normally associate with 'lonely'. A quiet, withdrawn (almost aloof child, one would say, according to Ryan) she set her essay in the teeming city of Sydney, tracing an everyday journey from her leafy suburban home to school and back. People everywhere - on the sidewalk, on the bus and then on the train. Hordes of them, some attired in business suits, some in school uniform, some seated with their eyes pinned to the laptop screen, others with heads buried in the Sydney Morning Herald, yet others flicking their way through fashion magazines. Hundreds of fellow commuters, every one of them going somewhere, not one of them saying a word, though. Each ensconced in his own tiny bubble, too reserved to venture into a "hello" or "good morning" to a neighbour. An unsmiling world, in other words. A living, breathing outline of loneliness despite the human proximity. Nothing, felt Martina, could be lonelier than travelling for miles and miles beside someone who doesn't acknowledge you - doesn't even wish to.

Unforgiving land

And finally, there was this boy named David, whom Ryan referred to as "the gentle Somalian giant". Orphaned at birth in a harsh, unforgiving land he was eventually adopted at age 10 and brought to Australia where his life picked up marvelously. His slender, malnourished body filled out, he grew taller (and taller), his chest broadened, muscularity defined his arms and legs, and his tongue quickly grasped the nuances of an Australian accent.

In studies, as Ryan pointed out, he frequently demonstrated an uncanny ability to think outside the square. Ryan reckons it has to do with David's exposure to two different kinds of existence, particularly the order in which these occurred - first the brutal harshness of survival followed by the almost medicinal-like quality of the second, where unconditional love played a vital role in watering and nourishing the seeds of confidence in the young man.

David's essay, in a fictional way, dealt with that early part of his childhood - the debilitating nature of hunger, the agonising countdown of another 24 hours as a new day dawned, hoping against hope that one would see it through alive, the uncomfortable, unwashed, waterless existence and, finally, the total lack of human warmth. Nearly all of the essay was written from personal experience, making one aware that some scars never fade despite the facade of well-repaired grooming. The only instance of research was in a final quote, where, tellingly, David summed up the topic: The loneliest place on earth is the heart, especially when love is absent.

- Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney