I always wonder why some people can't figure out things. I always call myself 80% because I do figure things out but only 80% not 100% nobody notice the 80% you do people only see the 100% you show but the question is 80% also did the same job, the job which was asked to be done but still 80% remained unoticed. People always talk about the 100% and 40% but not the 80% or 75% WHY? THEY ARE NEITHER AT THE FRONT NOR AT THE BACK!!
Somewhere between the applause the toppers receive and the chuckles the backbenchers enjoy, there sits a quiet crowd—the middle benchers. The ones who are neither exceptional nor rebellious. The ones who clap for others' achievements, laugh at jokes they didn’t crack, and leave the classroom without ever being truly noticed.
Middle benchers are the ghosts of the classroom—present, yet somehow invisible. They’re not the ones teachers remember by name, nor the ones who stir trouble. They submit assignments on time, score just enough to pass without glory, and live in a strange, silent war: a battle between the desire to shine and the fear of standing out.
We’ve all seen them.
They’re the ones who look at the toppers with admiration... and a quiet envy. “How do they do it? How can someone have it all figured out?” They try. They make timetables. Promise themselves they’ll study harder. But something always drags them back into that comfort zone of mediocrity, that cage of self-doubt where trying too hard feels like a setup for failure.
They look at the backbenchers too—the carefree spirits, the mischief-makers. Their lives seem fun, rebellious, exciting. But middle benchers? They’ve been taught to obey, to follow rules, to walk the line. Breaking the rules isn’t in their DNA. So they sit. Silently. Watching life unfold from a distance.
And it hurts.
It hurts to always be almost enough. To try and never be noticed. To raise your hand in class only to be ignored. To give answers and not be praised. To walk into a classroom and never hear someone say, “Hey, I was waiting for you.”
They carry the weight of expectations they didn’t ask for—expected to be better, but never celebrated for trying. Expected to behave, but never rewarded for it. They’re always “there” but never belonging—not to the achievers' circle, not to the misfit gang.
They fear being average. And yet, they live in it every day.
What no one tells you is how emotionally draining it is. That ache of invisibility. The slow fade of confidence. The way your heart sinks when a teacher forgets your name, or when your idea is overlooked in a group project. The way your parents ask, “Why can’t you be like them?” without realizing how hard you’re trying just to stay afloat.
Middle benchers learn to comfort themselves in silence. They become the best listeners, the hidden artists, the quiet thinkers. They write poetry no one reads. Design dreams no one supports. And carry burdens no one sees.
But here’s the thing—they matter.
Every middle bencher has a storm within them—a story worth hearing, a fire waiting to be lit. They just need someone to say, “I see you.”
So if you’re one of them—know this: you are more than your bench. More than your marks. More than your invisibility.
You’re a story in progress.
A masterpiece unfolding.
And one day, the world will wish they paid more attention.
With Love,
Yafiyah💟
