The daily routine of a subject representative begins with trivialities. At the beginning of the school year, I volunteered to serve as a subject representative for professional courses. At first, it was out of a simple enthusiasm - I hope to make some contribution to the class and I also wanted to have more opportunities to perform in front of the teacher. However, I soon discovered that the responsibilities of this role are much heavier than I thought. Collect homework every week, notify exam arrangements, coordinate classroom groups, and even act as a temporary "invigilator" or "sound tube" when the teacher has something to do temporarily. These tasks seem simple, but they require a lot of time and effort. More importantly, the work of subject representatives is often unseen. The classmates are used to receiving notifications from me in the group, but few people will take the initiative to say "thank you". The teacher takes the subject representative as a natural assistant, and the occasional saying "Thank you for your hard work" is the greatest affirmation.

This invisible effort made me gradually feel a sense of loneliness. The subject representatives do not have a clear halo of "power" like the class committee, nor can they be easily left out like ordinary students. Between teachers and classmates, I am like a bridge and I must carefully balance the needs of both parties. The teacher hopes that I can convey instructions efficiently and ensure classroom order; the students hope that I can be "comfortable", such as collecting homework later, or sending fewer urging notices in the group. However, this balance is often futile. One time, I sent three homework reminders in the group according to the teacher's requirements, which attracted private messages from several classmates: "Can you stop sweeping the screen? I'm so annoying." When I tried to reduce the frequency of notifications, the teacher would frown and ask, "Why are there anyone else who didn't hand in the homework? Did you not notify me?" This unpleasant situation made me begin to doubt my original choice.

What makes people even more exhausted is the subtle situation of the subject representatives in interpersonal relationships. On the surface, the representative of the science department seems to be a "hot commodity". Before the exam, there are always classmates who come over enthusiastically and ask with a smile: "Subject representative, has the teacher drawn the key points? Can you reveal the points?" Or before the homework, someone will send a private message in a friendly tone: "Subject representative, please tell me, can I submit it later?" At these moments, I seem to have become a "key person" in the classroom, and the feeling of being pleased once made me feel a little elated. However, gradually, I found that this "passion" is often conditional. Once the exam is over and the homework is submitted, these "friends" quickly return to the normal of alienation. Even when they are joking in the group, they will use the subject representative as a meme: "Ask the subject representative, she knows everything anyway!" This experience of being exploited makes me feel a vague loss, as if my value is only in providing convenience for others.

Deeper loneliness comes from the moments of neglect. The identity of the subject representative made me look a little "special" in the class, but this sense of existence is accompanied by a kind of alienation. My classmates are used to treating me as a "teacher's person", but few people really care about my feelings. A problem occurred in a group homework. The teacher named and criticized me in class, but the finger pointed at me: "How did the subject representatives organize? The group list was not checked clearly?" I stood on the podium, lowered my head, and couldn't argue. I'm obviously just sorting out the list according to the information submitted by everyone, but I have to take the blame for others' negligence. At that moment, I felt a deep sense of powerlessness, as if I was pushed to the focus of all contradictions, but no one spoke for me.

This feeling of loneliness is further amplified under academic pressure. The pace of university life is already tense, and courses, internships, and club activities are overwhelming, and the additional responsibilities of the subject representatives are even worse. Sometimes, I stay up late to sort out class data just to complete it before the deadline required by the teacher, but I heard someone complain in class: "Can the subject representatives send out their grades quickly?" These words pierced into my heart like needles. I began to realize that the efforts of the department representatives are often invisible, while mistakes are infinitely amplified. This unbalanced feedback made me feel an indescribable loneliness when facing the computer screen alone in countless late nights.

The role of a subject representative also gave me a deeper observation of interpersonal relationships in college. University is a small society where everyone is looking for their place. The subject representative seems to be a link connecting teachers and classmates, but in fact they are often regarded as "tool people" by both parties. Teachers need an efficient assistant, and classmates need a convenient "agent", but few people care about the feelings of the subject representatives. The psychological gap caused by this role made me begin to reflect on my own value. I long to be understood, to be able to see what I give, not just what I do. However, the reality is that the identity of a subject representative makes me look "special" among the crowd, but also makes me feel more isolated in my heart.

This complex state of mind also made me pay attention to the experiences of representatives of other subjects. I found that this feeling of loneliness was not unique to me. Kobayashi, a representative of another course, once complained to me that when he organized classroom discussions, he was always perfunctory by some classmates, and some even said directly: "You are too careless." Kobayashi said with a wry smile that he just wanted everyone to participate, but he didn't expect to become a "nosy". These stories made me realize that the loneliness represented by the CS is a universal experience, rooted in the structural contradictions of the character – both serving others and suffering from misunderstandings.

Over time, I learned to find my own outlet in this loneliness. I began to express my boundaries more clearly, such as declaring in the group: "Please hand in homework on time, I am also very busy." I also began to actively communicate with the teacher to explain my difficulties and strive for more understanding. I even tried to share these feelings with my roommates in the dormitory. Although they may not fully understand, at least it gave me an outlet for my emotions. These small adjustments have gradually found a balance - not only fulfilling the duties of a subject representative, but also protecting my inner space.

Gradually, I realized that this loneliness was not entirely negative. It taught me how to be patient under pressure and how to stick to myself in misunderstandings. The experience of the subject representative is like a mirror, reflecting my growth and struggle in my college life. I began to understand that loneliness does not mean failure, but an opportunity to talk to myself. Every time I complete a task and resolve a conflict, I quietly accumulate confidence and resilience. These qualities may be the real wealth given to me by university life.

The role of the representative of the subject made me see the complexity of interpersonal relationships and also taught me to find a place to gain a foothold in the cracks. The short-term satisfaction when being pleased, the faint loss when being exploited, and the speechless loneliness when being ignored, these emotions are intertwined and constitute my unique experience as a representative of the subject. I no longer expect everyone to understand my efforts, nor do I need to be able to perfectly balance everyone's needs. I began to learn to accept the limitations of this role and to find my own meaning in it. Perhaps, the loneliness represented by subjects is a part of university life - it reminds me that while I give to others, I must also learn to live for myself.