For the first three years of high school, I attended a military boarding school. Those years were filled with invaluable lessons and nurtured life-long friendships, but looking back on my overall experience, I am left with a bittersweet feeling.

Upon joining, my peers and I were bombarded with the idea that everything to come was for our own betterment; it was all in the pursuit of “excellence.” Our naïve minds embraced these ideas without a second thought. To instill discipline into the students, children—barely stepping into adolescence—were forced to follow the same lifestyle as cadets training for the military. We were subjected to the same punishments and strictness as the men training to enlist in the military. Of course, we did not perform actual military training, but more so, the “disciplinary” training, which predominantly consists of punctuality. Being late by even seconds could entail multiple days’ worth of punishments.

I, at first, thought nothing was wrong with this approach; They were instilling the habit of punctuality by instilling the fear of punishment—what was wrong with that? Now I realize that while their intention was pure, the execution was inherently flawed. Habits are not forced; they are developed. Exerting force in the shape of strict rules to momentarily maintain discipline is not the solution. Because the strictness is bound to disappear when students graduate from the institute, the right course of action should be to teach discipline rather than force it. This experience has made me realize the monumental difference between the two approaches—the former attempts to nurture and develop a lifelong ability by care, while the latter attempts to insincerely induce a momentary ability by fear.

Apart from this, another flaw became clear. We were forced to follow a strict timetable where every minute of our day was planned. It imposed activities on us and took away any freedom to choose what we wanted to do. At specified times, we had to play sports and do self-study. Whether it was the thrill of rebellion or simply a way to ease discomfort, one thing was certain: the lack of freedom and rigid rules encouraged us to break them rather than follow them.

Despite all these shortcomings, I can’t help but smile back on those three years. Adversity solidifies friendships like nothing else; in that institution, we were not mere classmates, we ate at the same table and slept under the same roof. This transcended friendship; we were no longer friends—we were brothers. Navigating and overcoming the challenges thrown at us made us develop a camaraderie that wouldn’t have been possible under normal circumstances. The shared struggle created bonds that still hold strong today, and for that, I am eternally indebted to the institution despite my qualms with it. Maybe the endless barrage of punishments was the price to pay for these lifelong friendships. If so, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.