When I was ten years old, I sat a scholarship exam at a prestigious private school.
Built around a bay, the senior campus had looked particularly spectacular that sunny morning in October.
Boats from the sailing club bobbed about on the azure water and the bright-green cricket grounds had been recently rolled. From the pavilion boys in whites waited for play to start, while girls with flowing blonde hair made their way to the far-off tennis courts.
It was like something out of an Evelyn Waugh novel, or a dream – it certainly appeared to be a place where dreams came true. It hardly seemed possible that this serene paradise was a school, and that if I was very lucky I could become one of its students.
Now the wish I made to win that scholarship seems more like a Faustian pact.
For though I have many great memories – as well as proud achievements – I have come to realise that my experiences there had a profound effect on me. With the expectation that this education would expand my horizons, it seemed to only narrow the focus of experience, and the dynamics of the friendships that were formed there – some of them bullying – continued into my adult life.
Related: This anti-bullying video has one powerful message: Be nice. Now.
Take my year in the bush at the outdoor-education campus, famed for its hiking and cross-country running programs.
There were no amenities in the wooden house I lived in with fifteen other girls. No heating or cooling; no television, Internet, laptop or mobile phones.
We lived in this house on our own: our housemistress lived down the road, out of sight and out of earshot. And while the principles driving this self-regulation were well intentioned (to encourage us to grow in confidence and self-determination), the results were disastrous.