In this blog post, I’ll reflect on an incident where I broke a rule and explore the concepts of freedom and responsibility, as well as the mindset needed to take the initiative to change rules on my own.
Back in high school, my friends sometimes called me by the unflattering nickname “The Runaway.” The origin of this nickname dates back to a deeply embarrassing and foolish incident I committed during my freshman year. My school was a boarding school, and as is typical for high schools, the dormitory rules were very strict. To give an example of a typical rule, the dormitory operated a reward and penalty point system; if a student accumulated 5 penalty points, they had to move out of the dormitory for a certain period and commute to school. Additionally, students were only allowed to enter or leave the dormitory after evening self-study had ended, and they had to go through a simple attendance check. Surprisingly, the time when students received the most penalty points was during the attendance check. This was because the dorm supervisor would conduct random bag checks and confiscate prohibited items such as snacks or laptops. In particular, if a laptop was found, students were assessed the maximum penalty of 3 penalty points in a single instance and were required to move out of the dormitory for one week, regardless of the reason.
It was precisely this bag check that started it all. At the time, I had to finish my presentation materials by the next morning, but pressed for time, I couldn’t complete the work during the evening self-study period. Since it was an assignment that carried a very high weight in my grade, after much deliberation, I finally decided to bring my laptop into the dorm to finish the work. I cleverly tucked the laptop between my books and hid it in my bag so it wouldn’t be noticed, then went up to the dorm with a trembling heart to have my attendance taken. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like they were conducting a bag check, so I walked along feeling much more at ease. Just as I let out a sigh of relief—thinking, “Phew, what a relief. They never do bag checks on days like this when I really need my laptop”—the dorm supervisor, of all times, began inspecting the student right in front of me. It happened so suddenly that I had no time to react, and the laptop—which I’d been so confident I’d hidden so cleverly—was discovered in a mere five seconds. The moment it was found, tens of thousands of thoughts raced through my mind. “My house is too far away to commute—what am I going to do? If my laptop is confiscated, how will I do my homework for a while? How am I going to tell my parents?” After countless worries, the choice I made—embarrassingly enough—was to run away right then and there.
The biggest reason I’m ashamed to talk about this incident and feel like a failure is, above all, because I broke the rules. As long as we live as members of any organization, group, or society, following established rules is considered a natural obligation. But I ignored the dorm rules and brought in a laptop for my own personal purposes. This raises a question: Is breaking the rules always shameful and wrong?
If we look beyond the surface of rules, we see that they are ultimately a mechanism for maintaining a hierarchy and controlling members. In other words, the dormitory rule I broke was also a system created by the school to manage students. Of course, one might criticize this argument as overly narrow-minded. After all, one could argue that rules exist for the common good of the entire community. If laptops were allowed, students would be more likely to engage in non-academic activities, such as playing video games, late into the night, and the noise from typing could disturb roommates’ sleep; therefore, one could argue that the ban on laptops is justified for the common good of all students. From this perspective, I would be a selfish person who broke the rules solely for my own convenience.
However, this perspective is also incomplete. While this argument makes it seem as though students are the ones who determine the rules, it overlooks the fact that, in reality, the school—and, more broadly, society—is the one that sets them. The standard that students should not engage in non-academic activities like gaming and should focus solely on their studies is not something students created; rather, it is a value system established by society. In other words, it may not be the student who broke the rule who is fundamentally at fault, but rather the framework of the school and society that regards only academic achievement and success in competition as virtues. That is why I believe my actions must have appeared shameful and disgraceful to those who live their lives conforming to the standards demanded by society.
People may judge me as a disgraceful person simply because I broke the rule. However, the reason I consider myself unworthy is not simply because I broke the rules. On the contrary, I am proud of myself for rejecting the one-size-fits-all laptop ban—a rule that even harms students who genuinely need laptops for assignments or studying.
The reason I truly feel ashamed can be explained through the three stages of transformation presented by Nietzsche in *Thus Spoke Zarathustra*. The first is the stage of the camel. The camel silently carries the burdens of others as it crosses the scorching desert. Thus, the camel symbolizes a passive human who accepts social constraints without question. The second is the stage of the lion. The lion is a free being who has broken free from existing constraints, but it is an imperfect being incapable of creating new values. The final stage is that of the child. A child is a being endowed with both freedom and creativity, capable of creating new values.
In my view, I was at the stage of the lion—possessing freedom—in that I recognized the irrationality of the rules and sought to reject them. However, I did not reach the stage of the child, who creates new rules or actively seeks to change them. Ultimately, the reason I feel ashamed is that, rather than taking action to rationally change the rules, I chose to break them and run away from the situation.
Through Nietzsche’s discussion, it also becomes clear how I should overcome my shortcomings. That is, by moving from the stage of the lion to that of the child. When faced with a rule that I believe is problematic or in need of revision, the first thought that should come to mind is not, “How can I break this rule and get out of it?” Nor should it be the attitude that “since people have established this rule, I must follow it unconditionally.” The first question I should ask is, “How can I change this rule in a more reasonable and proactive way?”
Although I did not advance to the stage of the child and remained at the stage of the lion, I would like to view myself positively for being the first to highlight, through my actions, the irrationality of the dormitory’s laptop ban to my fellow students. Until then, students had taken the laptop ban for granted and accepted it passively. However, following my escape incident, students began moving one by one from the “camel” stage to the “lion” stage, and eventually even to the “child” stage. As a result, students continued to submit petitions, and about a year later, the laptop ban was relaxed to allow their use under the supervision of the dorm supervisor during periods when a specific need was recognized.
I am now confident. That’s right. I am no longer a runaway. I was the one who created the small catalyst that led to changes in our high school dormitory rules, and I am the one who planted the seeds of new possibilities.
