When I was younger, I forgot a kettle on the cooker overnight. By morning, it was red hot and sparkling. All the external soot and internal sediments had burned off completely. I never told anyone.

I switched off the cooker and thanked God that the house hadn’t burn down. I knew if my mom found out, she would place an indefinite moratorium on me using the cooker. (She once banned us kids from swimming when my elder sister almost drowned.) The consequence was, I only learned to swim as an adult.

I’m not sure my mother would have understood, that the sheer terror I felt in the moment I discovered the kettle, would ensure I never repeated the mistake.

Sometimes the magnitude of your mistake is your best teacher and not the punishment you receive. You vow never to make the same mistake twice.