INDONESIA - Fifteen years ago, I was what you would call a "bad example". I was the girl who spent countless hours in detention, whose home number was on speed dial at the principal's office and whose idea of a good time often involved cutting classes, climbing out of classroom windows five minutes before the final bell rang or doodling on school property with a permanent marker. Tsk, tsk.

Once, I was caught participating in a squirt-gun war with my fellow classmates. The objective was to get everyone else as wet as possible, with the winner the driest among the group. We bought the guns from a toy cart vendor near the school and filled them up with water every chance we had. At the end of each class, a winner would be decided.

Unfortunately, Mr. X - our homeroom teacher - caught us in the act. A short, stocky, bald man, Mr. X was both feared and ridiculed by the students. He walked into the classroom and saw what he called "the most uncivilized act he had ever encountered".

More than half of the class was escorted to the principal's office. Mr. X confiscated our weapons, stripped us of our ammo (bottled water) and told us what a disgrace we were. The principal, consequently, gave us a 30-minute lecture on proper conduct, what each violation entailed, and how it would affect our final grades. Then, we were sent off, like prisoners, to the schoolyard, where we were told to stand under the blazing sun for two consecutive class periods.

In a matter of minutes, beads of sweat began to crowd our foreheads and arms, drenching the backs of our shirts. One of the girls said she felt weak, but the rest of us promised her it would be over soon. It wasn't though, at least not for another 90 minutes.

"Have you learned your lesson today?" asked Mr. X at the end of the 90-minute ordeal, staring into the eyes of two dozen students covered in sweat. We nodded.

"Will you repeat such atrocious conduct on school property in the future?"

We shook our heads. "Alright, then that'll be all. I'll be holding you to your word, so the next time I find any of you involved in a heinous act, you'll be looking at a minimum of one-week detention."

We were dismissed, or I thought we were, until Mr. X told the girls to stay and let the boys return to class. He strode with his hands clasped behind his back, the top of his head glistening under the hot sun, his shirt collar wet from the dripping sweat. It was nearly noon.

"You girls amaze me," he began. "Do you have any idea how bad this makes you look" Prancing around with a squirt-gun, playing cowboys, indecently exposing yourself to the opposite sex?" He took a deep breath, his mouth twitching with disappointment.

"At this rate, I don't know what you're going to be when you grow up. Do you want to be a wild woman? Someone who adheres to no rules and no authority? Someone without respect for themselves or for other people?"

His face turned red, somewhere inside he was boiling. "No man on earth wants to marry a wild woman, you know. No decent, hard-working man wants to touch someone who acts as carelessly as you do."

He lowered his head, signifying that he had lost all hope in us. Then, he delivered the punchline: "Girls cannot behave like boys - it's unbecoming."

At the age of 13, we didn't really think about his little speech. Looking back at it, all grown up now, I wish I could have my moment in the sun once again with Mr. X.

First, how was it possible that innocent squirt-gun play translated to a future of wildness? Second, why was our future entirely dependent on landing a husband, as if we had no other option in life. Third, what was that about the decent, hard-working man unwilling to touch someone like us?

And, fourth, girls cannot behave like boys because it's unbecoming?

It occurred to me, much later in life, that there was a line of so-called acceptable behavior separating boys and girls. Invisible though the line might have been, it served as a barrier to separate the "good girls" from the "bad".

There was a stigma attached to girlhood which we often mistook for guidelines (chances are, despite girl power, there still is). For instance, girls were expected to speak slowly, softly and succinctly; to sit with our legs glued at the knees, because exceeding the maximum knees-stretching limit of one inch implied an informal invitation for the opposite sex to 'steal' our carnal treasure; to grow our hair, instead of cropping it shorter and shorter, for it is our crowning glory; to chew with our mouths closed, as if there was any other proper way of chewing food for both girls and boys; etc.

Now in my late 20s, I have a 'huh' feeling. Sure, a lot of things have changed since the 1990s. Today, girls are much stronger, smarter and bolder. They are not easily brought down by remarks such as the one Mr. X made that sunny day to the girls in my class, and they most certainly will not accept having their futures reduced and inexplicably attached to a single man (no matter how decent and hard-working he is.)

Perhaps, the women of my generation were setting a "bad example"?our report cards will show you as much. Yet, we might have also paved the way for today's generation to stand up against the male-machismo attitude that is prevalent in a partriarchal society such as ours.

But I think that maybe it takes a few "bad examples" to erase the invisible line segregating the skirts from the pants.

This article was first published in The Jakarta Post on June 28, 2008.