As we grow older, life has a way of teaching us lessons that textbooks never could. One of the harshest revelations is the subtle, creeping normalisation of corruption in our personal and professional lives. But is this acceptance a sign of maturity, a necessary adaptation to survive in the real world, or is it a quiet surrender to the very flaws we once vowed to fight against?

When I was in Year 9, I was fearless. I led 2,000 schoolmates in a standstill protest, refusing to attend classes until our genuine demands for a computer lab and a biology lab were met. It wasn’t just about the facilities; it was about challenging the status quo, standing up for what was right. Later, in my A-levels, I confronted a teacher who wasn’t fulfilling their duties, driven by the belief that wrongs should be challenged to make them right. Back then, my sense of justice felt like a superpower—bold, unyielding, and righteous.

But the working world tells a different story. My initial, uncompromising attitude got me into trouble. I faced unemployment because I dared to challenge a boss who was wrong. Even when employed, my progression was painfully slow. Despite knowing the A to Z of Sainsbury’s store operations, consistently achieving KPIs, and mastering every department, I was told I needed to “learn more” before I could advance. I fought for every inch of progress, fueled by the same fire from my school days. But the victories were few, and the battles left scars.

Eventually, the relentless struggle wore me down. I changed my approach, not out of choice but out of necessity. The pressure to provide, the fear of missing opportunities, the looming threat of job insecurity—these became my new reality. I started compromising my ethics, building connections not based on merit but on mutual benefit. I did what was needed to climb the ladder, even if it meant manipulating numbers to satisfy those above me. And just like that, I started progressing. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, unethical practices became a part of my routine. The very principles I once fought for faded into the background, replaced by survival tactics masked as professionalism.

So, is this normalisation of corruption a sign of growth or defeat?

On one hand, understanding the complexities of the world can be seen as maturity. The black-and-white moral clarity of youth gives way to the greys of adult life, where decisions often involve navigating compromises. But on the other hand, when awareness turns into apathy, when we no longer feel the sting of doing wrong because “everyone does it,” isn’t that a form of defeat?

The truth is, corruption isn’t always about grand scandals or political fraud. It’s in the small, everyday choices we make—turning a blind eye, cutting corners, staying silent when we should speak up. It becomes normal not because it’s right, but because it’s easier. Because fighting every battle is exhausting, and survival sometimes demands conformity.

Yet, amid this reflection, there’s a flicker of hope. A reminder that recognising the problem is the first step toward reclaiming our integrity. Maybe we can’t change the world overnight, but we can choose to be a little braver, a little more honest, even if it’s just in the small things.

I often wonder: did I grow up, or did I give up? Perhaps it’s both. But acknowledging this conflict within myself keeps me grounded. It reminds me that while corruption may be normalised, it doesn’t have to be accepted. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where real growth begins.

What about you? Have you accepted corruption as normal, or are you still fighting in your own way?