on maturity

I initially wrote 'on growing up' as the title, but it brought to mind some channel 5 drama from years past. Never watched the show, but every commercial, without fail, had some crying woman pulling at the shirt of a man wearing a pink polo-t and striding determinedly out of a redecorated phua chu kang house. I remember that as being very tacky, so I changed the title.

Growing up means learning things that one would rather never learn. Like the fact that movies and comics are fictional, so ugly guys don't end up with pretty girls, and you can't really dodge bullets or become super-strong if you irradiate yourself.

One also discovers that there is a mystical link between the buying of food and the consumption of food. It's called cooking and it requires years of training. The money plant that you have believed in all your youth also happens to be a myth. Tough.

I read in some book in Borders that you can tell the age of people by their position in a double-deckered bus.

If you sit on the top deck, in the front, you haven't grown up yet.
Top deck, at the back, you've grown a little, you're a teenager.
Top deck, in the middle, you're a young adult.

Bottom deck, at the back, you've grown up, you're an old fogey.
Bottom deck, in the front, you're ancient and when you go to the museum people think you're an escaped exhibit.

Bottom deck, in the front right, you've probably grown up to become a bus driver.

More adventures in the concrete jungle

They did have one thing in common:

They had to prove themselves to themselves.

One, that he has it,
The other, that he still has it.

One returns triumphant and content,
The other is a little confused, in not a much better state than the one in which he came in.

The good part was that the scent still lingered despite the physical distance. It instiled an energy and vivace much like a shot of adrenaline. As well as some dopamine, when the good memories associated with the smell were recalled.

Club Med is awesome.