Maturity is all about accepting that life is going to hurl dollops of boredom at you, and you've just got to sit back and watch as it happens to you. I am not quite fond of the existentialist chaps whom I don't understand but I suppose I at times get why they were so cranky about life. Too much of maturity does that to you.
But of course, the happy-and-peaceful romantic comedies of the world are just going to make you believe that what is happening is funny, and in the long run you are going to spend your life crankily-happily-ever-after with the chick of your dreams, or something similarly fairytalish.
This is what I believed for a long time, till education happened to enter my mind like some obnoxiously stingy smell that you just can't avoid on the road even if you put your handkerchief in front of your nose like you are kidnapping your own self. With age comes excessive questions getting thrown at you about life and other profound nuisances. I ocassionally wish to retort that I can't think so much as I am going to die someday anyway. Might as well be peaceful in the meantime. Education and maturity nexus will question you as to what you want to be and become, whether a snooty academician who throws brillianty obscure post-modernist discourses on the dining table, or someone who works for a living, and then utilising the money to live life one's own way. It will be a bit sad if I find myself being defined and redefined by the small number of people I know, on the basis of my education or the lack of it.
Sometimes I wish to be more, or less, than a mere definition of educational degrees and professional jargons. Sometimes I guess one would like to stick to the childhood fairytale dreams that might give one a small life, but a valuable one, to me and to people I appreciate. But if scholastic intellectual brouhahas crept into everyday life, in every mundane experiences, then I suppose much of this world will remain unappreciated.