Today, I grew silent as people around me describe how their habits have changed. No more games. Listening only to npr. Of course, being green. Buying things because they last, not because it was on sale or a deal. Because it was there and they wanted it.

Have I become like Benjamin Button? Am I aging backwards? Is it better to ignore that perhaps I haven’t matured or am I retroactively immaturing?

Yesterday, a friend who I hadn’t spoken to since I was 18 said I was still the same. Of the same beliefs. With so-called experience, what changes? Does experience equate maturity?

I asked out loud today with dinner with my parents when I heard my second cousin just had a kid—is it better to be an old parent or a young parent?

To which my mom quipped, a mature parent, of course.

I thought by turning 25, I would stop learning about new music and start listening to NPR. I only started listening (and loving) This American Life and still liked discovering new music (although suddenly I disliked going to concerts where pushing and shoving are part of the experience). I am getting in touch with people I thought I had burnt bridges with and people I would have never connect with ever. Yet, I still live in a barely furnished apartment with cheap furniture.

But I guess, I can’t be pretentious?