As I've written repeatedly, my childhood was far from being a happy one.
But time seems to have cleansed my history and my old memories come
back from time to time with a dearing connotation.
I have mixed feelings about this. Have I grown matured or have I simply aged?
I've always resisted to be matured as if maturity were a venom for me.
When I got old enough to realize how immatured I was, I naturally felt embarrassed.
Still, if I feel I'm as rational as many of my friends, it would be frightening indeed.