Being an [adult] essentially means being [mature]. [Maturity] is extremely hard to define or discern. Given a choice between the 26-year-old student who's going directly from Mum's lap into Dad's [law] firm without ever having had to earn a [penny] himself and the 23-year-old who learned the masonry trade at 16 and now already has a broken back and is struggling to get a start-up enterprise going (I know one of those), it's clear -- the ex-mason clearly is more of an adult.

Is he really? (Now I'm drifting into fiction.) The cute little ex-mason has, for some eight years now, been treating people of both sexes like dirt -- picking up and dumping [girlfriend]s all over the place, all the time; deceiving his friends in any way imaginable. He clearly is responsible for himself, since he lives on the money he earns. But other than that, he's as egoistic as a little child.

The student, on the other hand, may look like an arrogant, useless git. But he knows what his [duties] are. He votes; he abides by the law; he'll always pay his taxes; he will pay for his ex-wife and children, should he ever have to [divorce]. He knows a fair bit of the inner workings of our [society]. And even if he's never had a supporting role in it -- when a crisis comes up where his help is needed, he'll try to help. Probably, he'll just go down, his [flag] gallantly waving, because his skills are rather limited. But the ex-mason-turned-entrepreneur will probably just run away if something looms at the horizon.

What does this tell us? [Not damn much.] Maturity is a way of thinking and not a material way of living.

When am I an adult?