Therefore I think

Last evening saw me lecturing an eighteen-year old boy to ‘let go a little more in love’ and to ‘not always think about the consequences of every spoken word’ because he’s ‘so young’ and that ‘even if you get your heart ripped out and completely pulverised, it’s still completely worth it’.

The said boy slumped in his chair, examined the terracotta floor tiles and replied, ‘But it’s such a waste of time.’
‘Nothing is wasted. You only become more aware of yourself with every person you let into your life.’
‘I’m eighteen, Chamique. I can’t be thinking about this now.’

‘There’s nothing to think about,’ I insisted, ‘you needn’t think so much. It’s very simple, really.’
‘Thanks for your concern and all. But you know what? I’ll think about this stuff when I finally get to being your age.’

How does one calculate one’s age in human years, again?