I Smoke Because It's Bad, It's Really Simple

Food for Thought



YES, I smoke.

In fact, I just finished my pack of Marlboro Advanced premium cigarettes few minutes prior to writing this article.

Smoking runs in my family. My dad’s a smoker, his dad’s a smoker and I can pretty much bet that if I’d met his dad, he would have turned out to be a smoker too. Yet, I await a reaction from my dad when he finds out that I, myself, am carrying out the legacy into an imminent future. Exactly, I haven’t told my dad about this auspicious quality I concentrate upon in college.

It’s a thrill, you know? Smoking in my own balcony. My parents can find out about this in any instance. But what do I get experiencing such thrill? No one has to remind me of the consequences I might procure; I see them published on the pack every time I attempt to light one.




I bet it does. Unless all the humanitarians are a bunch of old fools trying to implicate laws of their time for a bit of entertainment in their sterile lives. But I guess I still do it because of the variety of thoughts I get while I’m at it.

Thoughts and ideas are precious, but must one smoke in order to get them? Well, for me, that’s the only time I get those ideas. It helps me think, or I believe I can think only when I’m smoking. The thrill is indeed varied for people. Even in the hostel, the thrill of getting caught by the authorities keeps me on my feet. I did, in fact, get caught once, but that’s a story for another article perhaps.

Only a few days ago I was watching ‘The Wind Rises’ by Hayao Miyazaki (of Studio Ghibli) and apart from the movie being impeccable, it left its scar on my heart. I quickly removed my pack and a lighter and rushed to my balcony. It was a starry night and as I sat there looking at a particular star, the brightest of them all, I had this authentic epiphany. I knew I had committed many sins in my nineteen years of existence and this was a chance to pay my homage to my life, which I had constantly abused. All the thrill; getting caught by parents, getting caught by the authorities, impressing fellow mates, looking serious and cool, getting noticed by girls; everything gone out in a poof as I approached this mental singularity.

The clouds were passing across the star and it was switched on and off - its magnanimous light upon the threshold of our sins. Maybe that’s what smoking does to us. I felt the flickering of my soul due to the passing smoke in my system. Maybe it does let me think after all, for this was a sign of self-awareness. My existence is too precious to be dependent on just mere sticks of tobacco.

Luckily, that was my last cigarette in the box; if there were more than three I think I wouldn’t have quit. Can you see? It’s not about quitting, it’s about the epiphany, the principle of it; mingled in the paradox of this unruly irony.

Maybe it was meant to be that way. For me to realise the effects of smoking while doing the activity itself. Now I must confess that I had to smoke one before I could write this article or else I wouldn’t be doing any justice to this subtle part of mine. But I can safely say that the thrill is now gone.

In the prime, they exist and after, they fade away.

But you just keep on smoking, hoping they would come back someday. Memory perhaps?

Alas, they never do.

(P.S. I do know it’s not cool to smoke and that girls aren’t impressed by it.)

Photography By: Mit Ladola