CONFESSION OF A SMOKER
I do not feel any qualm of conscience or harbor any guilt feelings at all in admitting that I have been a smoker through and through. In the same manner that I would not expect anyone who would comb their hair every morning, brush their teeth after every meal or takes a bath daily as something offensive. No sir. It is part of routine unhealthy or unsightly it may be for others.
Smokers whatever their station in life is there for all of us to understand. I constantly seek it also for objectivity sake. I know and I have to. I am a smoker since my teen and I have never contracted any enemy for being such. Well, there are those who are allergic to smoke that is why I move away from people, from a crowd unless of course they flock to me while I am smoking.
I tried a lot of brands but settled on the cheapest. I would literally be burning money so why not burn the inexpensive ones. Habits at times are pricey but it could also be procured in the least costly way.
Any smoker will tell us that they learned it by association. Others through exposure and the rest, from the sheer expression of fulfilling their craft. There are those who munch on junk food while watching television, fixing their nostrils while reading, pulling ancillary growths, playing with their ding-a-ling while day dreaming, twitching their hair while having a phone conversation, dry-cleaning their skin while listening on the radio, biting nails while writing and a lot more. Smokers at least have a better way of projecting themselves alone by themselves or in public.
I am not lobbying for any brand of cigarette. As a matter of fact they can close shop anytime for all I care. I do not need them anyway. I can fix my own stick at any given time as long as there are withered leaves around and it is no brainer. For me what is important is the smoke. (I prefer papaya leaves because its fume is smooth and not as strong, like leaves of hardwood trees. But I am constantly exploring. I am sensitive to take down memories through smell. Hence, the scent of pines reminds me of Baguio City in my youth. With that in my nasal cavity, I feel I am young again. ) I am not particular about the taste although it helps but it is at the bottom of my concern. I am at ease using the pipe also and it is my preferred medium actually but at times it is too messy and troublesome.
If some people see me with a pipe, their impression is that I am pedantic and a snob. It does not matter to me anyhow though but it troubles me a lot to see friends pout once in a while. But if there is nothing to light up, the pipe and any dried leaves will do. I am not an inhaler anyway, I am just a puffer. Puffers however eventually occupy the lower shelf in the pyramid of a taster’s chain. Their taste buds may have been affected by the smoke. Anyway, they are never intrigued nor attracted with any good or tasty food. They may try it occasionally but they would never crave for it. Puffers have retained their body mass and their shirts and pants during their college years could still fit even in their midlife. Call it what you may, I am still a smoker by any standard and I am at peace with that consideration. My blood pressure is that of a juvenile and mind you, I am a warrior but I look like I have never gone to any war.
There is art in smoke. There is also inspiration. It appears like a spirit, ghost like and it reminds anyone of mortality. If the smoker is confined in a small room, it serves also as a mosquito repellant. Although it poses as a challenge to one’s lungs, it is already the smoker’s personal concern. A non smoker can die of an accident while crossing the street also. While there are reports indicating early deaths as a consequence of the smoking habit, I also know a lot of people who are centenarians and sworn smokers of the worst kind too.
This is not an apology from a burner. This is an admission, a confession, if you may, from someone who is in love with fumes.