Confessions of a smoker.

Believe it or not, before starting this paragraph, I had been staring at the blinking cursor for a good 30 seconds. Lol. How do I go about this? I’ve been meaning to write about my bad habit for quite a while now and since I had a very interesting conversation about it with a cousin of mine this morning, I think it’s high time that I actually do it.

Yes, I smoke.

I started 5 years ago, 1st semester of my freshman year at university. Why? For kicks. No kidding, I did it to see what “smoking” was all about. It started from a not-so-innocent curiosity driven by stupidity, occasionally lighting stick after stick during parties or dinner out with close friends. It was as a secret, something I only did with people who did not fess up about it. My habit lasted 3 months each, with a smoke-free 3 month period in between each,  for a good 4 years. Until my fifth year — the longest year of my life — had me smoking every single day for the whole year. Up to this day since 2011, I have not had a smoke-free day.

What is it to you then, now that I’m telling you this? It’s because I want to quit. And I need to humiliate myself to you by posting this. I have been wanting to quit.  The so-called “cold turkey” did not work, family and friends’ nagging hasn’t been working either. It really is all up to me now and I’ve decided to embarrass myself by admitting to you guys that I am part of the 17.3M Filipinos who smoke on a daily basis — 95% of that figure was confirmed to have full knowledge of the habit’s bad effects to the body. There is no pleasure in admitting to you how stupid I am for consenting to this horrid habit of slowly killing myself (by starting on my pretty lungs).

Here are thirteen facts about my relationship with these sticks:

1 The moment I finish chewing the last portion of any meal, I need to smoke.

2  I cannot seem to fully enjoy coffee without smoking.

3 Before I write anything that requires serious thought, I need to smoke.

4 I had been rushed to ER due to reasons related to smoking.

5 I hate the smell that sticks to my fingers (ny hair is apparently impervious to smoke scent).

6 I feel shameful when a kid suddenly dashes across me just when I had puffed smoke.

7 I hate the constant “need” to find a convenient store to smuggle packs in my supposedly vice-free handbag

8 Some of my bags have empty cigarette boxes.

9 I am ashamed to see the reaction on my friends’ faces when they find out (for the first time) that I do smoke.

10 Cigarette ash is ugly.

11 The moment I light one, I just want to get it done and over with (yet I end up lighting another after).

12 The guilty feeling of spending that much money on sticks when some Filipinos in far flung areas cannot afford to pay P20 for a day of electricity.

13 Hearing and seeing people die of lung cancer makes me feel pathetic.

So yes, this is me and my case — I am not in any way  whatsoever proud of the fact that this has been my life for the past five years. And I hope that by publicly posting this, available for your scrutiny, I will be a step ahead in my struggle of releasing myself from the cancer sticks. Phew. I have a long way to go, don’t you think?

Reality bit me.

8 hours of sleep. FINALLY. After finishing my thesis draft this morning, I took my much awaited rest, woke up at 7pm, ate cereals, and watched this:

Reality Bites, 1994. The whole movie got me thinking of how ready I am for the “real world”. For majority of my whole life, I feel like I’ve been living in a bubble. Secured in my parents’ care, full of my siblings’ love, a teddy bear I’ve had since grade three, locked in the world of writers through my stash of books, volumes and volumes of diaries I’ve documented my life in.. the list could go on forever.

There was a point in my life, a very recent one, wherein I wanted to break away from everything that was “safe” and “secure” — concepts which I had been raised in for twenty-two years. I’ve been starving for meaning and I went out of my way to find it. Suffice it to say, once I stepped out of my comfort zone, I was ravished by the reality of it all. My constant belief that there is good in everything, in any person, and trust could easily be given away because of this “good”, turned out to be not much of a constant in the world. At least not in this one.

I’ve only been scared of two things: 1) ending up  being alone and 2) ending up with someone who isn’t right for me. I’ve exhausted number two in every possible way. And right now I’m facing the fear of the first. Although quite frankly, this hiatus on relationships had never felt this refreshing to me. In my recent break away from my “bubble”, I found how love and any feeling related to it can be manipulated just so people could avoid the fear of the first. You’d be amazed how relationships, the most basic yet insanely profound human need, can begin, grow, evolve, and “last” in lies of manipulation. That I became part of it is another story — more a story of idiocy based on my belief of “the good.” It astounds me to watch how some people, no matter how intelligent they can be, could swallow living their day-to-day lives in this masochistic madness. I’ve watched them walk blind in the dark, groping their way through everything just because they think they’re with the “right one.” I was, for lack of a better term, a speculator wanting to run for my life at the mere sight of them.

How is this related to the movie? I don’t know. Lol. But this is the closest encounter I’ve had with another face of reality that does bite. I suppose the reason why I’ve always been scared of commitment at this point is the possibility of losing myself way too early in life. To lose myself in a relationship that lacks mutual understanding of its meaning for both parties has got to be the worst nightmare I’d ever imagine sleeping myself in. Going blind and losing everything for the sake of romance isn’t the only thing life is about right? So I ended every encounter “prematurely” (as they say) but it really was nothing more than me doing myself and the other party a big favor.

Sometimes we get so scared of being alone, it stops us from living the one side of reality that could actually save us. The fear of the first has been gently rocking me through the waves as we speak. Maybe this could be my new bubble. And maybe this will prepare me for the next hurl.