Wednesday, April 8, 2009

The Story of My Cigarettes.

I had my first cigarette at 15 which was a Marlboro menthol - if my memory serves me right. My dad used to be smoker (which he has already given up for 20-odd years - and counting) and naturally I was curious about how a cigarette tastes.

For the longest time I didn't learn how to inhale the smoke - so I thought smoking was an easy thing until my friend reminded me to 'tah' (take it in), and I began coughing like crazy. So it didn't seem so easy anymore.

Back in the 90s cigarettes were available in smaller packs of 10, and while it was illegal to sell them by the stick, I have often noticed people doing just that. Dad used to run a coffeeshop near Jalan Ubi during my secondary school days, and it became a routine for the kids to go help out. Almost every weekend, before I head home, I would discreetly deposit $2 (or $2.50, I can't remember) into the coin box, sneak a packet of Marlboro 10s and casually walk off. Most of the guys my class were pretty sure that you haven't really hit puberty until you smoked a cigarette.

During Basic Military Training (or BMT for short), the fastest and the fittest guys were all smokers. They could do a Standard Obstacle Course under 8 minutes, run a 2.4km under 10, and did pull-ups like no one's business. And since I didn't smoke (then), I was lousy in every physical activity.

The army years were the wildest in terms of chain smoking. When I picked up the habit again, I could waste away a packet during an evening at Chaplin's (at Holland Village) or during those long nights spent at Lim Chu Kang Hill, even at the expense of smelling like a used cigarette butt at the end of the day.

I smoked like a chimney when I was in Toronto, because my mum (or most mums for that matter) can't smell smoke 9,000 miles away. The cheapest Canadian cigarette that I could find was du Maurier, and I would have a drag after I wake up, before I sleep and six more in between. I looked forward to smoking breaks with my library co-workers where we would buy a coffee, light up and watch the snow fall.

And if there was a next level, pot would be it. I hated the smell and I looked like a complete amateur, but it made me laugh at almost everything. My friend and I shared a joint at his place and I became incredibly hyper; I was too tired but I wouldn't sleep, my world was spinning in circles and I was in stitches whenever anyone said anything.

My Chinese friends would offer me cartons of cigarettes from their hometown - those were the real gems. Even the bloke who bumped a cigarette off me one time told me 'that's fantastic stuff'.

Cigarettes in Taiwan and Japan were cheaper than dirt. You could have shoveled some mud and use them to pay for 10 packets of cigs. "Chang Shou Yan", or "Long Life Cigarettes" (I love the irony), however, wasn't the most pleasant ones I ever had. The best thing I found in Taiwan was Davidoff Classics, which tasted a thousand times better than regular Marlboro. It lacked the strong, dry taste with most cigarettes gave after taking a drag. And let's not forget that the box was beautifully designed.In Japan, you could drop some coins into a vending machine and get a packet of cigarettes (amongst many other fanciful shit). I was spoilt for choice when I discovered one of them sitting in the hotel lobby. I had not smoked for more than 3 years, but this was too good to miss. The cigarettes blended perfectly with Tokyo's early spring's weather - clear, crisp, a little chilly and yet comforting.

By the time I returned to Singapore I still had half a packet left, which I gave to my colleague. At the risk of sounding politically-challenged (incorrect is too strong a word), I'm glad I've been through the smoking phase. It gave me the kick I needed while I was trying to complete my pointless philosophy essay, and it help to soothe my nerves when I was not working right.

But for now, whenever I need a kick, I just put something else in my mouth. Hazard a guess, you filthy, filthy brains.