I love smoking, I do. But do I need it? Perhaps not. Apart from the very rare bouts of 'need to smoke because I ate too much' or 'i'd smoke instead, lest I say something horrible to you because you are ugly', I never really need it I believe. Except, for when I am being faaaabulouuuss (for want of a better word). Look at any black and white movie, everyone is smoking. Smoking is glamourous and I'd like to believe I'm a fairly glamourous person. Could that night at the balcony be equally thrilling if there weren't smoke signals passed between him and I? Wouldn't the silver outfit look a little incomplete with just a glass in one hand and no smoke in the other? Could the long conversations be the same without the Marlboros dangling from everyone's fingers? Of course, the sincerity of the post coital fag can't be ignored. And what about the thrill of sneaking a smoke at the most unnatural moments and places? Bumming cigarettes off friend's dad's collections, going to the loo and then making one another believe that it isn't smelling of the smoke thaat bad, collecting cigarette butts of the expensive ones we smoked.. too much is coming back to me now. And that's the point, smoking has witnessed too much of our lives. In that moment of rebellion against the father figure, we smoked; in that moment of love with the boy we wanted to travel the world with, we smoked... It can't be explained, but it is liberating. And of course, glamourous!
Of course your lips get dark, but you will find a pair of smoker lips to kiss. Or a pair of lips that love you for you. Of course, girls shouldn't smoke because of pregnancy issues, but then who needs more kids in this already noisy and dirty world? Of course, even the packs tell you that smoking kills, but then so does walking on the streets of Bombay.
I decided to quit day before. I am not quite sure of my reasons. But I have only smoked one cigarette since. I guess I'm cutting down then. But in the moments that demand the air to get smoky, I am sloowllyyy going to release enormous amounts of smoke from my nose and mouth, not to show off like I tend to do about my drinking capacity ''that's pretty good for a girl'', but to expose the little private achievements of a young girl, who at one time or the other, walked around in fake jewelry, makeup and high heels on a morning at home; with a toothpick in her hand that posed as a cigarette.
...When I am being faaaabulouuuss (for want of a better word).