Non-Smoking Me

I might have tried a stick or two before when I was younger. When me and my non-smoker friends experimented with one stick when we were in college and did not quite grasp the geez of nicotine. I have always thought we did it wrong. We did not even cough up when we took our turns to puffing the addictive substance. I have always thought we did it wrong.

I am sure we did. We did not inhale the smoke.

When I started training in my current job, all my other co-trainers were smokers. One of them pretended that he was not the smoker smoker but the ocassional smoker (whatever that means). What he meant was he only smokes when his peers are smoking around him. I am sure there is a term, but I forgot it now.

One of my co-trainees, a beautiful Italian damsel, Arrianna, told me that she was sure that in 2 (or I think she said 6) weeks time I would be smoking as well. I remember I replied with a non-verbal “No” synonymous to a smile. Armand was a smoker (he still is) and he was not able to entice me whatsoever. I have had close friends and colleagues from the Philippines and Malaysia who were slaves to the call of nicotine, and they too failed to invite me to their coven.

Why have I not tried it again? I secretly always ask myself. One of the answers that comes to mind is because I am afraid that I, too, will be hooked. And I always thought that I did not need another something that could be worrisome and cash-drainer. I think I was also afraid that I might acquire some lung sickness or heart diseases other than the things that I am already feeling and experiencing. I was also afraid that in case somebody might be crazy enough to reproduce with me, then smoking might hurt my little baby in case I would find it hard to stop. (I know the latter is overrated).

I know my answers are correct, as some of my smoker friends admit themselves, but again, my answers are crap. They are subjective and are mine.

So I don’t smoke. I am a step luckier than you.