The Life of A Cigarette

I sit by the terrace of our house one day when I saw my lighter and cigarette lying on my table... I garbbed it and started lighting the cigarette; puffed and blew the smoke from it, watching the smoke as it was blown away by the breeze of the wind....


I then remembered my mom and dad when they found out this habit of mine. Hahaha... Just couldnt imagine the looks on their faces when they keep on saying, over and over again that smoking can kill me (well, thats a fact that I do know before being married to my lighter and cigarettes). But still, i continue my bad habit of smoking, smoking and smoking...

I continued what i was doing. Puff by puff, i see that the cigarette stick became shorter and shorter, and i feel like grasping for fresh air. Felt like an invisible hand is grasping my neck; suffocating me yet i dont want to stop what causes my discomfort...

I remember when people used to tell me what to do. J do this and J do that though its against my will to do those things... Its like i am an actor on stage with directors telling what my next act would be... I dont have the freedom of choosing the steps that i would like to take. I am somehow like a remote controlled robot; one press of the button and there i go, one more press and ill stop. Hahaha..

Go against the flow and resist what others say. Follow your own heart and mind though you might fail and commit mistakes. But thats the way; the only way I know to make my way and learn reality on this world.

Yes. It was not easy to go against what other people would like me to be; what THEY would like me to do. But I have my own life, and sooner or later, I have to decide for my own self. Better be free from the chains on my hands and feet from going and grabbing what i want. I have to go out of range from the remote control that orders me what to do and when to do it. I have to think and decide for myself. And the best time to do it is right now. No extensions, no more waiting...

I reached for the ash tray right beside me and put the almost-puffed-up cigarette butt on it. I see as the burnt part turned black and grey as I twist the cigarette butt on the ash tray. I breathe deeply; breathe deeper and deeper till i fill resh air on my lungs. I turned around and closed the terrace doors and thinking about a closed chapter; a book written by other people: a book of different authors where the only character is me.

I headed on our front door, then thinking about the chapter that I have written and started on my own.

I reached to my pocket. Grabbed a cigarette and lit it. Just like the life that I have now; every door I opened is like a new stock of cigarette. Fulfillment is there but whenever i try to consume a stick, failures and trials are just around the corner. Each stick represents a new chapter in my life; lessons learned, failed ideals etc etc...

The life of a cigarette is indeed comparable to my life in a way. A book that is in writing with every stick that I puff. A book that has no definite ending just as to my habit. A choice that I have made. A story that I write, will write, and will finish on my own...