Awhile ago...

...the rain was nasty.


My ex for four years puffed Philip Morris. She inhaled the cancer smoke before I did. Having grown from a family of smokers, it was not too long for me to learn and live a smokers lifestyle.

Athan, on the other hand, is a non-smoker. He protests the fact that he's the one who lives a healthier life--no smoke, zero alcohol.

But back in College, I refused the persistent calls of the white smoke--out of modesty and sheer shame. While I failed pathetically in resisting alcohol, I stood firm that until I will be earning my own money--enough for me to afford to buy my own stick--I am not going to smoke.

And so I tried the long white stick. I loved the cool taste of the nicotine and loved it for more than a year until the menthol--perhaps the menthol (well, I am guessing)--left blisters on my lips and mouth, aside from the cough.

For awhile, I stopped smoking and it wasn't too long for me to find joy from sucking Marlboro White. Most of those in my circle also puff their vitamin from this brand that it sort of unifies us.

There are, however, a couple of them who treats the short white stick differently. And by differently, I mean just differently. Like, its weird.

The first one won't smoke her stick without dipping the filter's tip on a cold beer or water, or fruit juice or tea. I bet, in the absence of anything cold, she would settle dipping it on her own pee (god, i hope she won't read this).

The second one, I just encountered this morning. My housemate. As I opened the fridge, I found an opened pack of Marlboro inside. I didn't know that housemate smokes cold metholated zig. But perhaps he just slid the pack inside to, well, "preserve" the nicotine?

Having consumed my last stick, I grabbed the cold pack and took one. Lit it. Smoked. Went to the toilet. Puffed. Puffed. Smoked. Coughed. Puffed. My mouth tasted cold. My butt felt cold.