Missing Marlboros

I used to be a smoker. My love-hate affair with Marlboro Lights began in senior year of high school when I nicked my mom's pack from behind her bedroom mirror. (Yes, my mom was one of those behind the closet smokers like all her fellow Korean women her generation.) When my best friend Kim came to pick me up in her new Mazda, I quickly shoved the said packet in the back pocket of my flare jeans, which was retro in vogue at the time, as I faced Mom and said 'see ya later'.

On the highway on our way to the mall- alas, where else would you go in a suburb?- we began smoking ceremoniously: me my mom's Marlboro Lights and Kim her New Port Menthol Lights. Yuck, I never felt so sick and nauseous in my life! I felt like my whole gut was about to turn out. Literally tasting the nausea in my mouth, though, I persevered. I wouldn't be cool if I had to stop, you see. Half a year went by like that until we graduated from high school. Kim, in the mean time, began bleeding from her throat and had to stop smoking. I, on the other hand, slowly got used to the cigarette smoking. I became a pack-a-day smoker. The Marlboros kept me company at various moments and in all kinds of life journeys. They were my most intimate best of friends, so to speak.

Then, after smoking for ten years, my body told me I needed to give 'em up. Several attempts were made to quit until I actually did. The truth was I didn't really want to quit. I liked myself as a smoker. I was still smoking one or two sticks a day when I found out that I was pregnant. Feeling guilty and remorseful, I quit totally cold turkey. I haven't touch them since.

So what is the issue? Lately, I REALLY REALLY miss smoking. With the weather here in Israel getting suddenly cold last week, the urges came on strongly. I had always enjoyed smoking more somehow in the winter than in the summer. I don't want to become a smoker again, though. Plus it wouldn't be so cool if Liam someday nicks my pack of Marlboros.