17.05.12
It was inevitable that I would try smoking – I just needed an opportunity. When I was in Grade 8, I got my chance. My best friend’s mother was a heavy smoker and left cigarettes around her house in various drawers. Our curiosity got the better of us and we borrowed a few from a pack we found in the living room. Which led to borrowing more. Regularly.
When I was 14, most of my evenings were spent in my friend’s smoke-filled bathroom. With an open window and a towel under the door, we’d watch ourselves in the mirror, perfecting our technique. We spoke with elaborate hand gestures, enjoying the added drama of holding a cigarette. We practised blowing Os. At 10 p.m., I would drown myself in perfume and walk home with my secret safely masked under a barrier of coconut and floral aromas. The whole thing felt taboo.
Smoking was my first act of teenage rebellion. It brought excitement into my otherwise mundane, predrinking-age life. It was the nineties and the health implications of tobacco use had become apparent. But the well-meaning anti-smoking campaigns aimed at young people inadvertently sensationalized the habit. Smoking was now legitimately “bad,” and it had never been cooler. My friends and I would unapologetically light up in the bus station, in doorways and right outside the movie theatre.
Source: Globe and Mail