A tall man stands outside in the cold weather, wearing a hooded jacket and jeans in the chilly air. With a cigarette dangling in between his fingers and a faraway look in his eyes, he takes a drag and watches the smoke disappear into the air. Then, in order to get rid of the smell staying in his thick clothes, the man sprays on somewhat heavy cologne and washes his hands profusely with strongly-scented soap. He also goes to the sink and spits out spearmint mouthwash. However, the effects of the smoke remain no matter what, and can never completely go away. I used to be that man. I smoked for many years of my life before quitting cold turkey three years ago. It has been awhile since I have stopped smoking, but I still remember the taste and smell like yesterday, almost like second nature. I remember the way I would stop over at the gas station after work, looking over the Marlboros available in their shiny blue and green boxes, almost resembling unwrapped candy. I think the cigarette companies intentionally make the boxes look that way despite their health warnings, for everyone judges a product by its cover. Sometimes I would forgo the menthols and smoke the Marlboro Reds, the strongest kind, which isn't every smoker's cup of tea. Before work, I would buy a new pack along with a cup of black coffee to start the day. Coffee and cigarettes are two famous vices a lot of people seem to start the day with anyway.
It wasn't at all unusual to me. After all, growing up, I experienced smoking in my house. My Mom and my Stepdad were healthy people, and my Mom smoked. Smoking inside and outside of the house was the norm. They grew up in a time in which there weren't scary commercials or advertisements for cigarettes, a time period in which pregnant women smoked in public without getting a second glance on the street. Anyone at that time could see the characters of "I Love Lucy" smoking without a care in the world. It was not only a social thing, but a normal thing. Looking at my healthy Mom back then, you would have no idea that she would be in the condition she is now. It is a difficult image to bear, the type that no one conceives of in their childhood.
My Mom has severe emphysema and needs an oxygen tank in order to function around the house. She can hardly walk and is always out of breath. It is hard to see her like this. It is a dire, grave condition to be in. Yet, in the irony of it, she refuses to quit. She has a whole carton of cigarettes of the house and doesn’t plan on letting go of it soon. Painful health conditions are not enough to convince her to do so, and smoking is a lifestyle habit that she only knows. It is very hard to accept. From an objective point of view, her lifestyle is a juxtaposition of contradicting images, one containing an oxygen mask and another holding a Camel cigarette, the kind that supposedly tastes like chocolate. My Stepdad does not smoke but is affected by the second-hand form of it. He has smoke-related asthma and headaches. He has to be dependent upon inhalers and other prescription medications containing tapered doses of Prednisone. There are times in which he will cough and wheeze repeatedly through the day and have to be sent to the hospital. There have been occurrences of unexpected asthma attacks and I would have to drive him to the Emergency Room. On most days, he has to take Benadryl and Claritin, all over-the-counter drugs so that his allergies would become more manageable. All because of smoking, all because of a habit, all because of nicotine and possibly other additives we have no idea rolled up into a fancy-looking tube. My Stepdad's condition does not seem to be all that uncommon. It is a reflection of how smoking both inside and outside can affect others without us realizing it. We tend to think that something so small couldn't add up to something big, that a few particles of smoke couldn't really harm someone. It's probably analogous as to thinking that eating McDonald's French Fries everyday wouldn't hurt us since it couldn't be the worst thing to eat in the world, or to thinking that too many beers a day isn't the same as drinking a whole of bottle vodka, so it must be okay in the end. Life is never like that. I have learned that things, both good and bad, tend to accumulate. We don't tend to see it when we're very young, but things add up. It's like having a few dollars become a few thousand over time. Or it can be like spending twenty dollars here and there before realizing you've spent over a thousand dollars. In the same way, a habit, depending if it's a good one or bad one, can make or break us. And if we smoke outside, especially, what we exhale can harm a passerby's health. We may not be the single factor in causing someone's asthma or lung cancer, but we contribute to it.
Another experience I have known about dealing with smoking outside is not my own first-hand, but one belonging to one of my friends. About ten years ago, my friend, a native Californian, went on a road trip so that she could accomplish her lifelong dream of finally visiting New York City. After a few days, she finally arrived in the Big Apple. She was very excited as she and her friends got out of the car. But instead of feeling welcomed, she was immediately hit by a thick waft of cigarette smoke by a pedestrian who was smoking it, not caring that she was only a mere few inches away from him as he blew the smoke out of his mouth. She was literally in a cloud. He acted like she was not there at all, walking on the sidewalk and not even turning his head to look. No apologies or “excuse me” were given. Not only did it sensitive her allergic rhinitis, it also reddened her face due to her chronic eczema. While she ended up enjoying her trip and tried not to let the incident bother her, it was hard for her to forget. She thought it was very inconsiderate and very rude. From some smokers’ points of view, it may have simply been an accident. When someone is lighting up a cigarette, nothing else may inhabit the mind besides lighting it. However, I have never been that disrespectful whenever I smoked outside. I always made sure that no one was directly in front of my face, and always put out my cigarette properly instead of just randomly throwing it in a public area or throwing it in the dirt without putting it out. But to some people, I can see why one bad experience with a smoker may represent all smokers to them. It is because the habit is stigmatized and looked down upon, and anything associated with it isn’t necessarily positive. I did quit three years ago, I have smoked for over twenty years ever-since I was a teenager. I smoked because virtually everyone in my circle of friends and age group was doing it, it wasn't a premeditated habit or image I strived for just to be "cool". Plus, my Mother and I bonded over smoking despite any problems between each other at the time before watching the ashes burn out inside a glass ashtray. But even though I no longer buy Marlboros with my coffee or take little smoke breaks at work, I can't say I have never paid the price. I currently suffer from asthma and it can be difficult to deal with sometimes. A lot of people do have it, but we don't have to have it. It is a condition that can be prevented by not smoking inside or outside, period. There is no way around it, no in-between Smokers and non-smokers alike suffer from the consequences of it, and the message needs to be understood more, loud and clear. When it comes to staring at one’s life in the face, it isn’t ash at the bottom of a dish that is being looked at, it is the ash-like sand pouring down the bottom of an hourglass that is all too real.