Last cigarette was at 8.45pm last night in front of an atypical 7-11 with an unlit signboard. Didn’t mean for it to be my last. Intended for it to hold me until I can get back to the AirBnB homestay place. No, the planned last cigarette was supposed to be filled with symbolism. A comfortable drag of nicotine and tar laced smoke at the very stroke of midnight.But alas, it was not meant to be.
When I got home, the girls were getting ready for bed after a long day at the Lost World of Tambun. I was lying in bed trying to finish The Emperor of All Maladies, which serendipitously was on how scientists linked lung cancer with cigarettes. And before I knew it, I floated gently on a metaphorical boat, swayed gently by the rise and fall of rhythmic breathing of my two little girls, into deep slumber.
I woke up feeling okay. The urge wasn’t really there. But it gets progressively worse as the day progresses. Sigh, can’t wait to get back and just chill…