In Memory of My Last Yosi

Published May 13, 2008
INQUIRER.net

I still remember my last cigarette. I was at Narita Airport, waiting for my flight home to Manila. Declaring it to be my last, I smoked it up to the edge of the filter then stubbed it out in the ash tray. I watched the last wisp of smoke expire, before I finally walked away.

That was 18 years ago, on May 9, 1990.

Now, the fact that I still remember the date, and even some of the details of that moment, is bad news: It means I’m still vulnerable. After nearly two decades of being nicotine-free, of being a proud and committed non-smoker, the craving is most likely still there. Dormant maybe, but still breathing and waiting to be reawakened (like Voldemort perhaps).

The fact that I even decided to write about this, on the anniversary of my last yosi, is a disturbing sign. But that’s what smoking does to you. Even after giving up, the memory of how good it felt, the craving, lingers on for years. There are even some nights, and I know some ex-smokers go through this, when I actually dream that I went back to the habit. Actually, it’s more of a nightmare with the sensible part in me yelling, “Oh no, not after all these years!”

Growing up in Quezon City, I was exposed early to a world of heavy smokers. My father smoked and so did my brothers-in-law. As a boy I would secretly retrieve my father discarded cigarette butts, relight them and smoke them. I know – that was stupid, not to mention unsanitary and very unhealthy.

It was not until I went to UP and joined the Philippine Collegian that I became a fully-committed smoker. Surrounded by smokers during all-night press work, especially during the height of the protest movement against the Marcos dictatorship, the temptation was simply overwhelming. From a few sticks a day, I quickly moved up to half a pack.

By the time I began working as a journalist, I was consuming a pack day. It was inevitable really. In Manila, at least back in the ‘80s (and I suspect this is still true today) smoking, drinking and journalism pretty much came as one package. After a day covering the often tumultuous days of the post-Marcos era, heading to the nearest beer house for a night of San Miguels (or Gold Eagles) and packs of Marlboros or Camels became a way to unwind.

The thought of quitting was always present of course, especially after it became more difficult for me to walk up a flight of stairs without ending up gasping for air. Then there was the fear of cancer. Some non-smoker friends would have event taunt me, “Boying, make a political statement by quitting smoking. How can you call yourself progressive?”

But as Mark Twain said, quitting smoking is easy – he did it many times.

So did I.

The first time I survived roughly two months without lighting up, I was so proud of my accomplishment that I decided to give myself a reward – I allowed myself a smoke. And just like that, I was back in the clutches of nicotine.

I realized eventually that I could never be like many friends of mine who can become social smokers, smoking only when with fellow smokers at a party or some other gathering, but who can just easily turn the craving off once the party is over. Sadly, I couldn't do that. I could only either be a non-smoker or a heavy smoker. No middle ground.

Eventually, money and Manila smog turned out to be the keys to my escape.

When I smoked my last cigarette at Narita airport, I was on my way home after a long visit to the United States. I knew from experience that the heat and the polluted air would make it tough to smoke in Manila. So it was an opening I could exploit.

Then, I was also set to return to the US in a few months to begin graduate studies at UC Berkeley. In other words, I was a bout to begin a new chapter in my life as a starving graduate student and expat. Smoking had suddenly become a luxury I could no longer afford.

And so it was that at Narita Airport, I said good bye to nicotine.

I have actually embraced a radical attitude: I have literally not touched a cigarette or a cigarette pack in the past 18 years. (Well, maybe I did a couple of times when I had to hand a pack over to someone.)

But that hard-line approach, I believe, is key. Because I only know too well that once you become a regular smoker, even for only a few years or months, you will forever be vulnerable. Vigilance is important.

Perhaps someday I can confidently say once and for all that I no longer have to worry. And as I honor the memory of my last yosi and the day I said goodbye to smoking nearly two decades ago, I also look forward to the day when I actually will no longer remember.

Copyright 2008 by Benjamin Pimentel