- 12 Jun, 2023
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- 8 Mins Read
How to Quit Smoking?
Dreams can transport us to fascinating worlds. However, in my case it’s always the opposite. I usually don’t dream unless I eat something my tummy disagrees with. Last night, I took a few bites of the sourdough bread I made myself. The bread had possibly too much yeast in it, as I was visited by the famous longevity and yeast expert Dr. David Sinclair. In my dream he happens to be one of those annoying friends, who always tell the uncomfortable truth, with a sadistic grin. He said in his Australian accent, “You have big bags under your eyes, deeper jowls below your chin and tons of wrinkles around your eyes and mouth. You are old, mate. And yeah, your chance of getting cancer is a hundred times higher than younger people.” I woke up terrified, deep in perspiration, and rushed to the toilet. It was a relief to see that the face, although on its way out, wasn’t as terrible as described by David in the dream. I also felt relieved about the cancer bit because I quit smoking more than 15 years ago.
The memories took me back to my smoking years when I worked for a tobacco company. Sitting in the office, I was looking at more than twenty different varieties of tobacco leaves. My manager took pride in his knowledge of those leaves and explained their properties as if they were the elixir of health and vitality. During conversation one sentence got stuck in my mind. He said, “have you noticed the director’s teeth? They are all black, a sign of expertise.” It soon hit me that I was in a dark place. This was a place where vampire teeth are a matter of pride, just like a gangster would count his killings. There were similarities, though. We were making slow poison, the only difference was that the gangsters at least have the morality to dispatch their victims without inflicting years of torture and damage.
My good luck turned out to be my naivety. Being young and idealistic, which is translated as “stupid” by my friend Joel, saved me from the dangerous path I stumbled upon. The “stupidities” according to Joel’s definition, but “naivety”, according to mine, made me a few enemies which later turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Their underhand, clever manoeuvres hit me hard where I was most vulnerable, my naive exposed flank. Soon, the dark dungeon they used to call the market leader became a source of anxiety, frustration, and social isolation for me. I decided to quit the job and, with it, their poisonous product. I was the source of revenue for smoking their brand and I wasn’t planning on making them rich.
I was once told by a young child that I should not smoke as the people making cigarettes put a tiny bug which we inhale. The insect creeps into our brain and scratches it until we give it smoke. The more it scratches the more we smoke. I laughed at the child’s innocence back then. However, within a few hours of my quitting smoking, I did feel a strange scratching sensation in my head. The tobacco company must have put something in it and the child’s theory made sense now, I pondered. I decided to tolerate it for as long as I could. However, around midnight the scratching intensified. This is when I cursed myself for throwing away the cigarette packet in an emotional rage earlier. Soon, to my amazement, I was picking used cigarette butts from the floor and to my brain bug’s delight, the used bit of cigarette had a few puffs left in it. I lit it and smoked furiously till the scratching eased, although temporarily.
The next morning, I devised a plan. I will trick the worm by giving it a little bit at a time. The plan was to give the bug enough, so it did not scratch my brain. I reasoned that worms don’t live that long anyway, and it would die away in a few days. The plan was to reduce the number of cigarettes gradually. I had my first cigarette in the morning and decided to have another after lunch. To keep my mind off it, I decided to play a little golf. As I was driving towards the course, I met traffic jam. It was at this point that the bug activated after a brief respite. I guess, being part of my brain now, the bug got infected with some of my worst qualities. My claustrophobia and anxiety got him, and he started scratching furiously. It was at this point, I thought, that I could smoke the cigarette assigned for lunch now and skip it later, reasoning that the situation was too stressful now compared to the serenity of after lunch. I reached for the packet and lit one.
The game went by without any incident. I was happy that I spent a couple of hours without a cigarette. As I was basking in the victory over cigarettes, my friend’s words snapped me out of it. He said,“Fancy a bite? They’ve got lovely burgers at the clubhouse”. “Yes, sure, why not?” I replied. “Burgers go down well with a beer,” he grinned. “Yeah, sure,” I replied. Soon we were gulping the burgers and got lost in drunken conversation. My attention however, soon turned away from our conversation as I felt an intense scratching in my head. It was loud, wild, and constant. I guess the alcohol was either irritating the bug or it got him drunk. Next morning, apart from the bug’s drunken spree, I could not recall anything happening the previous night. I had a strong headache and I reached for the packet, and was amazed to find only one cigarette left in it. I am still clueless to this day as to what happened to the cigarettes in the packet.
One possibility is that the drunken bug had probably outsmarted me. Possibly, he took advantage of my drunken vulnerability and feasted on the cigarettes. I decided to up my game and call in the professionals. In the clinic, the nurse kept on asking me personal questions which spooked the bug. Possibly, the bug realized that he was being exorcised. The longer the nurse went on the harder the scratching, just like in the movies. My head was about to explode, but then she reached for the drawers and took a box out. It was akin to the priest with holy water. The bug soon realized that it would be sprinkled with that water and it started kicking furiously. “Excuse me,” I said, “I’ll be back from the toilet.” She replied, “It will be quick,” and plastered a patch on my arm. She smiled and said, “This will treat the devil, use it when the urge arises.” I couldn’t wait for the patch to kick in and ran out of the clinic to light one.
Finally, I’ll get rid of the bug with these patches, I though on the way home. The patches did work for a day, or maybe the bug was tired from his previous day’s exertion. However, the next day, he came back with a vengeance. I threw away the patch box, believing that it was irritating the bug. No one is comfortable looking at the very instrument through which they will be executed, let alone a super smart bug created by the tobacco companies. I decided to have a cigarette to calm the bug and think of ways I could finally end the habit. The bug stopped bothering me after the smoke, but the guilt was overwhelming. I had to find a solution, I resolved, as the guilt was painful. This is when I realized what it means to be damned. I am in pain if I smoke, and in pain if I don’t. To remedy my misery, I turned to the internet. The guru said passionately, “You must hate the habit. Smoke in front of a mirror and look at yourself. Do it often and soon you’ll throw the habit away”. These words made sense. I must hate the habit so much that I am able to tolerate the bug’s scratching for a few days, until it is dead. I followed his guidance for the whole week, each day at least 15 times. However, it didn’t work despite looking at my smoke-filled wrinkled face. On the other hand, the bug got fatter and stronger.
“Not all gurus are fake,” suggested my friend. “I know a shaman who can kill the bug.” “Are you sure?” I replied. “Yeah, a few of my friends have successfully been treated by him, give him a try,” he said. My friend drove me to the cave where the shaman practiced his craft. He looked at us and said in a confident, prophetic tone, “The bug can only survive for 72 hours without smoke. You must not give it anything made from tobacco, be it patches, cigarette, gums etc. And you must drink this holy water often.” “Why water?” I inquired. He touched my forehead and said “Your body is filled with the bug’s food called Nicotina and this water will flush it out.” “But he will scratch and kick,” I said. He turned away from me and started walking off. After a few steps he looked back and said, “Yes, it will, like any dying being. But you must endure and endure only for 72 hours.” It sent shivers up my spine. “72 hours of the demon scratching my head, ” I thought to myself. However, the water bottle gave me comfort, it was akin to a sword given to the hero to fight the demons.