Amortentia and Pumpkins

Human's have approximately 12,000-50,000 thoughts a day. I'm just trying to get as much of mine out as possible.

Month: September, 2013


by amortentiaandpumpkins

I just finished a smoke break in my balcony, so thought that this might be appropriate.

I first started smoking at age 16. It was after our first GCSE exam. A bunch of us went to this place near my high school with a grassy rooftop to chill out before the next bomb created by the Cambridge Examination Board was dropped our way. My then “fun buddy” had a pack on him. He had been smoking for a while now. I was curious. I couldn’t help admiring the way he held it, and just how it improved his look and aura in general. So I asked for one, and he obliged. I had no idea how to inhale. I was the biggest noob; what happened was I ended up apparently giving the cig a little kiss. Everyone burst out laughing. I couldn’t help but join along and laugh with them at my stupidity and naiveity. But I was determined. 

I tried again after the summer. It was another rooftop party. Something that night upset me, so I asked a friend to let me try a cig (at that time, I refused to drink, so alcohol was no comfort). This time I managed to take it in. A little coughing. But my mouth adjusted. I started to feel a little relaxed. I remember that I didn’t feel conscious of my hands. It felt so natural. 

I went to the graveyard a couple of times with friends during school for a smoke break. But I ended up feeling more satisfied smoking by myself, behind my home.

I wasn’t a regular smoker until the summer before university started. I traveled to Switzerland, to stay with my aunt. She was at work most of the time, so I traveled the country by myself. Train rides were long and there was a lot of waiting on train platforms. One thing I observed on these platforms was practically everyone smoked while they waited for the train. I could understand. It felt so long each time, waiting for that train. Smoking helped pass the time. So I started. 1 a day, 2 a day and so on. 

Then university happened. I thought I’d let go of my habit, but university definitely made it a lot harder. It started off by only smoking on nights out. There were quite a lot of those. It then started happening between classes. I’d be sitting in a lecture, craving nothing but my next smoke break.

My parents found out eventually. My mother didn’t talk. I think she felt afraid of me. Of how I wasn’t this sweet, innocent young girl whose hair she’d make before sending her off to school. My father though… he was a smoker. 10 years. He gave it all up for my mother. But his words couldn’t break my walls. I was unreachable. Because I felt like this was an escape from… everything. But not just that. The habit stuck on.

See, this boy I knew and liked. He’s a smoker. Craving for smoke breaks just for that purpose wasn’t enough anymore. I started craving smoke breaks because I thought we’d bump into each other one day or another in one of the spots on campus. And we did. A few times. We did talk. But nothing. 

So now, I crave smoke breaks for smoke breaks. Sometimes, with a friend or two, which admittedly does feel a whole lot better. But then, I wish that someday, I find what my father found with my mother. Motivation enough to give it all up. 


Home Alone

by amortentiaandpumpkins

A lot of young people look forward to moving out of their homes and living by themselves. This is what I am doing now, at age 19. Well, I’m not entirely alone. I have two wonderful flat mates who are also in my university. When I say living by “themselves” I meant living without your parents, in your own place, perhaps with other people who are not your parent/legal guardian. Now I guess I could count living in dorms during my first year of university. But there, I did not have to worry about things like bills, and groceries. Everything was so nearby, so familiar. But now, on the 58th floor of an apartment building, things are different. I have to worry about paying electricity bills, the WiFi bill, making sure to lock up (in university, my bedroom door was always open, and I didn’t have a care in the world). I have a kitchen, from which I feel this echo, whispering “Use meeee.” So there comes the groceries. I’m cooking! I’m bloody cooking! No more mum to whip up a meal that took what felt like 5 minutes to make and looks like a dish you’d see on Masterchef. Nope, it’s hello slightly burnt pasta or slightly undercooked fried eggs.

I’ll tell you one thing. It feels liberating. I can go out to my balcony, light a cig and not give a fuck. 

But, that’s it really. I can’t always rely on having my flatmates as company; they have lives of their own. It’s not like I do. But at the same time, at least 2 buses in every direction to see anyone I know won’t be sustainable for long in terms of both time and money. Truth is, I miss being able to just walk into my parents room, looking for some sort of comfort (even though it usually ends up in a lecture). I miss those late night walks around uni with a friend or two. 

But I guess, that’s part of growing up, right? Your surroundings cannot always be familiar and cozy. Sometimes, you’re going to have to be far away from people, whether you like it or not. It’s ironic, because right now from my window, I can see hundreds of lit up windows, with silhouettes of human beings. But they’re just that. Human beings. Not my friends. Not my family. Not people I know. Strangers. It feels exciting in a way, wondering what they might be doing or thinking right now. I wonder if any of them are looking out of their window, thinking what I’m thinking.

I guess freedom, in any form, has it’s price. It’s just up to us to figure out how long we can hold on to that freedom until it becomes too much to bare.