My First Cigarette

The day I had my first cigarette was just like any other day. It was a Friday. I was 16 and I had gone to school in the morning, I came home in the evening and the plan was to go out with some friends in the evening – the ritual on Fridays. We visited the same spot every week. It was a greasy old bar in the town centre that had the cheapest alcohol and good music. It was never hard to have fun and we always hit the dance-floor after ten o’clock. 

Around half of my friends smoked regularly and all of them had tried a cigarette. I personally never thought anything of it and never felt the need to try a cigarette. It’s not as if it had never been available to me – I simply never found it tempting. However that night, there was something in the air-something about the atmosphere. Just dancing in the bar, surrounded by my friends and strangers, the smoky air blurring my vision. I stopped for a second and made eye contact with my friend who was standing opposite me, cigarette in hand. She had a mysterious look in her eyes and somehow I just knew what was going to come next. I can’t describe it, but a part of me guessed that she would stretch out her hand and signal me to take it. Normally I would not respond to peer pressure but I felt an obligation to take the cigarette. I felt as if not accepting her offer would be such a horrible thing to do to my friend. So I took it. I took a drag. It was like nothing I had imagined. I could feel the smoke in my mouth gripping onto my throat. I started coughing and I just put the cigarette back in her hand. That was the moment I decided that I will not smoke again and that I will seriously consider my own principles before I react to peer pressure next time.