Into Thin Air

I once lived in an infamous block of a popular hostel/hall. It didn’t take much for me to understand why it was infamous. There was a particular balcony that caught my attention for a unique reason; smoke plumes.

There was someone who smoked on that balcony at night. His smoke puffing skills would create artistic patterns. The patterns of the exhaled smoke before dissipating into thin air were luminous. The balcony angle and lighting made it all so evocative. It was photograph worthy.

It reminds me of a tweet I saw some years ago. People were ranting about inflation, and someone’s biggest concern was the price of king size cigarettes. Others couldn’t hide their surprise at this.

I have met people who believe they’re better humans because they do not smoke. Some of these people have turned out to be exceedingly destructive. And judging a book by its cover, I have experienced surprisingly miraculous encounters with smoking humans that I did not expect. Maybe flaws don’t always define character. Humans are far too complex to be pigeonholed based on one trait. The question is whether to define the trait as a flaw or a character.

One of my miraculous encounters birthed a spring of hope. Acknowledging the surprising contradiction took some precious moments. Maybe this was a mental friction that did not need resolution; two truths could co-exist.

I am trying to make an edgy point. While flaws may define character, they don’t necessarily define character. That’s not to say flaws cannot give you an idea of one’s other tendencies. Again, I learn about the complexity of humans everyday. Know what you’re looking for and choose your red flags.

When life burns your dreams, ambitions, aspirations and innocence, I hope that you let the smoke remind you of hope. Maybe hidden in those smoke patterns are messages or cues inscrutable to the human mind; a message of a better tomorrow. A reminder that even out of ashes there is a rising, a rebirth — a sign and a remnant that you have overcome.

You may discard the ashes like thoughtful smokers would a burnt cigarette butt. But, instead of focusing on all that is burnt, let the smoke remind you of all that there is to achieve.

I am trying to accept this contradictory marriage of smoke and hope. Nonetheless, acceptance beckons. Life, I have realized, comes with its own discordant unions.

This is by no means a suggestion to smoke if you do not smoke.

With restful wander, The Yellow Butterfly.