A Good Society (and People Like Me)

I began smoking when I was seventeen years old. Smoking was not just a habit that I relied on for provisional relief, but rather a familiar friend that I can count on for liberation. Cigarettes provided an escape from my parents, whom constantly bickered about financial problems, my father’s gambling and health problems, my mother’s emotional problems, how my academic goals do not satisfy their desires, et cetera.

My relationship with cigarettes was nothing less than a happy marriage. When I felt stressed, I smoked and my habit was positively reinforced by the immediate fulfillment I felt. I even slept better and woke up happier.

Soon, I was having an affair with hookah. It was twenty times better than smoking cigarettes because it literally felt like I was smoking twenty cigarettes at once. The vast amount of tobacco in hookah supplied instant gratification with a single inhalation. I was in love. I thought about nothing, worried about nothing, and all I contemplated was about what flavor of hookah I should try next.

I was completely aware of the negative effects of smoking, but the positive effects were such a great reinforcer that giving it up was simply not something I thought about. Although smoking conditionally freed me from my problems, those problems exist regardless of how often I exercise my habit.

It is evident that in a good society, one should not engage in actions that harms oneself. There are things an individual can do to improve his or her well being. There are things families can do to improve their relationships. Certainly, there must be things citizens can do to improve society. If everyone felt helpless and turned to drugs for release, progression and development would end and a good society no more.

With a high degree of democracy, economic stability, political freedom, independence, and non-governmental intervention (unless necessary), a good society can thrive with trust among citizens.

I am also happy to say that I no longer engage in such practice because I learned that although 65,000 people under the age of 18 become addicted to cigarettes monthly, 1,000 people also stop smoking daily – by dying.

Smells like cardboard.

As spring is approaching again, my mother is getting ready for Chinese New Year that takes place in February. Every year, she hands out red envelopes that hold money ranging from one dollar bills to twenty dollar bills.

This year, she decided to start early. She withdrew money from the bank months ahead and brought them home. She lies on her bed and throws them above her, grinning and laughing frantically as she rolls around, inhaling the aroma of the crisp green papers. She enjoys hearing the crunching of the papers as she crushes them in her fragile hands.

She would suddenly get up as if she had come to her senses. She sits up on her bed and begins to unwrinkle the money. Placing each bill gently on the plam of her left hand, she counts to make sure none was missing. I knew two of those twenty dollar bills would soon be in my hands, one from her, and one from my father.

She opens the closet door and sets the ironing board up in her room. She heats up the iron to level 3. She presses her fingers against a bill onto the board, keeping it flat as she irons it back into a crunchy bill. She does this to all of them.

They are warm, and smell like cardboard.

She no longer wants to play with them. They've been tamed.

She folds them in half, and delicately places them into the red envelopes. She closes the envelope and sets them in her drawer.

She doesn't touch them again.

Pre-election 2008

The first time I've ever encountered my half naked neighbor was when I was exiting the garage and backing up into the street. He was kneeling down and staring at a fresh dent on his car. I waved and smiled. He smiled and didn't look so worried about his car. I noticed that he had a McCain-Palin campaign sign up on his clean mowed lawn. Two blocks down, there was a Yes on Prop 8 sign. Across the street, an Obama-Biden campaign sign occupied the lawn with a pile of dry leaves. My lawn, however, did not have any signs, but this did not mean that I had no political view. How come I still haven't made a decision of who I wanted for president at this critical point of the campaign?

The howling wind woke me up. It was three in the morning. I couldn't sleep anymore. I knew I had to make a decision. Obama or McCain? I feared that if McCain died, then Palin would take over. Who cares if America sees woman as equal. No foreign leaders are going to be able to comply any international affairs with a woman; no way was I going to vote for McCain. Obama's ties to terrorists suddenly sprange to the media. Both of them are against gay marriage. At four o'clock, I've finally decided that I couldn't vote for either one of them. I was not apathetic; I simply did not agree with their beliefs. I am skeptical of their claims to reform domestic policies and their bail out of the American debt. Mudslinging purely did not interest me. I want to know how they can lower gas prices, pull America out of the recession, reverse the declining economy, advance the educational system, lower loan interest rates, and contain the climate crisis. I don't care if you had dinner with a murderer. I don't care if you shook hands with a dictator. I don't care if you ran for Miss Blah Blah Blah and got second place.

I watched the Vice Presidential Candidates Debate because Sarah Palin was interesting. I enjoyed watching her struggle and mess up. She winked twice (Mr. James claims that she winked more than twice) on national television, called Senator Biden by his frst name, and gave a shout out. McCain is no maverick as she is no bulldog with lipstick. Stop the crap and on with the real stuff. Banning Harry Potter? Are you kidding me? Governor of thirty people and she thinks she can rule the country? Hah!

Obama is no good either. His talk of change for the waning economy had become "can you spare some change?"

Enough was enough. I got out of bed and got dressed. It was time to make a change. I left through the door that connected to the garage and out through another door into the alley. The crying wind muffled the creaking door and the crunchy leaves I carelessly stepped on.

The sun was still in hiding. I walked onto my next door neighbor's lawn and removed their McCain-Palin sign. I silently sprinted two doors down to remove a Yes on Prop 8 sign, and ran back across the street to my neighbor with the Obama-Biden tag and removed it from their lawn.

What was I suppose to do with those signs? My neighbor on the right was going to get a little surprise in the morning. I had posted all of them onto their lawn.

I went back to bed and fell asleep effortlessly. I dreamt that McCain had died and Palin surrendered without his assistance. Obama was kidnapped and Biden fell into depression because of the death of his mother-in-law. I got nominated, but I declined because I was too proud to be a U.S. President. I wanted to rule the world. If I was to be anything, it will be God.

But my hope of becoming God was cut short. A booming voice blasted across the street. I got out of bed and stared out the living room window. In one night, the friendly people on my block (more of an oval) had gotten into a political quarrel and World War III had begun. I wonder who will become president.