I think I was 13 or 14 years old back then. One day, while coming back from an errand, I saw a half stick of cigarette. It was cut in half, and I didn't know how that happened, maybe it fell off from the owner or the owner intentionally threw it away. Anyways, that wasn't my concern. All I wanted was to have a smoke just to know how it tastes because those friends of my dad seemed to enjoy the taste of the smoke that made them always send us to go buy more packs and sticks anytime they came around.
When I got home, I dropped what I was sent to buy. I went inside the kitchen and, as usual, I didn't see the matchbox because my mom used to hide it from us because of how carelessly we used it. I decided to pick a little firewood and go to the backyard to light up the cigarette. I made sure that the little piece of firewood with fire on it didn't bring out smoke as I took it, but little did I know that you can't take away smoke from a fire.
As I got to the backyard, I lit up the cigarette, and as I was about to put it in my mouth to have a sip, I saw my mom rush me from the corner of the house, but I was fast enough to run away before she could extend her hand well enough to grab me. She cursed the hell out of me at that moment from where she was standing because she knew she couldn’t pursue me.
Unfortunately for me, there was no place for me to run to at night. So, when I surrendered myself at night, I was beaten blue and black by my mom, and my dad didn’t say a word to reduce the beating.
I didn’t know that, the moment I picked the firewood to go to the backyard, she had already noticed that I was up to something and decided to trace me to know what was going on. She was shocked when she saw what I was up to.
Well, I confessed and explained to her that I was only trying to know how a cigarette tastes, and not that I had been doing it before.