Smoking is cool? When I was sixteen, I was a smoker. Smoking was an integral part of my life. I was addicted and dazed with smokes.
Smoking, I once believed, makes me look cool and glamorous. Efforts to stop me from smoking were in vain. Parents tried to penetrate my thoughts, tried to convince me by telling me how smoking influence my present and future. I, a convinced smoker, strongly believe that all those pitfalls were nonexistent.
Twenty two months ago, I was diagnosed with throat diseases, the result of smoking. I am alive but maimed. I have difficulty of speaking. I have the excruciating difficulty swallowing and breathing. This disease has changed my life. I accepted the inevitable. This disease has taught me the hardest lesson I have ever learned.
This disease has urged me to quit. I have not smoked for twenty two years now. Day by day, the only thing left to do is hope and pray. I exercised. My determination is beyond all disputes. I have exercised for almost two years, without missing even one day. For that intended, and almost certain never to be used situation has changed my life. The impossible has happened. I received word that I was recovering.
Today, I can gasp for air without using any suctioning device. I go to school everyday. I want to do everything I can to undo the damage I have done to my family. Their devotions and noble endeavors will always be my remembrance. Quitting smoking has rejuvenated my career.
I think smoking should be as illegal as heroin. I am now no longer a smoker. I do not wish my fate upon anyone.
