Bad girl me!

I was labelled a chimney-smoker as a magazine journalist.

I recreated that typical image of a writer in pictures. Frowning intently while banging at - as in this case a keyboard while hating to be disturbed, drinking mugs of white coffee and smoking away.

When writing, I was lost in my stories.

For an Indian woman, the vision said - bad girl, no decent man will marry her, very unbecoming kind of thing. Tut! Tut!

I believe old ladies in Orthodox Syrian churches in Kuala Lumpur still recall my reputation in horror

I was the worst smoker in my office.
My friends still remember.

And then one day I stopped the cigarettes in 24 hours.

I resigned as a journalist to travel to Australia and the desire for an adrenalin rush was no longer there. I stopped just like that. Of course, many tumultuous events later occurred where I relied on a desperate intelligence to survive and not tobacco.

It's been 8 years and a half since I lifted a ciggy to my lips.

In winter, I stared longingly at the girls leaning against shop windows, where they would engage in quick puffs to ease the biting cold. In a pub listening to music and over a wine or beer with friends, the temptaton returned.

But I never succumbed.

Now with my problems solved and heartaches almost over, my desire to write has returned in full fury. I didn't need the ciggys for the earlier comedies and a novel manuscript and other bits that I wrote earlier this year. I was still reflecting, still being kind to myself, still unsure.

But I need them for the play.

Because the ruthless adrenalin rush to create something worthwhile has returned, the desire to meet my deadlines are finally welcomed and I'm feeling on top of things agan.

And I need my cigarettes to write my play.

So far, I can hold off the temptation but I honestly don't know for how long.