The Smoke Stained Goddess

Your solar, bipolar
Panic disorder
Seems harder and harder and harder
Still you try to control it
-Blue October, X Amount of Words

I was waiting at the bus stop, standing by the shade of a worn-out building post... waiting for the God-knows-where-exactly-from-Asia-hand-me-down bus. It was a few minutes after seven in the morning and I was already almost irritated that it hasn't come yet - I was about to be late for work and I couldn't take a cab because it would cost me a day's pay to do so. So I waited. Then there came this lady, with a cup of some drink from McDonald's in her left hand, and a big brown bag clutched tightly and closely to her right. Her hair was neatly cut short, shining as the sun hit it from where she stood - which is just about a good two feet away from me . Her nails were a bright neon pink. Her back was turned on me, but I could tell she was fighting off some tension. She squinted at the sunlight, took a sip from her soda, and sniffed. I didn't want to stare at her, afraid that I might get caught while so doing, but I couldn't stop it. There was just something about her - some faint facade of mystery - the kind of mystery that my curiosity couldn't shy away from. I continued to watch her seemingly numbered activities. Every now and then she would glance at her watch, sniff, stare at the busy road (and I could tell that we were waiting for the same thing), and sip again. It could've been a ten minute ritual as though she was preparing for something, like a prayer meeting or some ancient to-be-get-readied-for event. And then she looked up the road again and at her watch, thinking that it might take longer for the bus to come she searched her gigantic bag. Her slender fingers came back out with a white stick and then she stuffed one end of the stick to her mouth and took another purple rectangle shaped box. A cigarette. A lighter. She lit it... hesitantly and not looking up even for a second. I was all the more curious and intrigued as the scent of the newly lighted cigar filled the air (and tickling my nose for a bit), and the swirling white smokes danced over her head meeting the morning sun's biting heat. She blew on it a couple of times now eyeing almost every corner of the place. I could tell she was nervous and... watchful. As though looking out for someone who'd tap her shoulder and tell her: "OOPS! CAUGHT YOU!" After a few puffs, her shoulders relaxed, and she stood straighter now than she already was.




The sidewalk at this time of the day is busy. Every now and then some student, some passerby, would pause for a while and watch her with the smoke in her hand. A mother with her daughter passed by and the mother said: "SAYANG." The lady never heard that of course, her ipod was closely stuck to her ears as though they have been there since she was born. "SAYANG." The word rang inside my ears again like somebody just hit the replay button. I stared at her. Yes. She is lovely - no, actually, she is beautiful (even from where I stood I could tell that she is) - she looked smart, her pants fit her perfectly (you can hardly see any girl now whose pants would fit perfectly!), her hair was a faded auburn almost hazel. I don't know her, but it looks like she could be the quintessence and epitome of perfection -- IF ONLY I COULD SEE HER FACE, HER EYES MOST ESPECIALLY. "SAYANG." The word rang through a third time. Why did that mother ever thought of that or even be bold enough to say that out loud? Is it because she saw the stain of cigarette in this goddess? Does that really make her less of a person? Why do we have to judge people by their habits, like this lady's puffing? What if she was only smoking to ease her
+ tension? What if she was having a bad time and only smokes whenever she does - yeah, not everyday? Humans can get really so judgemental sometimes. We let what our eyes see define who or what the person is which is undeniably wrong. But what about the things that we don't see? They can be worse. This lady might be smoking and might be drinking booze all night long on Saturdays, but then she could also be a dedicated student leader (or some leader per se), she could be a very loving daughter and sister or wife, she could be a very good friend, she could be a very providing mother. See? We don't have the right to judge people in whatever way, whatever reason there is. Whatever they do... there must be some good reason behind it and just like all of us, they don't have to explain it to everyone else.


I couldn't remember how long I've waited and stood there and stared at her like that and contemplated on that fact... It made all the waiting bearable - to have had something to think about. At some point of that time, I felt the urge to reach out to her and probably try to get her into a conversation, but I let my imagination run without trying because itwill definitely freak her out if I did. She shot me a quick glance and I felt the colors on my cheeks burn. Impossible! And then the foreign characters of the bus front appeared into view just as I thought I was about to have been asked to explain my distant and observant stare. Whew! Saved! At least. She ransacked her bag again for a perfume this time and she sprayed it on herself generously - the air suddenly smelled like green mangoes. She bowed her head down as though in a prayer, returned the bottle of perfume inside her bag, and hailed her right slender hand for the bus to stop. Her image will forever be etched in my memory.


-tSin