Sitting on a bench outside the Northfield Public Library, I take a drag, inhaling the tobacco into my lungs. The air has begun to cool and the sky is painted with various shades of gray. Leaves brush past in the wind, and I thank some being above for the beauty of this day and the opportunity I’ve been given to experience a gorgeous day like today so far from my home: San Antonio, Texas. But as I exhale, two women stride by, both tossing irritated glances in my direction. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized; I’m a social outcast.
“I hate how people make assumptions about you because you have a cigarette in hand,” said Stephanie Donahue, a fellow smoker. Defining her as a smoker, though, is not only wrong but an insult. “My first week at Carleton I was known as ‘that girl that smokes.’ It’s not that I’m a bad person, but I’m known as ‘that girl that smokes.’ It carries a bad connotation.” People are quick to notice smoke escaping her lips but fail to see that she is nearly always studying Chinese, determined to do well at school. Why, then, is it that she is known as “that girl that smokes?”
Michelle Abecasis, a Bolivian studying at Carleton, added, “Just the fact that people look at you like a social outcast shows how not accepting they are. It shows what kind of people they are. In Bolivia it’s so normal to smoke. It doesn’t affect how a person looks at you.”
As a Carleton student myself, I have noticed that I better relate to the international students than the students from my very own culture. And that’s because we have one common bond: not our nationality, but the fact that we smoke and our ability to be accepting.
Some of the things that are more commonly tolerated in America like homosexuality, different religious preferences, sexual promiscuity, or even blatant disregard for parental figures are not tolerated in their native cultures. “They are inside a world where they feel they need to accept it, so they do,” said Abecasis. Donahue, a Mexican who considers Chicago home, expressed that American students don’t meet international students halfway, though; they aren’t as accepting of the choices others have made.
“I feel like people pick and choose what differences matter. It’s not about that, it’s about accepting,” Donahue said. She put a pen in her mouth, pretending to take a drag and exclaimed, “Hi, I’m Stephanie, and I’m a smoker.” Welcome to Smokers Anonymous.
Sitting on that park bench in Northfield, doing as I wish in our “free” country, has not only made me feel out-casted, but also demonized. One aspect of me is pinpointed and instantly I am placed in a negative light. I am a smoker, an anonymous smoker, someone they have no desire to meet.
“It’s something that people just don’t acknowledge,” said Donahue while Abecasis nodded after I expressed my own opinion about judgmental glares and snide remarks. These two girls understood what I was feeling simply because it was so similar to their own experiences. In a lot of ways the glares and remarks have united us. “Smokers seriously have a bond. It’s the weirdest thing out there but they have a bond.” In Chicago, where Donahue is from, “people are comfortable with it. You walk down the street and people ask you for a cigarette.”
This isn’t to at all suggest that smoking is remotely healthy or beneficial, and our loved ones should express a constructive concern for our actions or any actions that may bring harm to us. An acquaintance, on the other hand, is not the same as a family member or dear friend and reserves no right to press judgment upon us. “People are entitled to do what they want to do. It’s our bodies,” said Abecasis. Donahue added, “Who gives you the right to decide what is good for me?”
So for now, I’ll continue to sit on this bench and smoke my cigarettes. Maybe one day I’ll get a “hello.”
