Continued from Part 1
Holding that crumpled up foil of cannabis felt like I was holding on to a big secret, a taboo. Breaking the law and puberty comes along together pretty well. Like pairing wine and cheese, except that it usually end up worse than a hangover. The excitement I had was unexplainable.
Would anyone suspect that I was going to do after school? What would people think of me if they knew? I did not care and was determined to try it out. Enough of textbooks and people saying its bad, I had to know it for myself, I had to try it to believe if it was true as they say.
Like everything in my life, I would never let anyone tell me things were good or bad until I experienced it myself. I was skeptical, always, that trait was what has built up to be one of my adventurous personality. I would venture into the world of debauchery and mishaps because I wanted to know for myself, I trusted myself more than any television propaganda or tales from an old man.
Later that weekend, I had a sleepover at my friends’ place, his parents were out of town so we had the house to ourselves. Being underage at the time, we were lucky to get some tobacco. In those days we could buy loose cigarettes from a local mom and pop store, three sticks for 10 BHT ($0.30) and they would never ask for any ID.
I remember vividly how the weed looked like, it was a thick chunk of what looked like dried grass pressed tightly with stems and seeds. It was brownish-green, kinda sticky so we couldn’t grind it up with our hands. My friend recall hearing from his uncle how they chop up weed old-school Thai style. We chopped it up on a pork carving board with a cleaver or ‘E-To’ in Thai. As we took the tobacco out from the cigarette and mixed it with chopped up weed then filled up the empty stick ready to be smoked.
It was late and as the neighbors went to bed, we climbed out to the roof ready to spark up that first homemade joint. “Do you think we’re gonna be too high to climb back?” I asked my friend as we leaned back against the wall, facing the dark night and peaceful neighborhood. “Its all good as long as you promise me you won’t be thinking of flying off the roof and shit,” said my friend with a laugh.
What we both understood about being high and smoking was very limited, we’ve been properly intoxicated by alcohol before, but we knew that being high would be completely different.
I was ready, as I sat there with my best friend, knowing that we will both remember this moment forever. I sparked the joint up and puffed and puffed.
As I passed it, I asked, “Do you know what being high feels like?”
“I think we will be laughing a lot, that’s what I’ve heard,” said my friend who was calm and cool about it all. We puffed and puffed.
“Do you feel anything?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did we do anything wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
As we questioned each other with the burnt out joint, we sat there in the quiet night. It was one of those ‘first time’ moments in life, like a first drink, first time having sex, first time driving over the speed limit, we weren’t sure what was going to happen but it felt good.
It was a subtle rush and having a friend to share it was a bliss. We felt funny as we climbed back inside the house, I couldn’t explain it but we sure were giggling and felt hungry after a while.
I wasn’t sure if we got high from that night or not. There were more emotions and excitement that was overwhelming than the high from weed.
It was a good night, and I was already looking forward to my next smoke.