Birthday

So what did I do for my birthday?

The eighteenth birthday is supposed to signify an entrance into adulthood. To celebrate this, my dad bought me dinner at a ridiculously gourmet/expensive restaurant, which was as delicious as the ridiculous bill would suggest. Afterwords, I went out in quest of a smoke shop. I wanted to buy two things: a cigar and a Playboy. These two previously forbidden items would symbolize my transition into life as a privileged adult.
     Lahaina's downtown is a pretty bleak place, full of jewelry stores and discount, time-share-affiliated "tourist information centers". I was also hoping to find some people to celebrate with, but the town is geared pretty much exclusively towards middle-class couples and families, so there wasn't any sort of nightlife accessible to me. But I managed to find a nice cigar shop, and, although I didn't manage to find a Playboy, Dad bought me a six-pack to further celebrate my "coming of age". After wandering around for a while, I took my beer and cigar down to the beach. I lit up the cigar, and tried to open a beer with the lighter, but I'm not very good at that sort of thing, so I went off to try and find some alternate means of opening it. The edge of a bench, set back a ways from the beach, didn't work, but the pannier rack of a bike chained to the bench seemed like it would do well, so I started to pry the cap off against it. Suddenly, a Hawaiian guy, rummaging around in the shadows, told me to "stop fucking with his bike."
    Earlier, I'd scoffed silently at the tourists walking through downtown. They struck me as detached, materialistic voyeurs, concerned only with fulfilling their own perceptions of what a tropical vacation should be. I've been this way for most of my life, picturing myself as somehow superior to others, a more conscious, less offensive traveler. The owner of the bike shocked me out of my hypocrisy. I was appalled to recognize my own thoughtlessness and self-absorption, my own disregard for others in my quest for a "great" vacation. I apologized profusely to the man, and left my beer as a way of trying to make amends. When I looked back at the bench, after having smoked most of my cigar, the man had left, but the beer was still sitting there, unopened. Next to it was an empty pack of cigarettes.

I'm sorry if this is rambling and preachy, but the cigar left me pretty light-headed - I don't do well with nicotine. I love you all, and miss you more than I can say.