Hide the Lighter

ve made their way I am suffering from kleptomania. There, I said it.

But before you wonder where your hard-earned 500 peso bill went, I’ll be the first to tell you that I didn’t take it. Not that I didn’t want to, but I believe that I still have enough moral fiber in my body to stop me from considering such a dastardly deed.

My fascination – if you can even call it that – for lifting items ring true only for lighters.

Yes, lighters.

If you ask me to rack my brains for a month in order to explain, I could spend 12 months and still wont be able to find an answer to satisfy your curiosity.

It’s because I can’t explain it. I don’t steal lighters because I hold secret satanic rituals in my room. I don’t steal lighters because I don’t boast of any sword-forging skills. And I most certainly don’t steal lighters because I have no plans of setting myself on fire. I just can’t find any rhyme or reason for this fixation.

At first, I didn’t notice it. Nobody did. After all, it’s pretty normal to borrow something and “forget” to give them back. It all happens to us. We borrow, we forget, they remind, we remember, and we give back. Everybody, at some point, goes through it. But as weeks passed, and the complaints of missing lighters grew, the suspicions and the finger-pointing all went in my direction.

I swear it’s a reputation that I’m slowly building – and it’s something that I am neither pleased nor proud of. There are days when I’d go to work with matchsticks that I got (not stole!) from fine-dining restaurants only to come home that night and discover that I had two lighters in each of my front pockets.

If you happen to see my room, it wouldn’t surprise me if the first thing you notice is the proliferation of these lighters said lighters. As of my last count, there are 26 of them – some with an emblazoned ‘Fuma’ sign on the side, others with pictures of scantily-clad women, and even one with a profile photograph of a video game villain.

Even the colleagues at the workplace have noticed my irreparable obsession with lighters. What was once a selfless act of lending has turned into a begrudging experience for most of them. “Will I see my precious Crickets again or will it just be the latest in a long line of lighters that have made their way to his pockets?

Even newcomers in the office have been forewarned of my sticky-hands. It’s interesting to see how I am now introduced to new employees: “This is Kirby. He’s the writer. And if he’s not doing any press releases, he’s probably stealing your lighter.”

Melts your heart, doesn’t it?

Now if some of you don’t understand why I don’t just return the lighters I steal, believe me, I’ve tried. But I’ve discovered that it’s not something that I can just turn off and stop doing. On my best behavior, I still find myself picking out a lighter or two from my pockets.

So, as a solution, I have reconciled myself to just giving a warning of sorts to anyone concerned about losing their precious lighters.

Don’t let me borrow them. Because if you do, it’ll be probably end up in my room, along with the 26 other lighters I have – unintentionally - pick-pocketed.