It feels the same.
Whether rain’s pouring heavy or the sun’s blazing up above. It feels just like that first time.
In my bell—a creeping sensation of uncertainty. Can’t make up my mind on whether to love it or hate it. It’s been there for four years now, and it doesn’t seem like it will ever go away.
Questions linger… will they care? will it make a difference?
Answer never changes: “let’s find out”.
Hi. Name’s Mathias Krell—nice to finally meet you, in a way.
I’m a 25-year-old dude from Uruguay, a tiny country in South America. You might’ve heard of it. No, it’s not Argentina. Luis Suarez? Edinson Cavani? José “El Pepe” Mujica… ring any bells?
If the former does, then chances are you know he’s the president who made Uruguay the first country to legalize marijuana back in 2013. Gotta give it to Mujica—the guy really brought people together from every echelon of society.
He gave Uruguayans another green herb to bond over—one that isn’t “yerba mate”.
Now, hidden in every corner, a not-so-discrete nation of stoners floats through the streets of Montevideo—never without their Clippers, doob tubes, and spare “Nabor” eye drops, just in case.
Me? One of them? You’ve got to be crazy! I was only 14 by the time this happened—a well-behaved momma’s boy who wouldn’t dare go near that reefer… that devil’s lettuce.
Imagine an alternate universe where one legislation would shape my future by facilitating a toxic relationship between me and the bud—sounds so surreal.
Except… we’re living in it.
A Coming-of-Age Up in Smoke
Is this a cannabis coming-of-age story? This is a cannabis coming-of-age story.
It’s been well over ten years since my friends and I began smoking poorly rolled doobies, little plastic bongs, and old-school G Pens, hiding away at our folks’ backyard—cheerfully blasting “Young, Wild & Free” on a loop.
Weed & Us were love at first puff. Previous to that OG sesh at our treehouse shrine to the D-O-double G, we’d already tried both alcohol and cigarettes. Looking back, though, those two could never hold a candle to what cannabis culture had in store.
Cross-joints in homage to This is the End? A Crash Bandicoot tattoo straight onto an empty arm? Three years in a row among Wiz’s top 0.001% Spotify listeners?
Yeah, yup—Mathias checks those boxes
One could say those initial years of puffing & coughing truly awoke something deeper in me.
This angsty, OCD-ridden teenager was suddenly connecting with his spirituality in a way that had only felt like a distant dream—sharing beliefs with human beings whose paths he might have never crossed.
Needless to say, the parental authorities didn’t like it… they still don’t (hi, mom!).
Oh, weed… how long have we been entangled in this dance? Sliding back and forth, as life gets in the way, and I choose to let you go. Yet once again, here we are, as I pay tribute to your powers with my words of admiration. Sharing this story with the world, using you as inspiration.
Stoner Blogger
I mentioned four years, didn’t I? Oh, how I love to play mysterious. What I meant was, it’s already been four years since I wrote an autobiographical essay to serve as a primary source of information on what it is like to smoke weed every single day.
That’s one nasty tongue twister.
Let’s go back to October 2021, when I found myself crafting my debut article— a local review put together during my tenure at The Cannigma.
I don’t think getting super stoned and visiting a coffee shop should count as work, but that’s how blessed I was back then. You can’t top being a weed writer in the first country to legalize—a stoned storyteller on the loose.
The pull from this creative process was so strong that, by November 8th (my birthday), all I really wanted to do was post on my newly launched Medium blog.
Therefore, the aforementioned essay titled “Los insights de la marihuana” (The Insights of Weed) came along—a gift to myself that let the cat out of the box.
“Los insights de la marihuana” came to me on the night I broke one random tolerance break—a heroic stretch of three days.
It packed all kinds of stories: like that one time in 2014 when my mom caught me getting drunk at a Halloween party on our block, or that other time she found out I was blowing trees ‘cause I needed cash for pizza.
Personal experiences were exposed and pop culture references were sprinkled throughout—orbiting one main cannabiblical concept: kush’s accelerated speed of thought.
Think back to those original stoner thoughts, the ones that felt like pure childish awe.
Was neuroplasticity going on in real time? As if our core beliefs could have been torn down in an instant, if triggered by the correct humble realization.
I actually found my high from 2018 to 2019, alongside a friend group named after the legendary “Los Waldos”. The five of us, some chairs, a local square, and a stuffed king-size was all it took to have us tripping our brains off and deconstructing the essence of existence for nights on end.
Our early stoner thoughts would’ve beaten any iteration of The Flash, Sonic the Hedgehog, or Speedy Gonzales in a 100 metre race, no sweat.
Such is the case that, in 2020, one of us decided that he would never smoke again—claiming he’d rather stay enslaved to the system. Poor guy smokes flavored vapes nowadays… drop some Fs in the chat for our fallen soldier.
All of this to say, weed tends to come with some life-changing revelations for those who walk its path.
To: Whoever Reads It
You’ve probably guessed it—I love marijuana.
Why? No… why not?
Need a reason? Well, here’s a good one: it’s the best writer’s assistant I’ve ever had.
I ain’t about to come here and preach like I’m Iron Mike on shrooms or Snoop on a livestream.
As if weed had strengthened my personality to the point that I can confidently walk through life forever in the present moment. Blindly pretending that my lungs, short-term memory, and bank account aren’t suffering at the expense of this smoky habit.
No, I ain’t about that. Not yet, anyways.
Lots of harm in this world, plenty of things people will do to punish themselves—could’ve picked a worse poison.
Is this an excuse? Certainly. But, honestly…
How the fuck did I get here?
Higher Learning
I was working minimum wage at Starbucks, when a pandemic drove by and got me into cannabis journalism.
Part of me left when the industry let me go; it felt abysmal. Yet, fast forward, and here we are.
Writing for the one and only High Times, telling my story where cannabis culture was once cemented worldwide. A culture that’s represented with ink on my skin, linking me to a world whose embrace I’ve begun to wrap around me.
Is it fate or what?
I’d be lying to myself if I downplayed the sticky za that’s held together some of the most important pieces of my life.
So tonight, as I wrap up the first entry in this chapter of my story, I’ll consciously meditate on how far we’ve come—pausing, even if just a couple minutes, to appreciate the freedoms around me and mine.
Free to whine on the internet for anyone to read.
Free to smoke that green while some lo-fi Bart Simpson mix hums in the background, ad-free.
Free to love wholeheartedly—strengths & flaws—‘cause they make up one beautiful soul.
Maybe we all need something to ground us—a ritual, a muse, a compass that moves our feet towards a common goal. The breath of a plant that looks at things under a different light.
Maybe this is what it all leads up to—words on a page written with low red eyes, under a calming quiet that finally feels allowed to sigh.
All photos courtesy of Mathias Krell Levy.
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
