I always look for the scent because it can take me there right away. I cried holding an onion the other day.
The vegetables are tasteless and the smell is never the smell of anything grown on dirt where I am right now. The fruits are juiceless and very very small. The tables and the air are never full either. I never thought how killing is quiet dinning. So I cried holding that fresh wild onion as close to my nose as I could, sniffing as hard and deep as I could, because I know, I know smell is the best way to time-travel to the past, right there in between the orange and lemon trees, the chirimoya and loquat trees, the figs, pomegranate and eggplants, strawberries, tomatoes and peppers, right there I was. My aunt’s roses and bougainvilleas, my grandad’s hands, like dirt and sweat; a full table, I smell it all. I do because I was right there, those few seconds while smelling this freshly picked onion, I was right there.
I know is not healthy. But I am always looking to transport myself desperately to a quiet view of a warm and salty mediterranean wave lurking towards my toes on a hot day of African terral. Always.
Hopefully one day, when I leave this place, I’ll smell a cherry tree across the ocean and I’ll be brought back here and now, wether good or bad, I will be here.
I hope I can always time travel.
mbn
