Breakfast eaten. Lunch made. Bag packed. Nightie off. Work clothes on. Body spray …..and off I am carried by the sublime scent from my room on the 13th floor in Montreal to my room in my parents’ house 7000 miles away, getting dressed in front of my mahogany dresser with a white table cloth to keep it clean from dust. On top of the table cloth are laid neatly the quintessential belongings of any 20+ female – gloss, mascara, eye liner, hair spray, body spray, hand lotion, face cream. I always pick them up by their reflection. I can see the reflection of my unmade bed in the mirror. Aroma of mother’s delicious cooking is filling the room, and so are hundreds of outside noises….a street vendor, rumbling car engine, neighbouring kids, some angry aunty yelling at her maid. I am busy perfecting the last strand of hair, while being yelled at for being late. Snap back. I am late for my class.
I cherished that feeling for days to come. Getting ready every morning was almost a treat in anticipation of the brief teleporting episode – until the smell lost that sensation. At some point along the way my memory was decoupled from the act. Applying body spray was reduced to a check on my getting-ready mental list. The hissing of the nozzle told me it was time to replace it.
There are memories I hold so dearly that I want to live them every day of my life. But I am cautious not to do so. The more I recall them the more insignificant they will become. The very act of poking and tugging at them, playing with them, and cuddling them destroys their aura. Some people are too afraid to talk about bad memories; they keep them tucked away in their minds to keep the unpleasantness at bay. Little do they know it doesn’t help. Just like children are fascinated by a toy they don’t understand and the more they play with it the sooner their interest dies down, so does living memories makes them ordinary. We just have to learn to savour moments enough to keep them special.