Strange yet familiar smells have been accosting me all day. Scent is the sense most closely tied to memory, yes. And for me it's a conscious activity. I am constantly smelling things in order to remember.
The floor that I work on smells of pulao. I don't know why or how.
Somehow, today, I have been smelling azeem all over DC. On the bus, in Subway while getting lunch, at the National Press Club, while walking down the street. I realized a few hours ago that the scent got on the collar of my shirt, so I keep lifting its black edge over my nose and taking in long, languorous breaths. I don't know how it got there. A lot of the clothes I stored in his apartment smelled like him for a while, even after a few washes. But that was months ago and I thought the smell has since evaporated. Is this returned lingering scent a sign that I should email or call him? Only if I want it to be, I guess.
The 6th floor of the building I work in smells like Pakistan today. I don't know exactly what the smell is. I kept inhaling, catching little slivers of scent, trying to figure out the memory, the time and place hazily appearing in my mind. But I couldn't.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
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