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Do you remember your childhood? Like, really remember it? I’m not asking about what you did on a particular day, obviously; nor am I asking solely about major life events. But there are these spans of time in our youth that we go through and it ends up shaping our lives; it causes us to turn into the people we are today. But none of us could probably tell you anything about it because at that particular time, it wasn’t anything of consequence. It didn’t hold any more meaning to you until one day you happen to look back on it.
Do you remember how it felt to be young and how invigorating that was? The way everything was new in the world and still so fresh, so much exploring and learning to do. Do you remember how everything tasted and smelled, and how your likes and dislikes changed over the years? Do you remember the dreamworlds you would conjure up as you slept? Do you remember the very first thing you ever wanted to be? Do you remember what you wished for when you saw the first star at night shining in the darkening blue sky? Did you even wish upon a star? The reason I ask this is something happened today. Something that made me reflect on some things I haven’t thought of in years.
Have you ever had those moments where you come across a smell and it takes you back to a point in time. It instantaneously reminds you of when you first smelled that scent? It’s called olfactory memory, a side effect of the limbic system in the brain; it’s basically a throw back to prehistoric human evolution. The olfactory bulb, the part of the brain responsible for smell, is intimately linked with both the amygdala and the hippocampus. These two areas are responsible for associative learning and the processing of emotions. It’s like we intricately designed to have emotions whenever we smell something. Sorry, can you tell I wanted to be a doctor?
Wait, why am I writing sorry to a journal? Damn that blasted doctor for this. I doubt it will even work ... but here I am writing in this stupid journal, sounding all pretentious and shit. I mean, I always wanted to be a doctor but there was always this hidden passion for writing that I had and now look at me. Apparently I have to pretend this is like a letter I’m writing to someone, even though no one will ever read it. And yet here I am both explaining myself and apologising. Go team TWATson.
So, as I was saying - olfactory memory. Smell can invoke memories that you have long forgotten. For me, today, it was the mixture of cinnamon and ginger. When the scents of cinnamon and ginger mix together it reminds me of... well, it reminded me of the holidays. It’s not a normal combination I know; especially considering just one of them usually puts people off. Most people prefer the sweetness of vanilla, the fruitiness of strawberry or the lingering earthy smell after it rains. I normally do, but those smells didn’t give me any feeling of comfort, they don’t invoke any memories or emotions; they don’t hold any meaning to me, not the way ginger and cinnamon do. Ginger, all spicy and overpowering, and cinnamon a little bit sweet but with a spicy side to it’s scent as well; the ginger is not overpowering the sweetness, more complimentary adding an extra dimension to it.
Harry and I, would spend our holidays with our paternal grandparents every year. In the mornings our grandfather would take us out to the ice skating rink while our grandmother would stay home and bake; cinnamon rolls and gingerbread men. The house would smell of cinnamon and ginger for the rest of the day and we loved it. We’d shake the snow from our boots before coming in the door only to be hit by this amazing aroma. to be hit by it, the smell was like a thick fog that lingered over a lake . Hovering, unwavering. It would encompass your body with warmth. It felt like home.
We would visit them every year for a month around the holiday season until, eventually, one year their house became our home. I was eleven and Harry was eight. Our parents got into a...
You know what? No. I’m not going into that. I don’t care what the doctor says - that is not the problem right now. And I don’t want to think/talk/write/whatever-you-call-this about that.
Today I turned 17. I know it’s nothing overly major or anything to be proud of, I mean, it’s not like I’m 18 or 21 but still, this is the oldest I have ever been in my life. This day, right here, right now. All the events that have come and gone have lead me to this moment, writing in this journal. I’m not one for nostalgia, not really, I don’t like looking back on the past. I don’t have time to do that, I have to live for the here and the now. I’m 17 today, won’t see 20. I’m ok, really.
My grandparents and sister are the one’s not dealing with it well; the sickness may be mine but the tragedy is theirs. No one should have to outlive their children, or grandchildren. And Harry, to lose not only both your parents but your only sibling as well? I can only imagine how this is going to affect her.
I don’t like looking back on the past, or looking toward the future for that matter, but something happened today, something I hadn’t thought about in years. And it’s all because of my new roommate Sherlock Holmes. He smelled like cinnamon and ginger; he smelled like home, and that gives me hope.