I have written this non-fiction chronicle in response to the 31st call for entries made by theinkwell. This time you have not asked that our chronicle had something to do with the word scent and how aromas and perfumes could transport us to a place or remind us of someone. I wrote about a subject I had been thinking about. I hope my text is appropriate for the call.
The Scent of the Sea
We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether to sail or to look, we go back to where we came from.
John F. Kennedy
I was born on the coast, practically in the sea. The roar of the waves was the symphony that accompanied my first steps, and the salty aroma permeated every breath of air. During my life, I have traveled different places in the country and the world, but a part of me always anchored in that coastal city I called home. And without me realizing it, that scent became an essential part of my existence, a natural perfume that enveloped me and made me feel at home. So I remember as I ventured around different places in the country and the world, and although each had its charm, there was always an emptiness in my heart that only the scent of the sea could fill.
As I grew up and plunged into the maelstrom of adulthood, the years between 20 and 35, it was in my city that I found my refuge. The smell of the sea became my compass, guiding me amidst the urban chaos and reminding me of who I was at my core. Every time I opened the window of my house, that distinctive aroma filtered in and filled my lungs with longing and belonging.
At the university, my second home, the smell of the sea also filtered through the hallways and classrooms. It was located right in front of the coast, offering me a breathtaking view that stretched as far as the eye could see. Every time I stepped out onto the balcony or walked through the gardens, the salty aroma enveloped me, reminding me that the vastness of the ocean was just steps away. It was a vision that nourished my spirit and ignited my imagination, making me feel connected to something greater than myself.
But life is fickle and it took me far from the shores I loved so much. I find myself in a distant city, where the sea exists only in photographs and in the stories of others. As the years went by, that smell of salt became a constant longing, a nostalgia that haunted me day after day. The sea, unexpectedly, became a distant chimera.
But then I discovered a small spark of hope. On Thursdays, the fish transport arrives at the city market bringing with it a gust of the sea I love so much. And it is my chance to feel close to the sea once again. That sacred day has become my balm, my little oasis in the middle of the desert. So I head to the market every Thursday with renewed eagerness, ready to absorb every trace of that aroma that I miss so much and now, although nuanced, this smell has become my deepest longing.
As I walk among the stalls filled with fresh fish, the aroma wafts through my nose and awakens dormant memories. It's as if the sea is making its way through the corridors of the market, whispering stories of distant seas and seascapes to me. And if I weren't ashamed of looking like a madman, I'd like to stop at each stall, take a deep breath, close my eyes and let the smell wash over me.
There, among the stalls and lively conversations, I have found a connection to my past. As I shop for fresh fish, I strike up conversations with the drivers and vendors. We share anecdotes and laughter, and for a brief moment, I feel transported back to my beloved coast.
The paradoxical thing is that in my hometown, that characteristic smell was treated with indifference and even contempt, perhaps a simple consequence of coastal life. It was something so common and every day that people hardly paid attention to it. But for me, it was a treasure that I carried deep inside me, a gift that the sea bestows. It is the symbol of an identity, an unbreakable connection to our roots.
So every Thursday, in this distant market, I become a memory hunter, a seeker of bits of my beloved coast in every corner of this foreign city. Perhaps, deep down, I am trying to hold on to my identity and the essence that defines me. It may not be the same as walking along the beach at sunset, but on these fleeting Thursdays, I find solace in the smell of the sea and imagine the waves crashing on the shore and feel my spirit reborn.
And though this smell of the sea is but a fleeting illusion, it comforts me to know that I can still find fragments of home in the most unexpected places. It is a reminder that no matter where I am, I carry my coast within me, like a beacon guiding me in the darkness of distance. Now, I am aware that the scent of the sea guides and comforts me, reminding me of who I am and where I came from. And even though I am far from the waves and the sands, I am still a child of the sea, and in every Thursday of fish, I find a momentary refuge where I can breathe again the spirit of the ocean.