Day 1: Write About Your Favorite Smell
So, before I can tell you what my favorite smell is I must give you guys just a tad bit of back story. Let's go back maybe 20 years when your favorite blogger was a mere literary baby genius in the making. I was your everyday adorable, smart, funny, and kind hearted six year old. A pure joy to be around. I was such a joy, in fact, no one, and I do mean no one, could've ever guessed the dark secret I carried around. My mother was an addict. And not the cute kind that only got high when no one was looking. I'm talking driving down Halsted, hand out the window, kids in the backseat, looking for a fix kind of addict. Her drug of choice: CANDY. And please don't take this lightly. Morning, noon, or night, I could count on my mother needing her fix of Red Vines, Big Red gum, or Now and Laters. She had no shame! She didn't discriminate with sugar. However, her all time favorites were strawberry chews. She ate them so much that she began to smell like them. I have this one memory that's always in my head of my mother leaning down to kiss me goodnight, and as she wraps her arms around me to say good night I'm enveloped in this sweet smell of strawberry candy. I remember feeling so safe and so warm. That smell became the smell of home. It represents my mom, my childhood, and everything that's good. To this day when I hug her, whether she's eating candy or not, she always smells like strawberry chews. So, that's my favorite smell! And she, of course, has in some ways passed her bad habit down to me. I can only hope I smell like something cool. Watermelon Blow Pops, perhaps?
He used to be my favorite smell. I’m weening myself off of elements that cause my senses to produce memories that can’t serve me right now. Sometimes, when I’m getting out of the shower, right between the moment when my foot lifts from the tub and hits the bathroom floor, I smell him. I remember him and go into a mental frenzy, think about it all day, see his birthday on the clock, and fight myself for wondering why we no longer speak. That’s not a good way to spend my day. I’ve cradled myself in the scent of sage. A smell that I now associate with getting over him, for I’ve had to smudge myself and my spaces a million times now, just to undo what his memory made me. I cloak his scent in sage and I forget, I forgive, and I am free. Sage is now my favorite smell.