I’m obsessed with smells. No news. Everybody knows that. And because I’m obsessed with smells, I can’t stop talking about it like it was some spanking news. That’s why it’s called obsession, na?
Just 10 minutes ago, I was sitting in the garden crushing a fresh bay leaf and kept sniffing it again and again. Quote from Jake: “all right, stop doing that. you might as well stand up and run around the tree”. I swear, I did consider his sarcastic suggestion. But then the sun set and the chill creeped in the air and I decided to go to our room and write a blog.
Not about bay leaves. Thank God!.
About the smell of adventure.
I get bored if I stay in one place for too long. I do. I’m constantly on the moves. Sometimes, my move is just as lame as going to the next town for a day. Other times, I grow gigantic balls and go off for a mission either on a bike or on the most dangerous local bus you can find to be in the middle of no-where, with no information or research whatsoever. It’s the thrill of not knowing what’s ahead that gives me immense excitement. I moved to England in that exact thrill.
Ok, admit, it was hard. It can hardly get more predictable than England. It’s England, for god sake: the rain, the grey sky, more rain, the systematic way of things, more bloody rain, the boring way of things, and moooore rain god damn it, the oh-thought-i-was-smart-with-my-dry-humour-no-you’re-just-being-rude-you-dumb-ass way of things, etc. etc..
But I tried. Everytime people asked me if I was ready, I was like “errmm… yaah”. That basically meant “no, but why would I tell you that”. Fact is, I was slowly bringing myself into that thrill of having no expectation by not thinking about it. I just sort of let it happen. I did not plan anything. I did not do tons of research. Ok, I did google where to do salsa in freaking Cornwall (that was it, I swear!). I wasn’t even bothered looking for jobs. Hell, I wasn’t even bothered thinking about jobs. Whatever was waiting for me around the corner of my life, I did not give a crap about it.
So when I finally had a teary goodbye to my family at the airport, went through the security check and walked toward the boarding gate, reality all of the sudden poped up. “I have no idea what’s next”. All in my head was ridiculous fun time I had before I left and nothing about England. I was blank and confused. But then I took one step into the air-bridge, and I smelled it.
The smell of adventure.
I don’t know what it was. Plastic smell of the bridge plus clean fabric from passengers’ clothes and luggage plus purified air through the vent and abit of disinfectant spray may be? God I hope it’s not just disinfectant spray. My smell of adventure will then be so pathetic. But that exact smell when you step in an air bridge was what sparked the flame of desire for extravagant missions in me. And that flame exploded into a gigantic fire when I stepped in the plane and the flight-attendent with two and a half tons of make-ups on her face smiled at me then said “Welcome aboard!”
Holy crap!!!!!
I couldn’t help a massive beam on my face.
Here it comes.
Another adventure.
This one with an open ending.
I didn’t care I was moving to England (this time for muuuch longer than the last and to make it more appealing, I was going to live in Cornwall. Not even Bath. Cornwall! Exactly! Seven freaking hour on the train to go to London if I ever want to catch Red Hot Chili Peppers at the O2 Theatre). I didn’t care if I was moving anywhere else. Who cares about destination. A move, an unknown ending, that was just more than enough.
I generally don’t like the sound of “settling down”. It sounds old. It sounds … finished. I have one place I call home, knowing that I can always come back and that, gives me the freedom to fly.
So here I am, spreading my wings flying high. (Although, don’t think I’ve ever landed since I was born.)
I might touch the sun and get burnt to shit. But hey, at least I’ll make a fireball in the sky intead of a pile of rotten dirt on the ground. That wouldn’t smell nice. At all.
