This short one-minute clip is inspired by my memory of scents. Growing up, I liked breathing in different scents: this was my way of remember special places and events. Being away from my first home for too long, I gradually lost my memory of Taipei. However, since coming to New York City, the smells here remind me much of home. I took on the opportunity to explored this new city through its distinctive smells and my hope for the chance of recalling lost memory.
Memoir
Everything, everyone – even time and memory have its own scent. Sometimes sensing a familiar aroma in a spontaneous situation draws back a fragmented memory and a connection to the past. Scents stir up so much more than just a memory: feeling, emotions and sometimes even touch.
I have lived in three different cities: Taipei for twelve years, Vancouver for six and now I am in New York. Each city has its own distinctive smells. Taipei smells of thick air and dust. Vancouver constantly reminds me of freshly pressed shirts with the smell of burnt paper and glue as well as the cold air in my nose that wakes me up every morning. New York is the smell of food carts along the streets – hot dogs, pastries and Middle Eastern food. As you inhale, the smell tickles as it gently travels down your throat. It trigger your body memory. Through scent, I see the world differently. I remember the world differently.
Back when I was still a little girl around the age of six, I allowed my senses to lead me on several exciting adventures. I used to poke my nose from jar to jar, breathing in the different scents. I picked up and experienced all the perfume displayed on the shelves. Soon I fell in love with the sweet floral scents but was disgusted with the smell of citrus green notes. I also sniffed my mother’s and father’s pillow cases, in search for the remaining trace of their smells, but I was only fond with the smell of warm amber, jasmine and sandalwood that lingered on my mother’s pillow case. These scents are my only residual memory of where I was originally from.
In Taiwan the hot smell of summer, as I remember it, was composed of thick air and a loamy whiff. A moldy yet acrid odor clouded the entire atmosphere. That is the smell before an afternoon thunderstorm. After the usual showers, the air is thinner and fresh with an earthy essence. Every evening, around five thirty, the aroma of fried garlic, onions and spices in hot oil waft through the windows into my house. Whenever I breath in the pungent spices and hot oil, I recall sitting at the window, staring at the sky, and awaiting for my dinner to be served.
There was a park not too far from my home with a beautiful garden of hydrangeas, roses and lilies. I remember one time, when my grandma visited us, she took me to the garden for a stroll. She smelled of Honey Logan tea and cheap perfume. We sat there for a while so she could rest. As we sat down, she immediately pulled out her dusted handkerchief and wiped away the sweat dripping down her forehead and neck. During the short fifteen minute break, I had woven sweet floral aroma along with my grandmother’s unique scent into the memory of our strolling through the park. These are the pleasant smells that remind me of my first home.
At night, the summer breeze fanned out the hideous stink from underground pipelines and ditches. Sidewalks and streets reeked of drunken men’s urine, and six day-old fetid garbage piled on a corner diffusing a dreadful stench. These are also part of the scent profile of Taiwan. They may not be the most pleasant smells, but they are significant components that trigger memories of my childhood. These scents are integral to my twelve years of memories in Taipei, Taiwan.
Frankly, I was anticipating a different kind of smell for New York. I expected the smell of excitement and adventure—a chaotic and radical scent. On the contrary, this city smells of comfort and harmony. The smells of New York remind me of Taipei and draws a sense of closeness and closure. The thought of two cities with similar scents got me wonder about city smells. As I continued pacing down the 5th Avenue, I smelled perfumes with tastes of musk and wood, powder and lily. Beside the sidewalk, where the green trash bin sits, bags of junk diffused the funk and brings a bitter taste to my mouth. This reminded me of the time when I used to love taking out the trash with my grandma.
Eventually, right around the corner, I see Madison Square, where the scents transition into something different.Madison Square is infused with various smells. It smells of carpets of freshly mown grass. It smells of wet dirt drying up under the sunlight. It smells of a mixture of the food carts from the streets. It smells of thin and humid air. It smells of old books and wet ink. It smells of salty sweat from people sun-bathing. It smells of exhaust gas of idling cars. In a busy city with little time, Madison Square smells of ease and sincerity. Standing in front of a water fountain, I let a few drops of water sprinkle my face. As I breath in the mineral crispness, I recall the time as a child when my parents took me to creeks, where I would pick out a few stones from the river and lay them on my palms.
The smell of New York brings me back to my childhood. I happened to be living in Vancouver for the past six years, and many of my memories of Taiwan were forgotten and stored away in the back of my mind. Through the smells and scents of New York, I have begun my mission of recollecting memories of where I grew up.
