Narrative Essay: The Scent Of Orange Peels

The Scent of Orange Peels The summer of 2015 had the scent of orange peels. Freshly peeled, it had stained my hands with its juice. Imagine it, a soft looking little thing that exhaled such a strong zesty aroma. Now, imagine it in your hand, in all of its beauty, as it permeates your nostrils, leaving an almost drug-like addiction. It smelled so fresh, so ripe, so alive, and it was my sole responsibility to make sure the lovely thing would last or so I thought. I was wrong. The longer time passed after its zenith of freshness, the more this ambrosia started to fade away. It was ethereal like all things. Like us all. Mom, Dad, Lolo and Lola weren’t painters, sculptors or musicians but they were all cooks. I was brought up in a family where
Immediately when I came in, the usual thing happened. Her mother greeted me a warm hello as she came from the kitchen and so kindly offered me an afternoon snack that greeted me with the Oriental scent of Chinese cuisine. I told myself I would miss this place: the aroma of baked cookies that existed as we baked together, and relaxed over the slightly burnt, buttery popcorn that accompanied a movie. All of these memories washed over when I saw her. She came down from her room with pleasing flowery odors that indicated that she just bathed. We sat by the steps of her staircase engaging in small talk that people so use to delay that inevitable topic though eventually we did. I implored to remember how happy we were, how I learned to bake sweet, cinnamon infused cookies for her, how I could still remember the scent of the letters she’s sent me. However, my pleas were in mere
What was I going to do sit there and watch both of us in pain?
Her: Yes. It is my problem. We should just end it. I think we’ve gotten too serious.
Me: That’s what I thought too. It’s gone to a point that we can’t fix. Okay.
I left that house oddly with a concrete feeling that I was better now. Content, happy and at peace was I when my plan of getting back with her failed. No more worries, no more pain and no more searching for something that wasn’t there. To me, her fading away from my life was never really a loss; it was more of tossing away the dying roses that lay in front of me. I was also free to take in the exotic aromas of the world.
People say orange peels are common, ordinary, and replaceable. That they only exist to garnish food or mask foul scents but I hope I have proven them wrong because orange peels are on level of its own. Orange peels were these slices of heaven infused with sweet, citrusy ichor. They overload the olfactory bulb with their existence that most get consumed by it. But unlike many, I was lucky enough to have learned the truth of orange peels. Although I have failed in vain to keep their scent alive, I am forever lucky to have experienced the scent of orange peels in a way no ever