We Live In a Country of No Smell

Denied, we are denied of our senses. We are cut off, nay, shamed to activate our sense of smell. Look pretty, be pretty, smell pretty...better yet, don’t smell. Have no hint or suggestion of anything but flowers. No food- especially that pungent curry. No earthy, dirty, sweaty smell. Oh no, let us have none of that. That fishy, salty, rooted smell-
I stand on the train, self conscious and aware that the cream I got from the Chinese doctor yesterday is different. It smells...different. Not necessarily bad but a whole cultural stereotype spins in my head as I’m dizzy from the overbearing mixture of my perfume over the cream. I tried to cover it up, you see. ‘I’m just trying it out!’ I want everyone to know. Something different, you see. Overbearing florals over the Chinese secrets. Secret smells- I actually cannot identify it, place it, pin it, name it. It’s different. And I stand here trying to feel courageous knowing I am self conscious, projecting my own discomfort onto the masked faces of others. It should be no bravery to dip my toe into Chinese secrets, their medicine- or is it a hoax? Am I a fool, I ponder standing here self-conscious. Aware that everytime I move I stir up the aroma stuck to my skin. Knowing that our society has boundaries, boundaries and judgements of smell. There is them and then there is us. The immersive, embracing, smelly, and then there is us, the sterile, clean, and denied.
We live in a country of no smell.