The Story of How An Arabian Perfume Turned Into An Interrogation
It all started on a sweet breezy Friday, namely last Friday.
Julieta - incubator mother, said we were celebrating one of our brothers-in-law, the following day.
Since I had been invited over last Christmas - we, the ‘family of relatives’ to my perception, celebrated altogether. Outgrowing any sense of expectation, it was quite lovely; moreover, he cooks ones of the most delicious meals in town. I had to go. To say Happy Bday. As an act of politeness. Moreover, God bless, for the meals which have brought blessings to my stomach in the past year. It's been tough for me. Waiting has been tough.
‘What was I to do’? as the lyrics of the song have it. Go ‘empty-handed’?
Of late, I have been visiting the website of an Arabian Perfumery Boutique. We’ve collaborated before. They have 2-3 perfumes I like for myself, very much. I had a budget in mind. I knew I could find a good perfume at an affordable price, since I’m in-between projects.
So what happened after we offered our presents by the birthday cake? Well, out of the blue, the Arab wife, my relative and elder ‘sister’ according to the bloodline, asked me something about why this perfume. I’d bought an oud perfume.
God willing, I didn’t get it. I didn’t comprehend a drop of the question. The brother-in-law developed on the question: ‘She means why an Arabian perfume?’
Dah! Because I am a Damascene and I’d indulge spices, fragrances and essences day and night, night and day. Roses and jasmine essences blended with vanilla and a pinch of… Damascus. Breathe in! That’s life.
Bingo! Not interesting. Tell us about the guy, seemed to tell the look on her face.
The same question was addressed several times by other relatives as well.
I gave the same address.
'And the bag too? Is that bag from the same perfumery?'
Lord have mercy on me.
The conclusion of the interrogation was that I did not deliver clear answers.
But unclear stories.
To unclear, out of place and intrusive questions, I had answered with vague stories. Perhaps I won't share matters of the heart with relatives. Perhaps I'd share matters of myself and my "being" solely with my "tribe". For sure, I love perfumes, every single day.
Futile interrogation and intrusion pushed them away, one more time.
My answer was that I am waiting for the manifestation.
I have planted the seeds... It's time to receive the bliss.
How can people succumb to this? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. It’s a headache! A pain for the brain. Get interrogated like that?
Why would anyone accept this unless they are in the military. They are trained and have signed up for it.
My response? Oftentimes, I don’t react. I distance myself. Hence, I withdraw in my oasis of roses and deny them access to my personal stories. The petals of the heart are solely for our "tribe", don’t you think?
This time, the trigger - was a perfume, because it was Arabian, not European. Who’s the guy? For what is worth, ever since I landed back home, in Bucharest, in 2010, I haven't talked about my feelings to anyone from here. So should the process of interrogation go on elsewhere, I wish you good luck in learning anything about me. It's locked herein, within. True love alone unlocks the box of secrets. It's a universal law. I haven't invented it.
#manifestationinprogress #Ilikeprivacy #Iamnottelling #hopefullysoon #WhoareyouFares?
I bought a perfume. Who's the guy?
Can’t I love perfumes? Who's the guy?
Truth be told, I am very curious too about what the book of destiny has prepared for me.
Previously, the trigger regarding my business had been the shadow of a dick.
What if... it was me? What if?
I have ducked for a while now.
It seems it is high time an authentic, real, vibrant sun appeared so that I rested my brains in its shadows. Amen.
What happens when victims of any kind of abuse are not believed?
I was interrogated over the purchase of a perfume - a birthday present. Unbelievable!
I for one had undergone quite an unpleasant depression and had to dance back and forth and caress a frozen brain to thaw the ice and resume any sort of human cognitive functions. This virtual oasis of roses was an intiative of the aforementioned caress to urge my brain to unlock itself. Guess what? I wasn’t believed. I have had to outsource a parent, a mentor, a best friend and the “shadow” of a manhood to generate the time and space I needed to heal my wounds.
Isn’t that what everybody needs? A Story. Isn’t this how one can defend themselves and stand in the shadow, by telling stories? People do need stories. At times, their kind of stories. Not necessarily your story. But the story about your story. Not the essence of your being.
And, one final question, why does the world stop when the shadow of manhood has not even shown up, but is being thought of? I was under the impression Helene of Troy and her 'horse' had things mixed up. Didn’t she?