The odd smell of time itself

When I came back to my old life, where the roots of my ancestors – as far as I know – have always grown, the first thing I noticed was the smell. The streets of Bucharest were covered in an ethereal but very familiar scent of fried onions, chicken soup, and mouldy walls, with a few notes I couldn’t exactly name, but part of the entire bouquet. The end of March had freezing weather with snowstorms, something unusual for that time of year. Still, the smell was following me on every street I walked on, like a very annoying clock alarm telling me to wake up. It was almost time to meet my parents, my childhood, after just a few therapy sessions where I discovered I had serious issues because of that time. Abandonment issues, my counsellor said, but they’re not that rare. You have an anxious attachment style, Mel, and it’s good that we discovered it now so you can read all about it and see how you can work with it. Well, ms counsellor, I doubt that I could ever work with it, as it’s been two years since I moved back and I feel like I’ve got nowhere near resolving the issues. If anything, it’s been worse since then. I moved city and thought that I wouldn’t feel that smell again, but it’s all over the place. It’s like smelling time, not onions, or chicken, or mould.

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