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It rained today.
In the afternoon, right after I had finished my lunch and was relaxing on my bed. The pattering of the drops on the glass, and the few sporadic flashes of lightning broke the reverie of the book in my hand. For about an hour, the raindrops drenched the garden outside, and polished all the green leaves. Some of them even stayed on the petals.
People of literature might call the scene beautiful – the bright sunlight after a short torrent. Sparkling dew, and the fresh earthy smell, along with the brightened colors of every plant in that small garden. The visions, the smell, the sound of the last few drops falling off of the trees, it’s enough to fill your mind with joy.
Not for me though! The fresh smell of the earth after the rain is agonising for me. I believe they call it Petrichor – undoubtedly rooted in Greek, I suppose. But that’s not what matters. What matters today is the fact that my other senses have to fight with my nose to keep my sanity in check.
I don’t have the courage to go out in the garden. I cannot dare to go out there and ruin the pious raindrops with my salt water tears. All because of that heartbreaking petrichor.
Because it is true. That our senses are tightly bound to our strongest memories, be it a heavenly daydream or some hellish nightmare. And it’s unfortunate. My happy memories about this particular smell seem to be too fragile. And maybe that’s the reason. Maybe that’s why this petrichor has bound itself to those stronger memories, the nightmares.
On the bright side though – Yes, there’s a bright side even on a day that seems bleak with every word I say about it – the remaining four senses seem to be tightly bound to the happy times of my life. Those beautiful moments, that professor Lupin asked Harry to remember when learning the Patronus charm. And they are fighting valiantly with the this bad one to keep everything together.
The bright glittering dew hanging from the leaves, the cool breeze of the hills around me, and the bitter-sweet heat of coffee on my tongue. Yes, three of my senses have great weapons at their disposal.
All that I need now to overpower the strength of this vile petrichor is a voice that’ll say, “It’s going to be alright!” And so I look at the wet window pane, stare right into the eyes of my reflection merged with the image of the garden. And say out loud, “It is going to be alright!”
Bad memories and hurtful experiences will always be there. What’s important is that we
Because there’s ALWAYS going to be a bright side.
The Inspiring Word: Petrichor.
“Petrichor” comes from the Greek words “petra,” meaning “stone,” and “ichor,” which refers to the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods. The phenomenon was first characterized (as the familiar smell after a light rain) by two Australian scientists in 1964.
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