What is the impact of scents on us? Are they powerful enough to take us on a journey through time? Is the image that appears before us when we close our eyes the result of the dance of scent in our soul?
The scent of lemon blossom took me back to my childhood. Among the memories I cherished, I embarked on a journey. I drifted into the warm arms of experiences.
When I think of lemon blossom, my mind takes me back to my childhood and hosts me at my aunt’s house. The lemon tree carefully raised by my aunt welcomed me into the house as soon as the door opened. It greeted me with its scent and displayed its delicate appearance. It was both the most beautiful and the most sensitive in the house. Early harvest would break its heart, compromising its juicy structure. That’s why it expected care from everyone. It also loved togetherness. With its posture, it would say, “I’m here too!” It had to produce its bright yellow fruits at the end of a year-long wait. It had to show off, like every child running around in their holiday clothes, with its festive attire. Its body, which said hello to the year with its flowers in spring, would be adorned with green leaves and a few lemons until the holiday. This was its distinguished holiday attire. It would reveal the secrets it harbored throughout the year during those blessed times.
Almost every Ramadan Eid, the family would gather at one member’s house. When it was my aunt’s turn, pure joy would fill our hearts. Of course, our lemon tree had a considerable share; it was one of us after all. On the Eid morning, when everyone contributed something of their own, it would also accompany us with its scent and taste. It was a flawless work of The All-Glorious Inscriber, encouraging contemplation. It was naturally an indispensable part of Eid gatherings. It would multiply the contemplation made throughout the month, with every drop of oil poured on olives. It would crown that blessed month with forgiveness. It would weave the most beautiful form of gratitude into our hearts, stitch by stitch.
The scent of lemon blossom wafting to my nose must be because Ramadan is approaching. My nose stings as I remember the old Ramadans. Apart from the longing stirring within me, I feel like remembering more and more. It’s the day before Eid, and I make a definite promise: “I won’t sleep until suhoor, you’ll see!” Suddenly, the child who falls asleep within an hour appears.
As the time for suhoor approaches, the sound of the drum rising from around the building still echoes in my ears. As soon as I hear the sound, the joy of waking up on my own before my mother comes to my room takes over my face. I sit up in bed and eagerly reach for my window. I look eagerly, hoping to see the drummer uncle. When I can’t see him, I hope again and run to the terrace. My childish spirit can’t stand still as I hear the call from behind the railing and listen to its tune. When I go to the kitchen, I learn that my uncles will come to have suhoor with us. This time, a new excitement fills me. I quickly end up at the door of the uncles in the opposite apartment. Once I’m sure they’re awake, I rush downstairs to the uncles in the lower apartment. As everyone starts to gather, we, as nephews, are not left without a duty. Wetting the yufka falls to our share from the task distribution. Finally, the table is ready! We chat on one side and carefully wrap the filled yufkas in front of us on the other. We must have missed the conversation a bit, so we check the time in a hurry. An “Oh!” sound rises from all of us. This time, we rush to the jug to sip the last drops. Meanwhile, we hear a call from all sides. From the minarets, that pleasant sound rises: “Allahu Akbar.”
