A scent of a fresh apple.

One scent can bring lots of memories.

I have a few memorize scents that make me remember certain events or situations, especially in those times where I found myself walking down the busy streets of Canada.

A simple scent of the strong aroma of cocoa with mallows on top, matched with a scent of fresh-baked cookies, reminds me of the days where I usually spent my afternoons inside my favorite coffee shop; scents where I always find my comfort every time I was on the edge of the oblivion. Scents where I always find my comfort and peace during the autumn season. Scents that would constantly remind me of my better days.

A simple scent of vanilla coming from a small yet elegant bottle of a women’s fragrance reminds me of our two professors in the major subjects. That first woman around her 30s, who has a loud terrifying voice that every student would probably swallow the lump forming in their throats as they listen to the words she said during class discussions. And that second woman around her 20s, who has the same scent as the first woman, she was the most gentle person I’ve ever encountered with in my whole life. They might have some opposites in terms of charisma, yet they still have the same scents. Nevertheless, a simple perfume still reminds me of them.

Even a simple scent of a man’s cologne reminds me of that one guy in the hallway who I almost had a squared up with.

A simple scent of old books from a small library - which was located at the corner of the street - reminds me of those days where I spent my free time in the library together with my high school friends. If I have to be honest, reading is not really my thing. Although, sometimes I had fun wandering around the shelves as if I was really looking for something interesting to read, or casually picking random books and flipping on random pages just in case I’ll find something that could get the boredom out of my head.

A simple scent of the icy breeze once the raindrops start padding down on the dirty pavements reminds me of my childhood days where I found myself getting up from the bed and rushing my way out of the orphanage house, just to feel the lightweight of the raindrops sliding down to my bare skin.

A simple earthy scent of fall reminds me of those days where I had my freedom for the first time. The scent reminds me of the first time I had the chance to tour different cities inside Canada. The scent reminds me of the first time I felt so thankful; the only thing I have in mind at that very moment. The scent reminds me of the first time I stepped a foot on top of the various colors of leaves, though most of them have shades of yellow and orange.

I still have a few more scents that remind me of certain memories. Some are good and special that I treasured through the years, and some are the worst that I don’t want to remember anymore. All of these memories I’ve recognized through the scents I’ve come across in every journey I tackled, none of them actually matter to me except on the scent of her lemon fragrance mixed with cinnamons and fresh apples. 

A simple scent of lemon reminds me of the way she would fix the collar of her polo and run her hands through the soft fabric of her skirt. The scent reminds me of the way she would pull her hair up in a tight ponytail before she’ll pick up a small basket to pick some apples from the backyard of the orphan house.

A simple scent of cinnamon reminds me of the way she would make sure I had at least one meal in the morning. She would bring me a cinnamon bread that she got from the local bakery down the street.

The simple scent of fresh apples reminds me of those days where we regularly pick fruits in the backyard. It’s not like we’ve chosen to pick apples as our hobbies. As the oldest members inside the orphanage, we were in charge of taking care of the fruits, to which I didn’t mind at all. As long as she was there beside me, to guide me and correct me in my wrongdoings, then I have nothing to worry about. Soon enough, picking apples became our favorite thing to do, especially in our free time.

Even just a simple apple picking with her means a lot to me, and it leaves a memory that will remain in my book of life. It will remain forever in my mind through the scents of fresh apples. She is so unreal as if she was the star that was out of reach from anyone’s hands. Yet she was the first one to approach me and hold me like there’s no tomorrow. She treated me like a falling apple she caught from the tree; she held me like an apple, and she looked at me as if I was the most precious and fragile thing she had ever seen.

How I wish I did the same thing to her, I wish I could’ve protected her in those times where she needs me the most.

But I didn’t.

And now, I couldn’t look at her in the eyes the same way as before without being guilty about the incident.

Until the day came where she stood beside me under the tree, with the basket hanging on her arm. She glanced at me with nothing but pure admiration in her eyes, she still gave me a smile. She’s still picking the apples from the tree and placed it carefully in her basket. She’s still talking to me and scolding me for picking the wrong ones, she’s still holding my hand throughout the scene. But once she was finally done with her task, she faced me and said, “you can let me go now”. And with that, she walked away from me, leaving me alone in the dark beside the tree.

When her scent was no longer filling the breeze, that's when I went inside the orphanage as well. The more I walk through the corridor, the more I feel my feet stepping into pieces of crumbled leaves with patterns of small slices of apples on the floor. The more I walk through the corridor, the more I get her addictive scents on my nostrils.

And the more she invades my scents, the more I hear her cries and pleads echoing to the entire house as she shouts at someone to help her inside the trapped walls.

Is she even real? Is she just a dream? Is she just a form of my imagination behind the scents of my memories? Is she just a form of my imagination to make me feel that I wasn't alone when I'm picking the apples?