My senses have been flooded with sublime reminders of a distant land. A country separated by seas. Quaint, prismatic, humble and steeped with history. A landscape of cobblestone valleys and elevations of limestone and gothic grandeur. A place nestled within the mountains, a neglected village clad in wood; abandoned but teeming with dilapidated beauty. The scent of an obscure sanitizer carries me to my great aunts duck egg blue bathroom. The echo of small movements reverberate gaudily while dappled morning light swims through the opened fenestration in sync with the rooster who crows his fractured tune below.
Then the vile smell of exhaust fumes takes me to a small town built centuries ago by Roman invaders. My Isabel Marant clad feet halted at an intersection. The air thick with pollution, my skin singing in praise as the warmth of the summer sun caresses it fondly, like a sleazy European lover. And at the sound of this song I am projected to the near future; travelling on roads spotted with wind turbines and erratic drivers. A familiar European landscape of deep moss tones and jutting pine trees. My cousins seated in the passenger seats and I at the drivers of our rental BMW. The three of us croon harmoniously to the chorus while I clutch the steering wheel with force, pinching myself as proof that this is real; that I am here and now.
That this is reality.