About my nose

«My nose is big and competent, like my father’s was. It is just as round and wide. I don’t know if he ever had an empirical concern about his, but I know that my nostrils are big enough for three things: two of my sister’s fingers, three broad beans, and to tell if a green salsa has avocado leaf or not. 

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I am particularly good in distinguishing spice smells; they are my favorite. My mother’s kitchen smells like cumin and garlic, my bedroom like cotton and myrrh, the living room like old flower water, star anise, floor cleaner and musky notes from my dad’s chair. They are not elegant smells, or harmonious, but the combination of all of them makes my mouth water with a craving to inhabit all these rooms again.

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A few years ago, I got my left nostril pierced. The anxiety that resulted from the lack of completeness forced me to get rid of it just two days later. I felt like something was escaping from me through the perforation, like a nasal glaucoma. It’s tragic, really, how such a vital organ –at least in my case– is completely ignored by our eyes to make way for sight, which has given me nothing extraordinary.

The smell of my dad’s chair is beginning to fade. If someone was interested in smelling it, someone would have to squeeze her face to the backrest, firmly. It is strange to begin to assume this nose as fully mine because it was always his. Everyone said so. If I had the chance to choose, I would prefer my eyes see it always.»