smells like nostalgia.

As I enter into the modern forest of humidity I’m slapped in the face by that nostalgic august smell that China just seems to emanate. It’s not your usual smell of a potion of pollution and stinky tofu, with some peachy umbrellas thrown in; it’s more the strong scent of being in a city so completely and utterly bewildering from anywhere you’ve ever been before. Any staircase I run up, I’m instantly transported back to my days of Jinan University, running at full speed up the sticky winding stairs trying not be to late for class, again. My nose can tell when it’s about to rain, it can tell when I’m about to be thrown down memory lane, flashes of my first days in China flying by, arousing a whole compartment of feelings and times that had crawled to the back of my head, hiding in the sweat left behind at the end of two summers gone by. It’s comforting though. I wonder if it will ever change, if that smell will always be the same? Sticky nostalgia. The strong scent of memory lane.

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