The more I think about it, the stranger it seems: why should scent have such an overwhelming influence on memory? Something I see might occasionally remind me of something else, or the sound of an old song might bring to mind the friends I had when it first played, but smells… The memories I associate with the scent of hairspray or musty corridors or night-blooming jasmine can be really overwhelming. Almost knocks me down, at times.
Like the other day: I came home and it was moderately hot outside and the air conditioner in the living room hadn’t been on and our house smelled exactly like my friend Ken’s house did when I was 12 years old. A warm smell, not completely clean, but not filthy either. Fried food permeating every porous surface. It smelled like home–not really my home, but someone’s.
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