I hate the winter. Frosty winds chill the soul while darkness lingers with unrelenting persistence. A multitude of pathogens wreak havoc on my throat, unleashing a sticky, green mucus that proves too strong for my gentle immune system. A muddy, acrid substance makes its way up my nose, oozing out despite my efforts to sniff it back in. Yet, amidst this sea of desolation, a beguiling, hidden treasure would permeate our home annually – the magical aroma of Cinnamon.
I don’t know when this blissful aroma began. My earliest memory of it was during my daily trip from the warm cocoon of my School Bus to my apartment. I’d sprint home physically shaking even though I had on multiple layers of jackets and sweaters. My body would beg me to walk faster, yet my limbs would refuse to comply. At last, as I arrived at the doorstep, I was greeted by the soothing scent of cinnamon.
As it entered my nostrils, it caressed every hair as a mother does to her sleeping child. A deceptive sweetness interweaved with a subtle hint of sourness. The scent envelopes me in a big, warm hug, breathing life into my numb body.
I hadn’t always hated winter. Cinnamon, along with the excitement of Santa Claus, actually used to make it the most joyous season for me. But that all changed one fateful day.
That day was December 25th, 2015. It was a cool, dark morning. The sun, dawning later than its usual time, coated the freshly mowed grass with a deep, golden color. Abundant green leaves that once filled voluminous trees with life now turned orange and lay dead on the side of the road. Exuberant, I woke up and raced to the front door, where Santa usually left me my presents. I opened the door and….
Nothing.
I saw my dad immersed in his phone. He was wearing his signature gray pajamas and blue sweater. He hadn’t shaved, so when he furrowed his brow and looked at me, he seemed surprised, as though there was something I should already know.
“Have you seen my presents?”, I asked.
No response.
I asked him again.
Nothing.
The silence was deafening.
“Santa isn’t real.”, he said. The curséd words came out of his mouth.
I heard something shatter inside. My mom had accidentally dropped a glass, spilling water over the tiles. But I barely noticed it, for I knew something else inside me had also shattered– my heart. It had crumbled under the weight of the truth.
As I stood bamboozled, a sour, metallic liquid began traveling up my eyes, aiming to escape through them. But I fled to my room and locked the door. I wouldn’t be seen again for one hour.
After spending the first half hour mourning, I noticed a warm, dry, sweet, and slightly spicy aroma permeating the walls of my room. It was the smell of cinnamon. But I wanted to resist. I wanted to drown in my sea of sorrow. I used multiple tactics: holding my breath, squeezing my nose close with my fingers, and even taping my mouth shut. But nothing worked. I gave in.
I inhaled the warm, spicy aroma. The scent wafted up my nose, filling my head with images of our crackling fireplace during winters. I felt a magical wave of warmth wash over me as the scent enveloped me once more, starting with my head and traveling all the way down to my toes. The sour, metallic taste began fading away, and I felt my strength returning. Cinnamon became my companion. It became my best friend. It became my greatest gift.
Throughout the seven years I spent in Yuma, the Cinnamon scent would go on to become my best friend. I’d buy cinnamon-flavored candles, cinnamon-toast crunch cereal, and even authentic cinnamon sticks that would go into our daily tea.
Cinnamon taught me to treasure everything I found valuable. Whether it’s a toy or the presence of the aroma itself, it taught me to value all the love (and money) my parents poured into buying me my favorite presents. They kept me believing… kept me admiring… kept me loving.
The smell of cinnamon teleports me back to a simpler time. A time when I was a naive, carefree child living in my idealistic world. The two-prong aroma of Cinnamon also taught me an important life lesson. Just how Cinnamon is defined by a mutual harmony between sweet and bitter, so too will be life. Life will be unfair at times. I will be lied to and deceived. But, the sweet part teaches me not to let that define my outcome, because happiness can be found even in the smallest of moments. It’s important to let sweetness predominate. Because some of our greatest gifts in life don’t need to be made from magic to be magical…
