Have you ever felt your thoughts spiral like a kite caught in a gust? My mind does this constantly—not due to any clinical condition, but because of my senses.
Specifically, my sense of smell.
It’s as if my nose conducts an orchestra, and my brain is the captive audience.
They say blind people develop heightened senses to compensate. For me, it’s smell. It’s not just a sense; it’s a lens through which I perceive the world.
The fragrance of my loved ones? I could pick them out in a crowd. The whiff of an
adversary? I’d know them blindfolded.
Even the chaotic bouquet of an office—sweat, coffee, ambition—I’ve got it mapped.
For me, each scent tells a story—some linger, others vanish like mist.
On my first day at my first proper job, my nose took charge. I didn’t just meet colleagues; I catalogued them by scent.
One woman, the first to introduce herself, carried a curious aroma: a blend of powdery florals, like baby powder kissed by the green earthy smell of managu.
Let’s call her Powder Flower.
Her scent wasn’t my favourite, but it was unforgettable, much like her personality.
Powder Flower was a character. She claimed descent from a wealthy family, dropping hints that the office’s top brass—managers with corner offices—were her kin.
She had a knack for weaving tales that made her seem untouchable. “My uncle’s the CEO,” she’d say, or “My cousin owns half the company.”
We, the wide-eyed juniors, lapped it up.
In all honesty, ile ya true true, Powder Flower taught me how to wield nonsense as a weapon.
How to intimidate with half-truths and vague connections. It was a masterclass in office politics.
But my nose, my trusty guide, sensed something off. Powder Flower’s scent was fleeting. Her stories, too, lacked staying power.
The managers she claimed as family? They didn’t act the part. In fact, after she left the room, they’d gossip about her—lazy, incompetent, a dreamer with no substance. Lesson learned: At the office, gossip first and fast, and you can also take it up a notch and do what I am doing now – gossip for everyone to see.
But sense of smell didn’t just help me navigate Powder Flower; it grounded me in a world of fleeting impressions. Her powdery aura was a warning: interesting, but temporary.
Over time, I’ve learned to trust my nose. It’s my compass in a maddening world, with all the chaos of a maddening mind.
The Maddening Mind is an attempt to scribble my life, specifically through my experience in the different work spaces I have been in, with some lessons, somewhere in the stories.
