Scents Of The Future

Yesterday was flat-nose uncle's funeral service. It didn't take a lot of effort for one to feel the dense cloud of emotion under that single void deck, as people wept for this man who in his own clumsy and indeliberate way touched so many lives. Yet, his life wove a web so intricate and beautiful that many of us stood there admiring the way the sunlight glittered through the many tears of mourning that hung on its threads.
So many questions flew through my mind as I stood there: How much did he love his children? Did he have the warm soothing look of love in his eyes as he looked upon his wife of so many years? The images of these "memories" conjured within the eye of my mind come in a yellowish hue, speckled with black dots, as if it were a reel of film running on a dirty projector. The past was built with the sweat of his brow as he laboured for his family and the education of his three children. It is funny how hardship adds a bittersweetness to memories, a taste almost like that of mocha.
I look upon flat-nose uncle's grandchildren and see the childhood they now live. It is no longer laced with the smell of sweat and the grunts of physical toil. In its place is an inner screaming – one of stress and the labour of the mind. It is by this act of labour these children obtain the fruits of their childhood – their gameboys, pagers and even handphones.
A certain sadness comes over me as I feel the emptiness of their sanitised childhood. The sick smell of plastic fills the air, and I am afraid of the memories my children will conjure within their minds when I am gone. I am afraid that in the place of the smell of human sweat is a sanitised void. I am afraid they will not understand how much I love them.
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