01 FLOAT // Gabar
my love letter to an enduring obsession with jasmine.
“Certain scents are particularly attractive to us. Jasmine, for instance, is highly valued in perfumery. What’s fascinating is that jasmine contains para-cresol, a molecule naturally present in our digestive system, as well as indole, which is also found on our skin. This reveals that the olfactory language of jasmine is deeply connected to our own bodily chemistry.” Briac Frocrain, perfumer
I bought a crystal glass vial filled with buttercup yellow jasmine oil when I was thirteen in the souks of Marrakech. Hidden in my pencil case with chewed pen lids, shoplifted lip glosses and the metallic dust of broken pencil ends, I would unscrew the cheap gold lid and douse my wrists, staining my sweater sleeves with floral skid marks.
Aladdin was my favourite Disney film as a child. I fantasised endlessly about living in a golden palace like Princess Jasmine with a majestic tiger by my side, draping myself across daybeds in sumptuous silks.
“My name is Jasmine.” My first playground best friend caught my eye because of her pale blue eyes and long, dark plait. “That’s my favourite name.”
01 FLOAT // Gabar.
The tiny white blooms are pearls, winding strands of star studded jasmine vines blinking down from the wall they have climbed. A decaying boathouse on the edge of a lake, glowing under a (nearly) full moon. I hang my clothes on the crumbling wall as I shed each layer; the salty sweat of my skin mingling with the stickiness of a violently coloured drink spilled by a shy boy, my tobacco scented fingers brushing against my lips, mingled with the lingering soapiness of attempts to wash shared cigarettes away. A shimmering façade, my naked body slices into the silver surface, fracturing the mirrored sky as I lay on my back, bathing in the lunar glow.
The Queen of the Night. “Jasmine makes people tell their secrets.”
(I wonder if I wanted her or wanted to be her.)
