I would give you a perfume bottle…
Mostly empty perfume bottles, but still very pretty
I’ve just finished reading a book called Who Will Tell my Story – A Gaza Diary, I mentioned it in my previous blog post. Originally published as a series in the Guardian, the author is a Palestinian man who writes of his experiences during the first few months of the current atrocities.
Thankfully he got out, he tells you that in the introduction, but leaving his homeland and being safe does not always bring comfort. You still remember what you have left behind and know the situation is now worse than ever. Even if there is a chance to return, life will never be the same.
The number of displaced people in the world is rapidly growing as bombs rain down left, right and centre! I wonder how I would cope if I suddenly had to pack up and leave my home, my safety and security?
What would I pack? What items are non-negotiable? What can I live without?
In the book the diarist and his sister repack their bags several times, especially when the seem to be facing imminent danger. For the most part they have been fortunate to have a place to stay with a host family.
You may be wondering by now why I have given this blog post such a strange title. Have I just uploaded the wrong one?
No, this post really is called “I would give you a perfume bottle” because that is the gift I wish I could give to this man should I ever meet him.
In the diary entry for Wednesday 29th November, he reminisces about growing up. Throughout his childhood his father travelled a lot and always brought home a suitcase full of perfume. This man grew up to believe perfume was part of your identity and he says he would always buy at least three bottles when he visited a perfume shop.
He spends part of this day talking to a friend who misses her notebooks and mugs. Which gets him thinking about his collection of perfume bottles he had to leave behind.
They are not essential items, they are unnecessary baggage, but at the start he believed that one day he would be able to return for them. By now they are most likely crushed and buried under rubble.
Each of us takes comfort from the “things” we surround ourselves with. We attach sentimental value to objects and there is nothing wrong with that. It’s a very human thing to do. Our stuff can remind us of happy times and special people from our lives.
In this room where I am sitting to write this, I have a rug my sister-in-law brought me back from her travels to Bethlehem, a Lego model of a typewriter my youngest son gave me as a gift, a rocking chair we bought for the nursery when we were expecting our first child. Each item is imbued with love and memories.
I even have my own small collection of perfume bottles. My late husband hated what he called “artificial smells” so I never wore it. When he died, I started experimenting with scents I liked. Usually, I go for lighter floral tones and I have collected some fancy bottles which are lined up on my bathroom cabinets. Covered in dust, but writing this means they will get a well-deserved clean as I take a photo to go with this post.
If I could, I really would give away a bottle to a Palestinian man who wrote a diary, of courage, self-sacrifice and survival.
Such a tiny gift, but maybe something that would raise a smile and spark a happy memory.
Meanwhile at our lent course last week we looked at a story from the Bible about perfume. The story of the woman who poured a whole bottle of Nard over Jesus to anoint him.
Some called the act wasteful, many didn’t understand, in the same way maybe some people won’t understand what I’ve written today and why something as random as a perfume bottle has struck such a chord with me.
To paraphrase what the diarist tells his friend - these thoughts and feelings just make us human, small unimportant pieces build up a whole life.