jordyn's bookshelf

everyone knows that hospitality is brutal. gross abuse from customers, being seen not as a person but merely a vessel for your dining experience, screaming matches in the kitchen, hours at odds and ends. i leave stinking of fish and frying oil and cheese. all of it clings to my hair, my clothes, my skin.

but there is something comforting in the pandemonium of a rush when everyone is overworked and things are going wrong. you know that everyone in an apron has your back. we are angry, but as we close down at the end of the night it all fades to noise.

and there are quiet moments, too. polishing glasses and forks turns to conversation. a quick tap on the bum of one of your girls as you pass by. a chef handing you some food through the pass. a gentle touch on your back as someone passes behind you. the breath of relief when someone runs food for you. all of these little love languages make up a woven net of something you can't quite place your finger on. you can't quite call them friends, but neither are some of them just your coworkers. shifts bleed into late night wine on the stoop of the flower shop across the road, melting professional into personal.

there is something about the designated party house that feels quite intimate. a house party where you don’t look up the address and let yourself in, opening the fridge and finding a glass without asking, helping with the party prep when you are early to arrive.

i haven’t seen some of you guys in ages but i can hear a shout across the room beckoning me to join the conversation. a hand swept across my lower back as you pass, completely platonic but intimate nonetheless. it’s the middle of the day or late into the wee hours, i don’t know when im there. it is completely normal to wander upstairs and find us in someone’s room reading tarot and cackling. a lingering hug, an eyebrow raised across the room asking if i want to step out for a cigarette, a warm hand around my waist and a safe drink passed into my hand.

the house holds remnants of old memories: stuffed animal birthday gifts, art tacked up to the wall, a particularly memorable bottle of vodka or wine.

i have longed for this for so long. to be welcomed and loved with such casual intimacy. to be thought of and remembered. to be part of the glue of a group.

reviving my bookstagram with a review of ‘mate’ by ali hazelwood!

there is something so alluring about scent. it's not a new idea, to dig deep into what someone's chosen perfume or cologne says about them. about why we associate smells with people and experiences and memories.

the smell of a magnolia tree in verona in my twenties pulls me back in time to skinned knees and children laughing. a block party with fresh melon and cream and a little rope swing on the tree towering over my childhood home. i walk through the city, wind catching a woman's perfume as she walks by and im back in my uni accommodation getting ready to go out with my friend. i dont see her often these days but i still look for her around the corner when i smell it.

it was one of my first adult purchases. walking into a little perfumery and trying scents. i hate smelling like sticky vanilla, all thick and far too sweet. i love masculine scents, but nothing like oud or cologne or musk or sweat. i wanted this perfume to reflect my insides. to melt into my skin and show to the world who i know i am. two years later i still wear this perfume. its not for everyone, but the euphoria of someone commenting 'you smell so lovely' is like electricity in my veins. (and also the power trip of knowing it's not a trendy brand).

i love perfume, my second skin. i love the chef telling me she knows when i clock in because she smelled me. i love my best friend telling me she smelled someone's and thought i had made it to school after all (i was all about rose perfume at the time) and was sad when it wasn't me. i love someone lingering just a second longer to breathe you in.

mr vadim with his shock of white hair and thick accent, rolling up to class on a harley with his ac/dc shirt and coming to teach a bunch of promising young women from early afternoon until it was time to 'go to home.' his long career in the ballet community, touching lives all across the world. he's gone now, much too soon, but i still smile to think of him on that bike.