Connecting My Half-Body with the World: Inked Pages, Pomegranate Seeds, and Parisian Perfumes

During my last semester of college, I took a religion class called Religion and Media with one of my favorite professors. We discussed multiple major religions and how these religions manifest in media around us. For our first big assignment, we were to write about three different pieces of media that reflect who we are. From the title of this blog post, you already know what I wrote about. I wanted to share my essay here, because I love what I wrote and I believe that it’s a wonderful reflection of who I am as a person.

My friends call me predictable, but I like to say that I’m consistent. It wasn’t hard to think of three pieces of media that my half-body has attached to: books, pomegranates, and fragrance. Over the years I have picked them up one by one, letting them link my soul to the outside world, as Plate would say. In some way or another, they ignite all five senses: the weight of an old book in my hand, the sweet tartness of pomegranate seeds, the scent of a new perfume, the inked letters on a page, and the sound of a knife cutting into the husk of a pomegranate.

Books have been my oldest and most constant friend, always waiting for me to return when life becomes almost unmanageable. When I think about my journey with books, I have to laugh. Little kindergartener me hated reading with a passion. If you wanted me to sit down with a book, you almost had to chain me to the couch for the required fifteen minutes of daily reading. But that all changed when I was in first grade. (Thanks, Mrs. Carpenter!) Since then, my life has never been the same; I can confidently say that I’ve read over 1000 books. Books have taken me on so many magical adventures, as well as teaching me a lot about history and people from around the globe. I’ve made friends and bonded with them over books, as well as visited libraries, bookstores, book festivals, readings, and author meet-ups. Without books, I truly don’t know where I would be in life right now.

The power of books is the biggest reason why I’m an English major. Books are so important to society, because they spread different ideas and allow for discourse. (That’s why the recent book bans across the U.S. have me so distraught. Censorship is a very slippery slope, and information should never be shielded from curious minds.) But I also will be the first to admit that books can spread very harmful ideas and stereotypes. While books can spread positive messages of love and acceptance, others can demonize marginalized groups and spread misinformation. Racism, homophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, and antisemitism are just a few types of discrimination that can be expressed and spread through books.

Over the past six years, my friends have quickly associated me with pomegranates, and I have happily taken them on as a personal symbol. I first tried a pomegranate during my middle school home economics class but didn’t fall in love with the fruit until later in high school. I love pomegranates not just for their sweetly tart taste but for the historical and literature significance they carry. I’ve always loved the myth of Hades and Persephone, as well as the biblical allusion in the Old Testament. While it’s a lot of work to cut open a pomegranate and extract all the seeds, it has become a calming activity for me, with the reward being the ruby red seeds.

I love pomegranates so much that I have titled my personal blog and online portfolio Pomegranate Seeds. On the home page, I wrote this opening statement: “Pomegranates are like people: you never know what you are going to find until you look inside. This blog is the pomegranate seeds of who I am as a person and who I strive to be.” I think pomegranates are the perfect example to show that people may look very different on the inside than how they portray themselves on the outside—and that can be for better or for worse. The unfortunate aspect of pomegranates is that you don’t know if you’ve selected a ripe or rotten one until you have cut into it. Sometimes just by holding a pomegranate you can tell when it’s rotten, but the rotting starts on the inside. I’ve cut open numerous pomegranates that had shriveled brown seeds instead of firm ruby red ones—but the outside looked, felt, and smelled just fine.

Fragrance—though more specifically perfume—has been the newest edition to my life. While I did wear perfume in high school, my fixation didn’t take off until college, when my sophomore year roommate introduced me to a particular brand. From then on, my obsession spiraled. I started a vast spreadsheet, cataloging different samples I tried, complete with a five-scale rating, a list of the perfume’s notes, when I used it, who gave it to me, and other miscellaneous information that only I, a very Type A person, would revel in. I also joined an active perfume forum on Facebook where we talk about everything related to perfume. In short, my parents, my friends, and my boyfriend have all called me crazy—and to be honest, I don’t blame them.

As an almost-broke college student, perfume is one of the few luxuries that I allow myself. Every morning while getting dressed, I spritz on one of the many samples I have in my collection. Just like having my nails done, if I’m wearing perfume, I feel more put together and more confident, though I know that not everyone might appreciate the latest fragrance I might be wearing. I’m a decidedly chronic “under sprayer,” as fellow “fragheads” have called me on Facebook. While I might enjoy my fragrance choice of the day, I know there are people who won’t. My intention is to never choke someone out, but I do love it when someone compliments me on how good I smell.

Every so often I think briefly about how I interact with these three media on a surface level, but I never stop to think about the deeper implications. While I mostly interact with books, pomegranates, and fragrance in separate areas of my life, sometimes they bleed into one another. I recently bought a perfume that smells like pomegranates, and I plan on reading a book about a perfume thief during World War II. These experiences make me feel like there’s something bigger than myself, beyond myself. Plate expresses this so eloquently: “Taken collectively, these experiences make us feel as if we are not one half, but one” (3). Sometimes after I finish an enthralling read, all I can do is sit and stare at the wall, trying to work through the emotions that ink and paper evoked inside of me. Or when I smell Belle Chérie by Fragonard, I’m immediately transported back to my high school trip to Paris as I recall the sights and sounds of the cobblestone streets. In these moments when my “half-body meets its missing parts,” I feel like I become whole (Plate 4).

I was raised to have a narrow definition of religion, but maybe my definition needs to widen. Orsi wrote that “Religion comes into being in an ongoing, dynamic relationship with the realities of everyday life” (7). Though not religious in nature, there is a ritual in how I partake in these things. I’m always careful with my books, never dogearing pages or throwing them around. If I’m not reading them, they sit on my shelf in an order that makes sense to me. When I cut open a pomegranate, there’s always a process I go through when picking the seeds out. And now I feel incomplete if I don’t spray perfume on myself before the day begins. Without realizing it, I have created my own personal religion through the connection I have with these three items. In Latin, the word “religare” means “to re-bind,” and “religio” means a “bond or obligation.” The small and mundane can be religious, as Orsi describes in his essay. After all, who I am to say that one practice is a religion, and another isn’t?

*Work cited: Plate, S. Brent. “A History of Religion in 5 ½ Objects.” A History of Religion in 5½ Objects: Bringing the Spiritual to Its Senses. Beacon Press, 2015.