Whenever the chest is opened, the scent of camphor pulls me into another world. This is the past of my grandfather: a spice-trading Iraqi Jew. It is infused with the travels of my grandmother, the Chinese immigrant to Singapore.
Nutmeg-sweetness suffused with fresh, unsmoked tobacco. Head-clearing, tangy clove, along with warm, rich, winter cinnamon.
The scent of camphor is ancient and renewing; mysterious and unmistakeable.
It is an alchemy of impossibilities.