everyone told me that los angeles is no place for my love of biking, but luckily for me venice is an anomaly. it is rich with secluded streets, and lately, my loops around the coast have been daily doses of sanity. over the past couple of weeks i’ve charted a route with minimal risk of getting doored or coughed at. even still, i’ve been going out with a thick cloth facemask, the same one that shielded me from the thick exhaust all january while zipping through manila traffic on a skooter.

during this time in quarantine, sitting at home all day with my thoughts isn’t new to me – but going extended periods smelling my own breath is a whole other level of intimacy i’m not used to. it’s not that my breath is particularly rancid (i hope??) but a cognitive dissonance to looking out at the ocean, take a deep breath, and smelling almond butter.

having bad breath but not knowing i have bad breath was a deeply existential concern of mine i was younger and gave a fuck. in high school, i carried a tin of altoids in my pocket at all times (this was the anchor blue era when my jeans were baggy enough to fit mints, a wallet with no money but full of photos, a keychain with no keys but full of sanrio swag, and a nokia 5110). for my 8th grade prom, i was so self-conscious that i drank an entire bottle of concentrated peppermint drops and gave myself an ulcer and had to sit the entire dance out. my stomach still gurgles every time i hear xscape’s “understanding.”

as of late, the scent of my breath has been low in my list of bodily concerns, filed beneath things like my aching back, my aching knees, my aching neck, and my forehead which apparently is winning in a game of risk against my hair. but this renewed relationship with my breath….i dunno. i dunno.

it’s not really my breath that’s the problem, it’s that i really really really love fresh air, which my breath is not. being out in the world with a literal filter, and that filter smelling like me, makes it feel like i’m the problem. when i’m coasting down a part of my route that weaves through brush, if there’s nobody in sight i sometimes pull my mask down for just a moment to steal a breath of outside air. the aromas of the ocean, the plants, even hints of smog, are suddenly ambrosial.

it makes me think about how i get in my own way of enjoying all the sensual pleasures of the world. all the beautiful sights around me while i opt to stare at my phone instead, all the joy i have access to while i choose to resort to petty concerns. maybe i’m not being fair to myself, or being too deep about it, or both. we’re all just out here trying to survive, waiting for the day we can breathe the air that’s not just our own.

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