Yes, you have guessed right. I am reviewing my own perfume.
(Is that narcissistic?)
If you can really call it a perfume, that is. But this juice, made at home with all natural ingredients suspended in a high percentage vodka, has been percolating and blending within itself, now, for almost twelve months since I came from the most magical holiday of my lifetime in Indonesia last year ; kept in the dark, added to, messed with; but now, I think, ready.
Java is my ode to that place, to the vanilla plantation we stayed on: an elixir of memory that seeks to encapsulate some of the experiences we went through there, which, looking through some of the photos from last August just now, sears through my being with a nostalgic intensity I almost find unbearable. In all honesty, I had to stop looking.
The basis of the perfume that I…
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