Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.

Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.

Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.

Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.

Begitu lah kadang2 bila kita terjun ke jurang kehidupan kita.Tidak ada yang bisa menemani kita,bahkan mereka yang mau mengorbankan hati mereka demi kebahagian kita,juga tidak.

Each day has a color, a smell.