Vol de Nuit Guerlain 1933 Eau de Toilette

I have a disrupted day-and-night rhythm - and it’s probably because of you.
You just had to choose "Vol de Nuit" back then in that little perfumery in Adelaide. I was already in your belly at that time, about five days old, and I remember that Wuuuusch... splash....
that spectacular start the fragrance made. Dazzling aldehydes like the sky over Broken Hill, when gold nuggets shimmer somewhere on the horizon.
Your credit card was glowing when you bought "Vol de Nuit," because it was an expensive indulgence back then; you wanted both the extrait and the eau de toilette right away.
Grandpa was born in 1933 and he came to Germany on an Air France flight. One more reason for you to like "Vol de Nuit." St. Exupéry never particularly interested you; you had too much else to read during your studies, and "Le petit prince" was touching, but not as earth-shattering as Sartre.
Galbanum, on the other hand, remains a constant for you. It comes from Iran, and only a year ago did you realize that you must have seen this plant while hiking in the mountains around Karaj, without being aware of it.
We only ever perceive a fraction of what surrounds us anyway. I could only smell, feel, taste, and hear you for nine months, but not see you.
You and my father continued on to Melbourne, and I remember it being incredibly hot there. 45 degrees in a motel... and you were wearing "Vol de Nuit."
It cools at first, the galbanum, the aldehydes. Then flowers come in, very light, small, tamed flowers, apprivoisées, like in "Le Petit Prince."
Iris makes an appearance, but only if you know her; if you’ve never met her before, she seems like stardust and settles on your skin, calm, gentle, soothing.
Now "Vol de Nuit" is like the color purple, deep and mysterious, meditative. Small yellow specks of daffodil appear, but they don’t disturb the image; they add a little dissonance. Why not, no one is just calm; otherwise, they would be a Buddha.
Then the day of my birth 20 years ago, you had thought long and hard about which fragrance you could wear around the time of my birth to welcome me... of course, you chose "Vol de Nuit," because with this perfume, everything started for me, even before I saw the light of the world, and when I lay in your arms, at your breast, and drank breast milk for the first time, I sensed a tiny hint of vanilla, perhaps on your skin, perhaps in your hair, which brushed against me gently. You hadn’t specially perfumed yourself for the birth itself, as you wanted everything to proceed as naturally as possible, but your body had probably already mixed the scent of "Vol de Nuit" with its own juices.
In recent years, "Vol de Nuit" has changed, but so have you. Your life has become considerably lighter, just like the fragrance, which has always evaporated very quickly as an eau de toilette and now seems even more volatile than before.
Sometimes, when I hug you, I sense an elegant hint of oakmoss, vanilla, and sandalwood, very delicate yet so memorable.
Unfortunately, you don’t wear "Vol de Nuit" as often as I would wish; you endlessly experiment with various fragrances... and then you talk about "Parfumo," expanding horizons, and your hobby.
We all in the family understand, but we wish for more consistency, a signature scent like "Vol de Nuit," that we can always hold on to, reassure ourselves with, remember...

especially me, who was conceived thousands of miles away on another continent and returned with you on a night flight to Frankfurt, and who feels this longing...
for arrival, for return, for a mother who gently strokes my cheek when I lose my way, whispering: "Everything will be fine."