My first parcel took four months to arrive.
Intriguingly, it had arrived in Mongolia (a landlocked country) via sea mail.
The decrepit box that was handed to me looked like it had sat in something wet, shortly after it was beaten and electrocuted.
Heavy text books spilled from its guts and crashed to the floor. Black pepper and curry powder, freed from their packets, were spread throughout the pages.
I transferred the books to a sturdier box, sending a heady cloud of exquisite aromas into the air.
My mouth watered. I remembered those scents. Cumin. Coriander. Pepper.
There was a sniffle behind me. Turmeric. Pepper. Garlic.
A nose exploded. Pepper. Cardamom. Pepper.
And another. Pepper. Ginger. Pepper.
As the post office erupted, I made my exit, my victims blinded by watering eyes.