Anosmia, Hyposmia—lately, I learned these are the loss of smell and taste, respectively: not the names of minor goddesses in ancient mythology, nor of their attendants in waiting. How sad to wake in one's bed unable to detect that someone is in the kitchen making toast, eggs and bacon, or greasy sausages. Sadder still, to sit at the table only to find a formerly luxurious pat of butter as well as a caramelly cup of your favorite coffee are in- distinguishable from mouthfuls of wet cardboard. But even these are bearable in contrast to rapid decline and death. In the Exodus story, the people fled Egypt and the ten plagues, which scholars have theorized could have included airborne bacteria and disease— even some early form of climate change which poisoned the rivers and killed all the fish and frogs. And yet, crossing the barren desert, they had quail and manna, which they likened to coriander seed or honey. Then and thereafter, heroic crossings are marked with strife and deprivation. On the long ocean voyage they took to get to another version of a promised land, Bulosan wrote of how some of his cohort of pensionados and migrant workers resorted to softening torn newspaper pages in water, which they chewed slowly if only to trick their hunger. It might be said that toward the end of their journey, language was their only sustenance. The fields waited, and hard labor in the soil. Among them, some were chroniclers of all they saw and tasted.