Synesthesia: A Beautiful Mind-Bending Sensory Phenomenon
Imagine tasting vanilla every time you hear the note C on a piano or seeing a vibrant green flash when someone says the word "Tuesday." Welcome to the world of synesthesia—a neurological condition where senses overlap in unexpected ways.
Fouad FARJANI
1/19/2025
Some people experience the world as it is, a straightforward combination of sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell. But for me, those senses have never stayed in their lanes. They weave, induce, and dance together like an orchestra that’s slightly out of sync but wildly beautiful. My name is Fouad Farjani, and I’ve come to realize that my life is one big synesthetic adventure.
Feet, Rhythm, and Happiness
Let’s start with feet. Weird opener, I know, but hear me out. The word itself is a trigger, feet are rhythm, happiness, and life’s cadence all wrapped into one. My favorite sports? All footwork-heavy. Basketball, Boxing, Running, and Football (yes, Soccer for the North Americans), these aren’t just activities; they’re celebrations of movement, agility, and precision.
And when it comes to intimacy, for me feet are more than anatomy, they’re like poetry you can smell & taste. My brain is wired in such a way that a foot on my face, in my hand, or anywhere I can sense it can make me climax with ease. It’s not a fetish I chose; it’s an integral part of how my body interprets connection. It’s like my senses collectively agreed: “This is where passion lives.”
Rain Over Sunshine
People romanticize summer—the sun, the warmth, the freedom, but for me, it’s rain that holds my heart. When the first drops hit the ground, I feel the kind of relief most associate with a beach day. It’s excitement and serenity rolled into one. Why? I couldn’t tell you. It’s always been this way, like my soul was calibrated to gray skies and the smell of wet dirt.
Languages: Tastes, Colors, and Chaos
Speaking four languages and being able to recognize a dozen others has given me a peculiar relationship with words. But it’s not just about accents or fluency; it’s about flavor and color.
Mandarin: Every syllable tastes like soy sauce, salty, umami-rich, and savory.
Spanish: This language isn’t just spoken; it’s served with lime and fried fish. Not the taste, but the aroma of a coastal meal, simple and refreshing.
Russian: When I hear it, my eyes focus differently. Colors pop, and the world becomes sharper, like putting on a pair of glasses after years of blurred vision.
French: This one feels like home. Not the cozy, idyllic kind of home, but the chaotic kind—arguments over dinner, minimal optimism, and a comforting sense of this is normal, isn’t it? It’s not pretty, but it’s familiar.
Some languages evoke entire landscapes. The first time I heard Ukrainian, it felt like a countryside morning, fresh bread, cow manure, wide-open spaces, and the quiet absence of echoes. Vietnamese, on the other hand, triggers something primal. It makes me …horny. Maybe it’s linked to a past experience, but the reaction is automatic and undeniable.
Nature, Belonging & Nostalgia
There’s a sense of belonging I’ve only felt in specific places. Andrievka in The Sevastopol, region in Crimea, with its rugged beauty and understated calm.
Beilen, in the Netherlands, where the quiet hum of nature replaces the clamor of city life. Odessa in winter, where silence drapes the city like a comforting blanket.
These are the places where my mind and body align, where the noise of the world fades into the background, and I can just be.
Nutmeg is my time machine. Its smell doesn’t just remind me of oak, it takes me to a world of wooden boats, wine barrels, and the craftsmanship of things built to last. Without nutmeg, I probably wouldn’t notice the intricate details of wooden furniture or the rustic charm of an old ship. It’s not just a spice; it’s a trigger for nostalgia, a reminder that beauty often lies in the unnoticed.
When My Name Feels Like Hot Water
The strangest quirk of all? My name. When someone calls me “Fouad,” it doesn’t just sound like a name—it smells like a warm bath. Not just any bath, but one drawn in a cozy tub, steam rising, the water perfectly warm. It’s oddly specific, but that’s how it’s always been.
Why My Brain Works This Way
I’ve come to learn that this isn’t just me being quirky—it’s a form of synesthesia. My senses don’t operate independently; they’re in constant conversation. Hearing becomes tasting, smelling becomes seeing, and my name isn’t just a sound—it’s a sensory experience.
It’s not something I control, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to. Synesthesia colors my world in ways I wouldn’t trade for normalcy. It’s why rain feels like joy, why nutmeg smells like history, and why feet are the centerpiece of my sensory universe.
Some might call it strange; I call it life. To experience the world this way is to find meaning in the smallest details, a word, a smell, a texture. It’s not always easy to explain, but it’s always fascinating.
And if you ever wonder what it’s like to live in my synesthetic world, just think of your favorite smell, your favorite sound, or your favorite feeling—and imagine them all present at once. That’s my every day.
