Nothing screams autumn like the smell of cinnamon and/or pumpkin everywhere. I mean, everywhere. In grocery stores, in classrooms, in cafès, and even in some restaurants. The sweet smells are seemingly protruding from the pores of establishments and are therefore one hundred times more appealing than ever. Three words can describe my sentiments toward the fall season: I LOVE IT.

However, with the fall season approaching, Halloween is about to take over our streets, homes, and schools. Despite my dire love for autumn, I am not necessarily a fan of Halloween. The “holiday” has always left a chill in my bones. I don’t know whether it is the fact that I did not grow up here, or maybe I was born to hate Halloween. Or, rather, what Halloween is beginning to mean.

Dressing up has been a fun activity for me for as long as I remember. Even when I was younger and did not fit my mother’s shoes, I would wait for her to go to work just so that I can try on all of her outfits, put on a ridiculous (and poorly applied) amount of makeup, and strut clumsily around the house in heels. It would feel grand. I would pretend I am a world-renowned author at an interview. Consequently, I was exhilarated to find out when we moved to the U.S. that Halloween was more celebrated than it was in Romania.

I wish fall was not so highly related to Halloween, but instead, I wish the holiday were celebrated like it is supposed to be. The wiccans believe that Halloween (Hallow’s Eve) is a celebration of the fall harvest. Quite frankly, that sounds tons more enticing than putting on rubber masks to scare away young children. Gathering with friends and family to celebrate the changing of the season not only sounds innocent, but also peaceful.

The first time I celebrated Halloween, I was almost nine years old. I was Madonna. Well, at least I tried to be. I loved Halloween that year. However, as I grew up, I started to despise the holiday. I didn’t fit in at school when my friends sported vampire fangs and cobwebs. Instead, I was looking left and right to make sure nothing will pop out of the corner and eat my brain. For many years, I wished I was back in Romania where Halloween wasn’t so scary.

I know how juvenile it seems to be scared of a few masks and some faux blood, but the thought of dressing up for something as a competition of fright is enough to drive me away from the concept altogether.

Something about Halloween makes me weary and I can never put my finger on it. But in the meantime, while I wait patiently for the holiday to be over, I will savor the sweet smell of pumpkin diffusing from every structure.