Some plants carry a quiet fragrance — cypress is like that. Others are gentle — like lavender.

Lemongrass is neither. It is bright.

There's a freshness to it that recalls lemon zest, layered with a sweet, grassy warmth — and the moment you breathe it in, it's as if someone has pushed open a window and let the light in. If lavender is the scent of night, lemongrass is afternoon sun.

A herb that is more Taiwanese than it might seem

When people think of lemongrass, they often imagine Thai cuisine or Southeast Asian kitchens. But lemongrass is actually quite at home here — Taiwan's warm, humid climate is exactly the environment it thrives in, and from the paddies of central and southern Taiwan to potted plants on apartment balconies, its slender stalks are a common sight.

For an older generation of Taiwanese, lemongrass is even more familiar. In the mid-20th century, Taiwan was one of the world's most significant lemongrass-producing regions. The hills of central mountain towns were blanketed in lemongrass fields, and the "lemongrass era" is a shared memory in many communities. When we choose lemongrass today at the flower market, we are in some sense continuing a bond between this island and this herb that stretches back nearly a century.

The source of its bright scent

Lemongrass gets its fragrance primarily from a natural aromatic compound called citral — the same compound found in lemon peel, and the very essence of "lemony." But what makes lemongrass so appealing is that beneath the citral, there's a rounded, sweet grassiness that softens the effect. It smells like lemon, but gentler than lemon. It smells like fresh grass, but brighter than grass.

What's interesting is that this fragrance lives inside the leaf fibers. Fresh lemongrass needs to be bruised or rubbed to release its scent. But naturally dried lemongrass releases its aromatic compounds slowly over time — unassuming, but always there when you lean close. Like a quiet, dependable friend.

Why did we call it 解憂 — "carrying worries away"?

When we were developing the scent language for the pillow, we gave lemongrass a name: jiě yōu — loosening what weighs on you.

Because what lemongrass does best is address those days where something feels off but you can't explain exactly what. Work is stacking up. Messages sit unread. The feeling is overcast. What's needed in those moments isn't more soothing — it's something bright, something that nudges the window open.

The brightness of lemongrass carries sweetness underneath it. Clear, but not sharp. Many people describe breathing it in as "like a deep inhale of just-cut grass" or "like putting down something heavy you'd been carrying inside." Come home at dusk, and let that scent wait for you at your pillow or entryway. The worry may not vanish at once — but at least, the room brightens first.

What is its relationship with sleep?

You might wonder: can such a bright scent really help you sleep?

Yes — and it's particularly suited to a specific kind of night. The kind where your mind is full. Lavender-style soothing works well for someone whose body is tired. But if you're the kind of person whose head is packed with to-dos, who can't sleep because emotions have knotted up — sometimes what's needed is the opposite: a scent like lemongrass that opens things up first.

Dissolve the worry, then fall asleep. Get the order right, and sleep will come naturally.

(If you're not sure which kind of night is yours, the five pre-sleep rituals article is a good place to start finding your own bedtime rhythm.)

From lavender and Taiwan red cypress to lemongrass, you may have noticed — THE FOREST believes every mood deserves a plant of its own.

This autumn, these plants will come together in five scents and live inside a single pillow. Still, clear, deep-mountain, worry-dissolving, and forest-breathing — which one belongs to your night? You'll know when it arrives. Follow us on Instagram and LINE to be the first to find out.