No Apple a Day Keeps the Mundane Away
I have solved life’s biggest mystery.
That moment when I’m asked to introduce myself and say one fun fact about me. That setting alone is enough to make me want to crawl under a rock and not come out. But it’s not just me. Most people don’t like talking about themselves, especially with a bunch of peers around with all eyes fixed on them.
And that’s it. That’s the moment when everyone awaits to hear the fun fact:
Is going to be that you were born with six toes on one foot? — That’s too much to share.
How about the fact that you have five older siblings, all female? — That’s not special enough.
And that time you were on a reality TV show? But you were eliminated after the first episode — That’s no good either.
Well, I have finally cracked the code. I found my fun fact. The one that is not too ordinary, raises some, but not too many questions. Short and simple. I don’t like eating apples.
While someone may think that food preferences aren’t necessarily the first thing a person needs to hear after your name and age, I discovered something special in this seemingly artless phrase. It gives me that distinct feature. My only quirk. The peculiar thing that tickles people’s curiosity just enough to make them remember me.
Victoria Chepkasova for “Ouch!”
Then comes the time to explain why. Why on Earth does one hate apples? I look at it in two ways. First — the practical side. Eat them on an empty stomach — get prepared for the stomachache of a lifetime. Eat them when you’re full — wasted efforts, in an hour or two your insides will be stripped to starvation. Let’s not forget the conspiracy about apple seeds being poisonous. That’s one I will never shake off.
Apple slices were always forced on me as a kid. Serving cut-up apples, oranges or any other seasonal fruit is obligatory in the guidebook to being a self-respecting Eastern European mother. But I always had a choice about my fruit intake: Do I like kiwis? Is watermelon my favorite? Somehow, however, apples were never under debate. You just have to like apples. You’re born with it. It’s the same as not liking air or water. I guess that makes me a renegade. An apple-thrope, if you will.
This leads me to my second reasoning, the thing I only recently discovered. I’ve come to adore people’s reaction when I tell them I don’t like apples. It’s unpredictable but always pleasing to watch. Some look at me like I just told them I hate puppies or ice cream. Others raise their brows, tilt their head to the side, laugh and ask why. And it is those people that I know will remember the fun fact. The small quirk behind the ordinary girl. I’m never one to experiment with my hair or makeup. The person, who catches your eye on the street. The one, who has idiosyncrasy written all over them. I was never that person and, frankly, don’t want to be. But I found the thing that sparks people’s urge to know more. If she hates apples, what’s something else I can find out about her?
In a class I took during my sophomore year as a university student we talked about how food relates to identity and culture. The way food is served, the setting, the company, but also precisely what’s on the plate (if there is one) gives a lot of insights about people. Ever since then I have looked at my own habits and tried to dissect them. For instance, always having dinner together with my family growing up. Every night, all of us, around the table, without fail. Or choosing not to eat on the floor, not to eat every kind of meat. These things all speak to who we are and how we were brought up. It’s at the core of our identities. So, my train of thought has now led me to believe that not liking apples is part of my character. The one unusual thing I have chosen to label myself with. I like sharing it. It gives me self-reassurance. Weirdly.
Despite people always saying that you should stay true to yourself — a must-have for every TED talk ever made — despite that, I sometimes try to challenge my identity. My best experience eating apples is slathering them in almond butter, with dates, or anything else that will completely cover up the taste. Maybe that goes hand in hand with my personality. If there’s anything I don’t like about myself, I just bury it under many other things I do like. A short-lived escape. But the apple is still there, somewhere deep beneath the sugary layers.
So, what happens if I start liking apples someday? My tastebuds change. I lose my quirk. It seems like the type of earth-shattering identity crisis I’m not prepared to deal with quite yet.
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Victoria Ivanova is a senior student at the American University in Bulgaria. She believes that one does not need to look hard to find their unique qualities. Sometimes they are right under our noses.
