Served along with fries, burgers and really anything else, ketchup is and has always been a universal love for many.
However, unfamiliar to most, there is a small part of the world where ketchup only provokes unpleasant feelings of disgust and even terror, just from the mere sight of it. This small part of the world is where I reside. Whilst most people are afraid of snakes or bugs, mortuusequusphobia has haunted me for years.
It’s hard for me to realize how others find delight, and even pleasure, when indulging in the condiment— experiencing the sweet, tangy and “delightful” sensation. However, all that I am able to sense is the looming presence that it holds over me when I must face it at the dinner table. The idea of it sends a shiver down my spine, with disgustful visions of its red, sticky residue being poured over perfectly good food, now ruined.
Truly, I could not tell you how the fear arose. Since I was a child, I have felt disturbed by the taste. The smell is offensive and sharp; even the word itself repulses me.
My uneasiness towards it had grown more and more until a genuine horror came of it. It’s a feeling that is illogical, a sensation in my brain that is deeply planted and cannot be reverted by any means.
Many do not understand the struggle it is to face a fear that those around them love so much. The hardest part is not necessarily avoiding ketchup, but watching others bliss in its existence.
The action of slathering it on a burger patty, or simply dipping chicken nuggets into it, churns my soul into a dreadful state. The way it rests on a plate, undisturbed, waiting to make a mess….. yuck.
Everywhere I go, there it is: lurking on tables, smeared along someone’s plate or even hiding squished in its small packet tucked within an order of fries.
The hardest thing to handle is when someone nearby squeezes a bottle and I am forced to hear the ominous squelching noise. My chest tightens and my breath comes short as I see the worst, most hideous factor of ketchup: its inconsistency. The form of it becomes a liquid that splats unevenly on one’s plate, not only shooting irregularly–causing chaos in my mind to rumble. Is it going to splash on me?
When this watery residue comes out it becomes so seemingly inedible. My mind fumbles trying to make sense that people will still resort to eating it. How one can still delight in this substance after witnessing such an action is beyond me.
Many people do not understand this fear. They see it as a joke, saying things like, “It’s just ketchup,” as if that makes me feel peace over it. I am unable to pretend it is just nothing. The discomfort is constant, and the anxiety is strong when people bring it too close to me.
However, I can proudly say, I’ve become an expert at avoidance, smoothly walking on the opposite side of condiment aisles, asking servers to remove it from my meal and carefully slipping somewhere else when someone inevitably douses their food in it.
Back in high school, everyone took this fear lightly. I remember so vividly the day some friends and I went out to eat, when a guy from school passed us and started talking.
Everything seemed to be going normal, until one of my friends giddily mentioned that I was afraid of ketchup. I knew it was coming. I was waiting for the disbelief, the shock, the laughter. However, I was not ready for what he did next.
So intrigued by my distress over the condiment, he grabbed the bottle of ketchup across the table and shot the slimy concoction all over me. My body launched itself out of the chair as I wailed my eyes out. Its uneasy red color was smeared against my skin, the unsettling smell on my clothes. Nothing else in my life could compare to the level of trauma that I had faced.
As much as I try to and want to avoid it, it seems to linger with me no matter what. Whether a fast food worker puts extra packets in my to-go bag, or a restaurant delivers it with my meal.
It is not that I want to make a big deal out of this sauce, but the world must be reminded of this little corner of people who are terrified of what most people cherish.
Yes, I understand that this is not a rational fear, ketchup cannot physically hurt me, but it is still a fear, one I am willing to accept and stand by. Just like any other irrational fear: heights, spiders, tight spaces, ketchup is mine and I am willing to take any measures needed to avoid it at all costs.
And besides, the world is full of many other condiments, right?