I can’t recall when or how it happened, my aversion for food in general.

I used to have great passion for food. Food always tastes well on a hungry stomach, my mother said. It isn’t necessarily true because food doesn’t taste less well on a full one either. My occupation allows me to taste a variety of cuisines and I’ve learnt to appreciate most dishes, however bizarre the ingredients and cooking methods may be. My professional idea is there’s no bad food.  Every dish has its own flavor and it is my duty, our duty, to try and find out how a particular cuisine should be appreciated.

But that was before a bite of food tastes like dust in my mouth. Every kind of food has its own flavor and every kind of food leaves a differently disgusting taste on my tongue. Rice tastes like dust, fish tastes like shit and pork tastes like dry mud. Vegetables are the least horrible, for they taste like damp paper sheet.

It grows worse by the day until putting a piece of food in my mouth is a horrendous torture. I try to avoid food as best as I can, which is particularly hard. I don’t really care that I’m getting thinner and thinner; I’m much more appalled by the prospect of losing my career. How can I give judgment on some chef’s dish when all my tongue can taste is mud and dirt and shit?

But not to worry, my problem is ultimately solved the day an unknown force urged me to dig a cake of mud and put into my mouth. You imagine I would throw up right away. No, I didn’t. Instead I dug more and more. By the end of the day, I’ve never been more satisfied. Guess what? Pork tastes like mud and mud tastes like finest barbecue.

So, not only do I quit my job, I also severe all my ties with food profession to begin my simpler, quieter lifestyle. You must think I’m lying when I say I’m not any less happy then the time when I was as normal as you. Believe me I’m not. Never before have I imagined life would be much less complicated if humans could digest garbage instead of food.

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