Updated: Oct 29, 2021
You would probably never have expected the most unpleasant secret of your fragile soul to escape as a ghost from a ghost trap. And when?—During the Halloween season, in the most typical situation.
It was just that someone offered a Snickers bar to me which I politely declined. Then Butterfinger came into view, and that sent up a red flag for me as well. Soon after, Reese's cup took its turn, wriggling its orange wrapper out of the Halloween candy bowl. With thanks and sorry, I refused to take the candy again. Then, I had to explain that I don't like peanuts. My answer surprised the hospitable people, and they wanted to know why, if I don't have an allergy, I dislike these tasty and sweet-scented nuts. I didn't explain my strange attitude toward peanuts right away. Instead, I sank into my memories.
A huge pile of raw peanuts lay on the floor in the middle of the small greengrocery, where the smell of rotten potatoes constantly wafted into the atmosphere. The dusty, fragile, and bizarrely shaped shells, at night, attracted nearby mice, and during the day, the customers were carrying them home in twisted-up paper bags. Ever since a doctor diagnosed my mother with anemia, these nuts have inhabited our house. Of course, they were an affordable source of iron! Mom ate them every day, and her hemoglobin didn't rise a bit, even though the peanut contains 37 % iron. With all my heart, I hated peanuts. I hated them because they didn't do any good to my mom. Our house smelled peanutty-greasy for nothing—my mom was still fainting. In winter boots on my bare feet, I ran to the next block to call an ambulance. The woman who had a phone installed in her house would let me make the call, but there was no confidentiality in this case. Sometimes she greeted me with sighs of frustration—I wasn't the only one who occasionally knocked at her door. Leaving my mother lying on the floor at our house, I was always terrified that I might not make it back in time.
After a while, she was diagnosed with cancer. A complicated surgery has fixed her anemia, but she was still occasionally buying peanuts as an affordable source of iron. The dusty texture of the shells caused me a sensation of dirty hands so that I washed them every time after shelling these nuts. I never really thought seriously about why I hate peanuts so much, but whenever I see peanuts or hear people talking about them, a whole pile of them in a cold, stinky veggie shop comes to my mind. This image causes me to associate it with my mother's illness, provoking feelings of helplessness and regret. Almost all our strong dislikes are brought to us by the Mistress Subconscious.