Recently, a Moldovan physician gained widespread attention for his unusual yet stern film regarding kissing. Furthermore, it defies expectations.
Dr. Viktor Ivanovik, who has almost 300,000 TikTok subscribers, discusses the health hazards associated with saying goodbye to a loved one who has passed away.
Ivanovik cautions viewers in the video, saying, “Never kiss the deceased!”
He says the body starts to break down about nine hours after death, releasing dangerous microorganisms. According to Ivanovik, kissing the dead could expose you to these microorganisms and cause you to lose your sense of smell.
Online comments have been flowing in response to his video.
Many viewers had never thought about the possible dangers of coming into contact with microorganisms before. Some, though, talked about their own experiences.
“I kissed my father and would do it a million times over,” an emotional spectator said. He’s my dad, so I can lose my sense of taste and smell!”
The advice from Dr. Ivanovik demonstrates the need for a careful balance between cultural customs and health considerations. Unaware of the risks, many people perform these rites as a last gesture of respect and closure for their loved ones.
However, for a lot of people, the ease of saying farewell to a loved one in person exceeds any potential health risks. This opens up a larger discussion about the importance of cultural sensitivity when dealing with these subjects, especially when there are enduring customs at stake.
Ivanovik’s TikTok video has sparked a fresh conversation on social media, urging users to recognize the intensely intimate nature of farewells while simultaneously being aware of the possible hazards.
Dr. Ivanovik has increased awareness of the significance of comprehending health hazards related to everyday habits through his movie, demonstrating that safety and health should never be disregarded, even in times of loss and sadness.
THE DAY I LEARNED WHAT TRUE STRENGTH LOOKS LIKE
The sun beat down mercilessly, reflecting off the asphalt in shimmering waves. Sweat stung my eyes as I wrestled with the last stubborn lug nut. Another long day on the construction site, another day spent pushing my body to its limits. I was used to it. I was a construction worker, built like a bull, and pride myself on my strength. I could lift steel beams that would make most men wince, and I never backed down from a challenge.
Thirst gnawing at my throat, I stopped at the gas station, the promise of an icy soda beckoning. As I stepped out of my truck, I noticed an elderly man struggling with his car. His back was to me, but I could see his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling as he wrestled with a tire iron. Sweat stained his shirt, and he looked utterly defeated.
Something in his posture, the way his shoulders slumped, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of the situation, tugged at my heartstrings. I walked over, a question forming on my lips. “Need a hand?”
He startled, turning to face me. His eyes, the color of faded denim, were filled with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. For a moment, he just stared, as if deciding whether to trust this hulking stranger. Then, a flicker of something akin to surrender crossed his face. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, “I think I do.”
As I knelt down, loosening the stubborn lug nut, he began to speak. His voice was weathered, like an old leather boot, but surprisingly steady. “Name’s Arthur,” he introduced himself. “Never been one to ask for help,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Always been the one doing the fixing, the helping.”
He went on to tell me about his life – a life of hard work, of providing for his family, of always being the strong one. His wife, bless her soul, had passed away last year, leaving a gaping hole in his life. “She always told me,” he sighed, “not to be so stubborn. To ask for help when I needed it. But I… I never could. Pride, I guess.”
As I tightened the last lug nut, I looked at him. Arthur was watching me, a flicker of something akin to awe in his eyes. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
And in that moment, I realized something profound. True strength wasn’t just about brute force, about lifting heavy things and overcoming physical obstacles. True strength lay in acknowledging your limitations, in recognizing when you needed a helping hand, and in having the humility to accept it. It was about recognizing that asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.
Arthur, in his vulnerability, had taught me a valuable lesson. That day, I not only helped an elderly man change a tire; I learned a valuable lesson about true strength, a lesson that would stay with me long after the memory of the hot summer day and the rusty tire iron faded.
From that day forward, I approached my work with a newfound perspective. I learned to appreciate the value of teamwork, to recognize the strengths of my colleagues, and to ask for help when I needed it. I learned that true strength wasn’t about being invincible, but about knowing when to lean on others and allowing yourself to be vulnerable. And every time I faced a challenge, I would remember Arthur, and the valuable lesson he taught me about the true meaning of strength.
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