The AlmondFiveo1

A mind I do not understand. One that does not rely on my acceptance. One that exists whether I believe in it or not. Its creation of myself — unimportant to its grand scale. God chooses our roles. Our paths. Good, bad, or ugly. An author writing a story as it chooses, and we are just the characters. We do not get to argue with the plot.

My mind — aware of the future. Aware of what the small brown object in my hand holds as I choose to listen. I toss the whole thing into my mouth. I chew it wholly. For the first time in my life, I taste the almond. A slightly sweet, buttery taste. Pleasant. Enjoyable. A gift, really, from a world that does not owe me anything.

Almonds contain cyanide. Did you know that? Bitter almonds, specifically. They hold a compound called amygdalin, which the body converts into hydrogen cyanide. A few dozen raw bitter almonds can kill an adult. Sweet almonds — the ones you buy in bags at the grocery store — are safe. Domesticated. Stripped of their danger over centuries of selective breeding. But wild almonds? Bitter almonds? Those still carry the poison. Nature's little joke. A nut that tastes like marzipan and kills like a spy novel.

I did not know, in that moment, whether the almond in my hand was sweet or bitter. I did not test it. I did not hesitate. I simply put it in my mouth and chewed. Death is always possible. That is not a threat. That is a fact. Every breath could be your last. Every step could be the one that breaks your neck. Every almond could be the one that stops your heart. But life — life is worth the adventure.

There is something freeing about accepting that you do not control the story. The author writes. The author chooses. You just live it. You just show up. You just put the almond in your mouth and trust that the plot is not ready for you to die yet. I have made peace with this. Not through religion. Not through philosophy. Through experience. Through standing in hallways picking locks. Through riding buses that should not run. Through eating nuts that might kill me.

The almond tasted like butter and sugar and something else. Something I could not name. Maybe it was the cyanide. Maybe it was freedom. Maybe they are the same thing. I swallowed. The world did not end. The story continued. It always continues. Not because I deserve it. Not because I am special. Because the author is not done with me yet. And I am curious to see how it ends.

For the record: it was a sweet almond. I lived. I am writing this in Nicaragua, years later, still chewing, still swallowing, still trusting that the next thing I put in my mouth will not be the thing that kills me. But if it is? At least it tasted good.

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A NOTE ON TREE NUT ALLERGIES AND THE REALITY OF DEATH

My almond did not kill me. But for millions of people, a single almond — or any tree nut — can be a death sentence.

Tree nut allergies are among the most common and most dangerous food allergies in the world. Walnuts. Cashews. Pistachios. Hazelnuts. Brazil nuts. Pecans. And yes, almonds.

Unlike the slow, enzymatic death of cyanide poisoning — which takes dozens of bitter almonds and several hours — anaphylactic shock can kill in minutes. Sometimes seconds.

Here is what happens: The immune system mistakes a harmless protein in the nut for a deadly invader. It floods the body with histamine and other chemicals. Blood vessels dilate. Blood pressure plummets. The throat, tongue, and airways swell shut. The person cannot breathe. The heart cannot pump. Organs fail. Death by anaphylaxis is not peaceful. It is suffocation while fully conscious. It is your own body turning against you because it thought it was saving you.

According to the World Allergy Organization, food allergies affect an estimated 220 to 550 million people worldwide. Tree nut allergies alone affect approximately 1-2% of the global population — up to 160 million people. In the United States, tree nut allergies affect about 1.1% of the population — roughly 3.6 million people. Of those, nearly half have a history of severe reactions. About 1 in 13 children has a food allergy of some kind. Tree nuts are among the top eight allergens responsible for 90% of all serious reactions.

The numbers are stark: Food allergies cause approximately 30,000 anaphylactic reactions requiring emergency medical treatment in the US each year. Between 150 and 200 people die annually from food-induced anaphylaxis. Tree nuts are a leading cause.

Unlike my gamble with a potentially bitter almond — a choice I made freely and consciously — people with tree nut allergies do not have a choice. A single cross-contaminated surface. A hidden ingredient. A mislabeled package. A kiss from someone who ate a granola bar hours earlier. Any of these can trigger a reaction that ends in a hospital bed or a body bag. For them, an almond is not a philosophical adventure. It is a terror.

EpiPen — the brand-name epinephrine auto-injector — has become a symbol of this reality. The drug itself costs about $1 to manufacture. But in 2016, Mylan Pharmaceuticals was charging over $600 for a two-pack. Parents rationed injectors. Schools struggled to afford them. Children died. Public outrage eventually forced a price drop, but the damage — both financial and mortal — was done. Even with epinephrine, survival is not guaranteed. The injection buys time. Sometimes only minutes. The patient still needs emergency care. Still needs oxygen. Still needs a prayer.

I chewed an almond because I did not fear death. Or because I did, and I ate it anyway. Or because I was young and stupid and lucky. Take your pick. But someone with a tree nut allergy does not get to be philosophical about the almond. The almond is not a metaphor for them. The almond is a loaded gun. And the trigger is always half-cocked.

If you or someone you know has a tree nut allergy, carry two epinephrine auto-injectors at all times. Know the signs of anaphylaxis: hives, swelling, difficulty breathing, vomiting, dizziness, sense of doom. Use the epinephrine at the first sign of a reaction. Call emergency services immediately. Do not wait. Unlike my almond, their next one might not be sweet.