You know that feeling when you’re paranoid of your surroundings while everyone else seems perfectly fine? That is the feeling that forms in the pit of my stomach every time I am forced to eat outside, for I am thrust under the predatory eyes of one of the most dangerous creatures: birds.
It’s not just pooping pigeons or murderous crows (Hitchcock is simply an evil genius) that scare me — you could put the cutest, most harmless sparrow beside me, and I would still shrink away from it as if it were moldy cheese. There is just something indescribably sinister about those little beady eyes peering up at you innocently, as if to say their presence does not in the slightest make you want to run for your life.
My phobia, technically called ornithophobia, started back when I was 8 and in Taiwan for a vacation. Desperate for relief from the sweltering heat, my family decided to take a break from our very long walk to the park and buy a couple of frozen treats from a nearby ice cream shop. As I was forced to make the difficult decision between mango or lychee ice cream, I noticed some small birds fluttering near the ground outside, but naturally I paid them no mind.
When we finally got our snacks, we realized that there was nowhere to sit inside the shop, so we settled on taking our delicacies to a small table outside under the shade.
That was when all of a sudden, my sister pointed behind me and exclaimed, “Oh my god, look!” Instantly, my mother whipped out her phone to take a picture of the mysterious thing behind me as my ears were flooded with a chorus of “it is so cute” and “Emma, do not move a muscle.” Curious to see what had so effectively captured my family’s attention, I turned my head to see a pigeon resting on the back of my chair, staring at me with its lifeless eyes.
I froze, unsure of whether or not I should move away from the frightening creature that stared at me like it knew all of my deepest, darkest secrets.
Then, the scariest thing happened: It slowly tilted its head, leaned down and made a “coo” noise.
It is no exaggeration to say I sprung up from my chair with a loud yelp, quickly moving to the other side of the table and finding shelter behind my mother. As my family laughed in pure cruelty at my terror, the vicious creature swooped down from the chair and dipped its head into my abandoned ice cream cup.
Meaning not only did it decide to scare me, it also stole my food. The audacity.
I spent the rest of our snack break standing in the shade right outside the shop, refusing to go anywhere near the dangerous monsters that my family continued to ogle.
Birds, no matter the size or behavior, instill a chilling fear in me whenever they move into my field of vision. To this day, even the faintest sound of flapping wings sends me jumping up and quickly surveying my surroundings faster than I ever ran in PE.
I am doing my best to overcome this phobia, but just a few weeks ago I was eating outside in Hawaii, and all it took was a wild chicken waddling onto the table next to my plate for the same rush of horror to fill my veins.
It is safe to say that combatting this phobia will require some time and effort and might not even be possible, but I shall persevere until I can eventually face a bird without leaping ten feet back.
