Doctor explains why you should never kiss a deceased person
A Moldovan doctor has recently gone viral for a unique yet cautionary video about kissing… And it’s not what you’d expect.
Dr Viktor Ivanovik, who boasts nearly 300,000 TikTok followers, about the health risks of kissing deceased loved ones during farewells.
In the video, Ivanovik warns viewers, saying: “Never kiss the deceased!”
He explains that approximately nine hours after death, the body begins to decompose, releasing harmful bacteria. Kissing the deceased, according to Ivanovik, could lead to a loss of smell due to exposure to these bacteria.
His video has sparked a wave of reactions online
Many viewers had not previously considered the potential risks of bacterial exposure. Others, however, shared personal experiences.
One viewer emotionally stated: “I kissed my father and would do it a million times over! I can lose taste and smell, he is my father!”
Dr. Ivanovik’s message shows that there’s a delicate balance between cultural traditions and health concerns. Many people engage in such rituals as a final act of respect and closure for their loved ones, often unaware of the potential dangers.
Though, for many, the comfort of saying goodbye to a loved one in a personal way outweighs potential health concerns. This creates a wider conversation around the need for cultural sensitivity when addressing such topics, particularly when long-standing traditions are involved.
Ivanovik’s TikTok video has opened a new discussion on social media, encouraging viewers to be mindful of the potential risks while also acknowledging the deeply personal nature of farewells.
Through his video, Dr. Ivanovik has raised awareness about the importance of understanding health risks associated with common practices, showing that even in moments of grief and loss, health and safety should not be overlooked
I Found a Strange Metal Object in My Husband’s Pocket and My Mind Immediately Went Somewhere Dark
I was just doing laundry.
That’s literally how it started.
I grabbed my husband’s pants from the basket, checked the pockets like I always do, and felt something hard tucked deep inside. At first, I thought it was loose change or maybe a screw from the garage. But when I pulled it out, I froze for a second.
It didn’t look ordinary.
The object was metallic, heavy for its size, with a sharp tapered end and a threaded base that looked intentionally designed. Not broken. Not random. Purposeful. The kind of thing that instantly makes your brain start filling in blanks before logic even has a chance to step in.
And honestly, my imagination spiraled fast.
I stood there in the laundry room staring at it while every possible scenario ran through my head. Was it part of something dangerous? Was it connected to some secret hobby? Was there something my husband hadn’t been telling me?
The worst part was his reaction when I asked him about it.
He barely reacted.
He shrugged and casually said he had no idea how it got there.
That should’ve calmed me down, but somehow it did the opposite. His indifference made the whole thing feel even stranger. If he didn’t know what it was, then why was it in his pocket? And if he did know, why act so unconcerned?
For the next hour, I couldn’t let it go.
I sat there turning the object over in my hands like some detective trying to solve a case. The metal felt cold and strangely precise, almost industrial. I kept noticing little details that made it seem more mysterious. There was a faint scratch near the tip. The threading looked deliberate. Every tiny feature fed my paranoia a little more.
At some point, I realized I wasn’t just examining the object anymore.
I was examining my entire marriage through it.
It’s strange how quickly the mind can build stories out of silence. One unexplained thing becomes evidence. A vague answer becomes suspicion. Privacy suddenly starts looking like secrecy.
And the longer I sat there alone with my thoughts, the worse the stories became.
Then everything changed because of one tiny detail.
I held the object closer to the light and noticed faint markings engraved near the base. I squinted, trying to read them properly, and suddenly it clicked.
It was an archery field point.
A practice tip for an arrow.
Not a weapon. Not evidence of betrayal. Not some hidden criminal secret.
Just a piece of sports equipment.
The entire mystery collapsed instantly.
But weirdly, relief wasn’t the first emotion I felt.
It was embarrassment.
Deep embarrassment.
Because while I had been mentally building entire conspiracy theories in my head, my husband had apparently just picked up a quiet little hobby he never really talked about. Something peaceful. Something private. Something that probably helped him unwind from daily stress.
And I had somehow transformed it into proof that something terrible was happening behind my back.
Sitting there holding that now harmless little piece of metal, I realized how dangerous assumptions can become when fear takes over before communication does.
Sometimes the scariest stories aren’t the ones other people hide from us.
They’re the ones we secretly create ourselves.
One unanswered question. One strange object. One moment of silence. And suddenly the people we love start looking unfamiliar through the lens of our own insecurity.
That tiny archery tip ended up teaching me something far bigger than what it actually was.
Trust can unravel surprisingly fast when imagination replaces conversation.
