Netnet Camomot IT is when you’re consciously trying to lose weight that you gain weight. Last week, there was Shakey’s Manager’s Choice on Monday, Giuseppe’s Quattro Stagioni on Wednesday, Dave’s Beanery’s Al Prosciutto on Thursday, making them my top three most favorite thin-crust pizzas in Cagayan de Oro. For now, anyway. Bahala na si Batman aka the wellness coach with the diet. Now that the foodie can finally visit the newest restos in town—yes, new ones opened during my two-month hibernation for the knee—I have a list and checking it twice for the restos to discover. But what I discovered was this: when the knee’s surgeon advises you can start going out of the house without crutches as long as you follow a walkest routine, he probably means walking the few steps to the resto, then the few steps back to the car, or having that resto visit today, then, staying home for the rest of the week. It doesn’t include malling, shopping, hiking, jogging, running, mountain-climbing, or hopping from one mall to another in one day. Well, all I did last week was attend a dinner with high school friends at a resto on Wednesday, which was my first day out of the house after the two-month hibernation. The two times I went out of the house before that was to Dr. Jac Pimentel’s clinic for the plateletich plasma (PRP) injections. On Friday, there was the grocery-shopping at S&R and SM. On Saturday, the Rotary district meeting at a farm. By Sunday, the knee was complaining. Lesson learned. So, I’m back to staying home. I have a lot of Rotary work to finish, anyway, might as well focus. As I wrote last week, walking without crutches is merely the beginning of the next phase of this knee’s healing process. Gotta listen to the knee and Doc Jac. Friends do wonder how I could stand staying home for so long. But I’m the kind who doesn’t like crowds. I tend to shut up while trapped in one, and then I’d stare at people, observing them. After reading too many Facebook posts, I realized I’m an empath. What’s an empath? Like that joke on the panda described as a “black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves” in a badly punctuated book, be careful in looking for meanings behind each word, each sentence, each paragraph whether spoken or written. Now I know why I can sense people’s reactions towards me. I sit there at the lead table, and I see everything. I thought that’s true for others, too. Ako ra man diay, and those who are like me. But before learning about this, I used to describe the feeling to friends, thinking they could understand what and how I felt. That they could also sense when the ambience is not right, when it’s off, when it’s negative. Other people might have noticed the way I shut up and stare when something’s amiss, and that’s probably why they start laughing. At me. It’s a nervous laugh. An empty laugh. A laugh meant to shut down the negative vibes. But I’d continue to stare, anyway, observing their reactions. Those are rare times, though. Happens once in a lifetime? Haha. But it becomes the turning point. To leave. To walk away. To say goodbye. There’s no point in staying with people who laugh at you, instead of with you, when you become the joke that makes them happy. They’ll always find other sources of amusement, anyway, once you’re out of their lives. Let them discover new sources, for there will always be one for people who hunger for happiness the way you hunger for pizza. Does pizza have a Christmas flavor? Pizza restos should make one. Decorate it with nuts and fruits, to replace the recycled fruitcake from many Christmases ago. Supermarkets still sell fruitcakes, evoking this determination to go ask friends to give you mugs instead. Mugs are good. They break if you or the house help is danghag, thus, the need for a replacement. Boy Zugba used to sell mugs with the funniest quotations. I’m not sure if they still do—haven’t gone there lately, no thanks to the hibernation. I bought three mugs the last time I was there—two are displayed downstairs, and the third one I’m using here in the room has this: “Relationship status: Gigutom.” Haha! I do love giving mugs as gifts, since I suspect all other peeps are as danghag as our house help. Tends to break things while texting, talking on the phone, watching videos on her phone. Once I hear some glass thingy bouncing on the concrete floor downstairs, I could only hope it’s not one of Mama’s antique collections. But, what the heck. Those are things. Meant to be used. If they break, I don’t want to find out what it was. A bowl and its cover, which the house help uses for my fish-and-malunggay soup, are victims of her danghag habits. The two items are not exactly the perfect pair—the bowl is the cheap kind, while its cover is Pyrex. It’s time to replace them with, hmmm, the cheaper kind which easily breaks? Whatever. As long as that soup remains yummy and helps me stick to the meal plan that Batman made, it’s okay. Staying home has its perks. No need to wake up early, blow dry the hair, wear makeup, dress up, rush to appointments. I still don’t have time to read books and magazines, though, as I have to finish Rotary work. Couldn’t sit for hours in front of the laptop due to the knee, so, that work had to be postponed until it could no longer be postponed. It’s September and the Christmas tree is already up in the living room, waiting for new décor. Then, I realized I don’t want to buy decors that will see the light for only four months. I’d rather have a new soup bowl. Oh, well.