Every food you eat

Netnet Camomot

EVERYONE reaches a certain age where he’s on top of the world. Er, at least on top of his own world. And one thing that he should bear in mind is this: He is not God.

Only God is all-knowing. The rest of us, ordinary mortals, have no idea what we’re doing unless we have been there, done that, and have learned lessons along the way.

Lessons are usually delivered in bits and pieces, seldom do they arrive in one package although that does happen, overwhelming you with the learning process. You inhale, exhale, and try to stay afloat, as you try to avoid the vultures hovering overhead.

There are people who believe they’re all-knowing. Gosh. They write pieces peppered with apostrophes that prompt the grammar police to pull out red pens and whack those apostrophes off their lofty pedestals, the kind of “killing” that can make an extrajudicial killing pale in comparison.

Once you’ve reached the top of your own world, you should realize you need the help of everyone, including the vultures that hover overhead. Vultures are good–they pick at your minute brain until only the essential parts are left to help you listen to the wisdom tooth, er, thought of people whose intent to help is absolutely pure and sincere and not attached to any vested interest and the favors they’re expecting from you.

President Rody Duterte is definitely on top of the world. Or at least at the top of the Philippine hierarchy. And he must be familiar by now with this Police song: “Every breath you take/Every move you make/Every bond you break/Every step you take/I’ll be watching you.” Not because he’s stalking anyone, but because people have been watching him like a hawk. If he were not the president of the Philippines, would people even care if he’s blurting out P.I. every chance he gets?

But he is the country’s president, thus, the need to ensure that his PI always means Philippine Islands.

Which now brings us to the new restos that are breeding like bunnies all over Cagayan de Oro. These restos can be part of PI’s tourist attractions provided they have the best burger, the best pizza, the best pasta, for there’s always that foodie whose discriminating taste can’t be sated with fast food fare.

If only they have good exhaust systems that don’t leave you smelling like the kitchen, then, they could be the best restos ever for as long as the kitchen produces yummy food.

There was a time in CDO when a lechon manok stall could encourage other lechon manok stalls to sprout next to each other. Well, this phenomenon still exists today, but at least the competition is not as stiff as it used to be.

Nowadays, the best lechon manok contest has been replaced by the best burger, pizza, and pasta contest. The Del Monte Clubhouse burger remains my favorite, though, with Barney’s as the alternative when going up to Cawayanon is not possible for the day. But I may have to eat burgers without the bun. Gosh. No-carb diet starting Saturday.

A year ago, on Oct. 15, 2015, my bro and sis-in-law brought me to this place at Divisoria to kind of convince me to join the new diet they had chosen to adopt. I was my usual skeptical and cynical self. The wellness coach happened to be my bro’s berks since grade school. I saw how fat he was during their elementary and high school days, all the way to college. But on Oct. 15 last year, I was shocked to see him—he had lost weight! Thanks to the protein shakes.

My bro’s friend told me the first shake at the NC—No Choice, hehe—would be on the house. I already had breakfast at home then—tocino, rice, fried egg, decaf coffee. But he convinced me to try the shake anyway, so, I did. And that was the start of this on-and-off diet that could make me stick to protein shakes one day, and lechon the next day. I lost weight, gained weight, lost weight again, gained weight again. During the two-month hibernation for the knee, I gained only three pounds.

It was when I started going out of the house last Sept. 7 that I began gaining more weight. Like a monk finally released to the wild, I behaved like a… well, like a monk released to the wild—have been trying all the restos that opened during my hibernation, feasting on kumbiras with family and friends, even hosted a potluck party here at home.

Then, last Saturday, my sis-in-law, who’s a doctor, reminded me: “Net, pagbantay baya sa imong weight.” And she added this: “Ang imong knee!”

And that’s when I remembered, “Ay, lagi, that’s the reason man diay I have to lose weight.”  Juice colored. How could I forget?

Thus, it’s now a no-carb, and not simply a noice, diet for me. Because it was carbs galore last Friday-ice, pizza, burger, biko… My fats are slowly crawling back, pants and tops are getting tighter, and I could almost see the XXL clothes stored in the suitcase smiling at me, ready to welcome me back to their warm embrace.

This is the emotional eater at her worst, will find a reason to eat, no special occasion needed.

I asked the wellness coach for a new meal plan last Sept. 3, because I knew that once the two-month hibernation ended, I would be hopping from one resto to another.

If the body weight continues to increase, the knee continues to suffer, and being on top will simply morph into this: We can dream, can’t we? Tsk tsk.