Maarte o Maselan?

Ganito kase 'yan.

Tao: "Ay! Wala pang five minutes..."

Bacterium: "Hah! Sinong niloko mo? C'mon guys, yihaaaaa!"

Viola: "Wow!"

Hindi na ako madalas kumain sa CASAA. Ayaw ko na, simula nang mapag-alaman kong na-contract doon ng isang kaklase ang kanyang amoebiasis. Never din akong uminom ng tubig doon.

Hindi ako umiinom ng tapwater (maliban lang pag umuuwi ako sa Batangas). Pero kahit pa nga sa refilled drinking water ang iniinom ko, may doubt pa rin ako.

Palagi akong naghuhugas ng kamay pagkarating sa apartment, lalo na pagka may 120 lab. Kinakamay ko kasi yung paghuhugas ng glasswares kahit pa nga malakas ang doubt ko na marami ang nakaliligtas, lalo na ang mga spore-forming, at malay ko bang totoong meron ngang heat/autoclave resistant microbes?

Pag kumakain ako sa labas, pinupunasan kong maigi ng tissue ang utensils. At least by mechanical aggitation, baka sakaling malula ang ilang mikrobyo. Kabawasan na rin 'yon kesa wala talaga.

Sa loob ng tinutuluyan kong apartment, kahit ako lang ang gumagamit, hinuhugasan ko pa rin ang baso o plato at utensils bago ko gamitin. It's become a habit. My lifestyle.

Iwas-straw na rin ako, kase pag mas maraming medium, mas maraming mikrobyo. Tutal, normal naman talaga ang umiinom direkta sa baso at paper/plastic cups. Pauso lang ang straw.

Naikwento ko na ang tungkol sa aking bakery traumatic experience, kaya balik Gardenia uli ako. Ang option kase: murang may ipis o mahal na de-kalidad umano? E di dun na ako sa mas matino ang package.

Parang 'yung isa sa mga answer-these-questions-for-extra-points ni Dr. Hurlbert: "Ano'ng pipiliin mo, radiated food o yung prepared by ordinary means?"

Sabi ng isa sa mga sagot na nagustuhan ko, mas gugustuhin n'ya pa raw na magkaroon ng unforeseen, probably a future disease caused by radiation, kesa naman daw mamatay nang mas maaga dahil sa food contamination.

Nung umuwi ako sa Batangas, nakanood uli ako ng TV. Akalain mong may sequel pala ang Bakery Scandal. May canned food, specifically, Ma-ling scandal na pinalabas ang XXX, ulat ni Henry Omaga-Diaz. Alarma kami. Mula pa pagkabata, bahagi na ng hapag namin ang Ma-ling. Ayon sa kwento, karne ng pusa't daga (pun?) ang laman ng de-lata na nasa warehouse somwehere in Tondo, Manila na pag-aari ng isang Instik. Ang hayop o! Pero halata naman sa packaging ang pekeng Ma-ling dahil sa deep red ang kulay ng lunch meat na mukhang kamatis sa malayo (sa orig, tan yung kulay ng lunch meat sa wrapper).

Pag nag-go-grocery, tinitiyak kong naka-indicate ang expiry date ng produkto. Another case of my traumatic experience. Kung hindi kase nasira ang tiyan ko sa bulok na Quaker Oats na hayok kong kinain dahil sa matinding gutom, sinabayan pa ng nabulok ding Almond Roca chocolate, hindi pa ako matututong bumasa ng expiry date. Kaya nung Linggo, hindi ko binili yung corn flakes sa SM Hypermarket dahil hindi malinaw ang nakasulat sa expiry date. Imported from Indonesia, which reminds me of the Trojan Horse that infested my laptop last year, yung DECOIL (Astig nung bwakanang peste, pagsapit ng 9PM nahahati ang screen, lalabas yung program tapos Mission Impossible ang background music. Ang hayop talaga ng mga cyberpunk!). Dahil lang sa otsenta pesos hahayaan kong pagpiyestahan ng pathogens ang aking bituka? Ano ako, bale.

Kasalanan 'to ni Dr. Hurlbert. Andami niyang kinukwento tungkol sa mga mikrobyo. Hindi ko tuloy alam kung kaaway o kakampi ko sila. Kaaway sa food intake/health threat. Kakampi sa apathetic society. Sabi pa nga ni Dr. Hurlbert, sila ang predators ng humans. How true! Sabi na nga ba't pauso lang natin na tayo ang pinakamalakas sa biosphere!

Pan de Yaaak

May phobia na ako sa mga bakery.

Kagabi pinalabas sa Imbestigador yung bakery na pag-aari ng isang Intsik sa Pasay. Nagkalat ang mga ipis - sa dingding, sa sahig, sa mesa, sa basura, at pati sa ibabaw ng mga tinapay!

Sa ibabaw! (parang ginawang kama...at home!)

Yung mesa, tabla. Pwedeng amagin. Tapos yung tubig na ginagamit sa paggawa ng tinapay, galing sa poso. Nang tanungin ng reporter kung saan kinukuha ang tubig sagot ng nanay ng may-ari ng bakery, "Yung tubig galing sa poso. Malinis? Malinis yata."

Yata!

Ang masama nito mukhang malinis ang display. Mukhang malinis yung istante. Mukhang malinis yung mga tinapay. Mukhang masarap at katakam-takam.

Naalala ko bigla 'yung binibilhan ko ng monay at pandesal sa Krus Na Ligas. Tsaka yung isa pang bakery na binibilhan ko ng crinkles at spanish bread. At yung isa pa na binibilhan ko ng buns. Pati Julie's.

Balitang Krispy Kreme

May Krispy Kreme na sa Pilipinas.

Yipppeeeeee!

Nakaanunsyo sa isang higanteng billboard ng Megamall.

Yipppeeeeee!

Naalala ko yung eksena nung Matronang kasama ni Santa Claus sa loob ng tindahan ng Krispy Kreme sa Burlington:

Matrona: What's inside that? (pointing to the blueberry-filled doughnut labeled as such in the display)
Tindera: Blueberry
Matrona: I don't like that (bulong kay Santa Claus)

Naghananap ng iba. Bigla...

"Oh, tsuko-let!"

At siyang inorder ni Matrona. Ang trying-hard kong lola. Nagdudunung-dunungan, sablay naman sa pronunciation. Juice-ko-po-pineapple!

Sa ngalan ng Eragon na hindi ko pa napapanood, ni Edward na aking bampira, at ng lahat ng mga librong binasa at babasahin ko pa lang, siya'y aking buong pusong itinatakwil sa harap ng saksi kong buong cyberspace!

Nakakawalang-ganang tuloy bumili ng Krispy Kreme.

Food, Food Everywhere But Not A Food To Eat!

I feel like throwing up what I’ve eaten for lunch.

Maybe tuna pesto and strawberry shake didn’t quite make a good match so my stomach was upset. Or perhaps because I didn’t eat real meals yesterday so that I've forgotten what an appetite is.

I swear this has nothing to do with reading that book – Mercy, Unbound. I don’t believe myself thinking I’m an angel so I need not eat. I don’t even think I cannot feel hunger. Definitely, I am not an ana or mia. And I am not even putting the blame to metabolism lessons I’m being fed up with these past few days.

I just don’t feel like eating. That's all. I just hate taking in something I’ve been forced to just for the sake of living up to the idea of “taking regular meals.” I mean, I am going to eat if I like doing it, and not because I’m expected to just because it’s part of the routine of daily living.

I do, however, feel sorry for my liver, my stomach, and the rest of my faithful workers inside me because I’m being hard on them. I’m apparently, not letting them work for me.

But hey, I'm also thinking about the reserves in my adipose tissues. Perhaps it'd be more appropriate to say that I'm just trying to become resourceful, because they sure can work on those triglycerides. Right?

No. I don’t know.

Am I now being sentient with the karma of excesses of the world? Is guilt starting to gnaw up my brain so I may finally give up gluttony?

Breakfast And Epiphany

I just finished cleaning my room. I've eaten some bread and they did taste terribly bland. I prepared a hot tea and I’m still letting it cool down.

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day because it supplies you the energy for about three-quarter of your whole day.

I love breakfasts. Cold Milo. But more often than not, none.

I feel more stamina without eating breakfast. And lunch. I feel dozing off as soon as I finish lunch.

Why am I talking about meals?

I didn’t have a regular meal since I moved out for college. Reminds me of Franny (Franny and Zooey), who according to Mrs. Glass is being fed with burgers and coke. I’ve been living in fast foods for nearly five years now. Fast foods. Instant foods. Fake foods. I really need to find that book that’s been haunting me for two years now. It’s The Fast Food Nation. I’m pretty sure I found it somewhere in apartment, back in high school. It’s my sister’s but I still could not find it. Not even until now that everyone has moved out of the house, even the homebody toys (that were sacked to the old house).

That’s the problem with me. Rather, people so think of me. I would keep recalling something I am pretty sure I’ve heard or read or learned or knew about, but when I tell it to people, they would be very suspicious, even find me funny. Because either what I say is they say, out-of-this-world (something really far-fetched) or simply stupid.

I think they think I’m weird, and they sure are calling me crazy at my back. But I’m standing by my words with conviction.

I’m no borderline. I’m normal.

I am, am I not?