Pork and Love

I lost count. But I feel like I have been “biologically purged” from pork for about two months now.

Unless it was masked as otherwise, I haven’t eaten, not nearly even touched,┬ápork since that day my system refused to take it in. Of the many porkies I love, I would never imagine living without bacon, chicharon, ma ling luncheon meat, and lechong kawali! Now I detest them. I’m not even enticed by the smell of seared bacon anymore. I don’t turn my head when I hear the crackling sound of crunchy chicharon. This happened not by choice. I loved pork. Lechong kawali was my favorite.

I don’t really know (too lazy to google), if there’s a health benefit I can get from this. I don’t feel my body getting lighter. I’m not gaining muscles. The only thing that changed was that now I get embarrassed when friends or colleague serve pork, and I refuse to eat it. I get asked if I changed religion. But most of the time I get teased of being on a diet. No. This is not about religion and diet. Yes, this is something I can’t explain.

I still eat beef. But if my system will start to not take it, I think I can still survive. There’s still chicken. And fish. And paper. And vegetables. (Haha! Yes that’s the order).

I don’t miss pork. But I miss love. (Okay, dear reader, I was waiting for you to vomit so there’s your cue.)

Sometimes I wish that love was like my pork appetite. It just shuts down on its own. But I’m thankful that it’s not. Because I would never have the idea how to bring my appetite back, nor would I’d find a good reason to do so.