Public Bath 101

This article was originally published on The Malaysian Insider on 12 February 2012.

Japan was not at the top of my “must-see” list but when I found cheap tickets to Tokyo recently, my friend Sally and I put together a travel plan quickly. In addition to a long list of temples, shrines, Zen gardens, ramen restaurants and eccentric Tokyoite cultural scenes, we were told that a visit to the onsen (public bath) was essential. 

When planning our itinerary, I was happy to take charge of the places to see in Tokyo while Sally did Kyoto. I was unfazed by the idea of entering a sleazy sex shop, checking in a love hotel or slotting coins into a used-schoolgirl-panties vending machine (which by the way, has been outlawed by the local authorities) but the idea of being naked in front of a bunch of people and in particular, Sally, freaked me out completely. 

I was reminded of what Mom used to say, “I can’t understand these Japanese. They’re so polite, modest and conservative and yet they’re unashamed of taking a bath together.”  (Mom obviously didn’t know that the concept of bathing in private only began in the 16th century.) Mom’s prudishness came as no surprise as she saw to it that even the woman who gave birth to me should not see me naked past the age of puberty. 

So naturally, I had many questions to ask when Sally’s Japanese friend, Rei, wrote, “It’s definitely worth parading in your birthday suit after a long walk in chilly Kyoto” in her email from Tokyo. 

Priding myself as a curious and adventurous traveller, I vowed that I would give it a go even if I had to exhibit all the insecurities I have about my body. In order to be mentally prepared, I decided that I had to do some homework about this. I talked to a friend who had been to an onsen in Hakone and she gave the same assurance as Rei that I would get past the initial shyness once I got into the hot bath. 

Rei gave us a quick run-through on the basics of bathing etiquette when we met up in Tokyo. All she said was not to stare at the other women (and men, if it’s a mixed onsen), not to immerse our heads beneath the water and not to have any item of clothing on us. Our guidebook also said that we should be seen washing and scrubbing ourselves furiously at the communal shower area before entering the bath. This would reassure fellow bathers of our cleanliness. 

Would the whole place be fogged up by steam and hence help to blur one’s vision? No, not really it seems. 

Could I bring along a towel with me? Yes, I could but the towel must remain out of the water at all times and even then, it is usually the size of a “Good Morning” towel. 

The 101 tutorial didn’t answer the rest of the burning questions I had. For example, I wanted to find out whether we would have our own individual changing room. If yes, how far would the changing room be from the locker and how far would the locker be from the actual bath? I needed to know how much of walking in the nude I would be doing. 

Right, so I knew more about how to behave in an onsen and frankly not so much about what to expect since one onsen apparently differs from another, there was still the issue of getting past being naked in front of Sally. I knew we had to hatch a plan quickly. 

Sally generally indulged my paranoia (borderline obsession) but any saint would have lost it when I gently suggested that she should not wear her contact lens. She screamed and accused me of being crazy. She claimed that without them, she could potentially trip and fall flat on the floor. She said the idea was for us to keep a low profile, not to draw attention. I guess she had a point there. 

We finally agreed that I would enter the onsen 10 minutes ahead of her. This would allow me time to hide away from her. 

Just when I thought I had everything covered, we had to abandon our plan because the actual event went like this: 

When the automatic sliding door opened at the entrance of the women’s onsen, the first thing we saw was a group of women changing in front of two rows of back-to-back lockers situated right in the middle of the entrance. It took a split second for me to realise that there was not going to be any changing room, and that there was a whole lot of nakedness in one small space. 

Sally and I were forced to undress next to each other since our lockers were side by side. While I was still strategising on what to do next, Sally unilaterally decided that she would be the first to go. While she stripped, I pretended as if I had never seen a locker in my entire life. It suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. I stared and fiddled with it until I heard Sally’s voice signalling her departure. 

I think it probably took me about 10 minutes to take off the layers and layers of winter clothing on me. I prayed that I would never end up in jail because this must be how the inmates wash and change every day. 

What went through my mind as I walked to the bathing area, while clinging onto my rented Good Morning-sized towel for the price of 260 yen (about RM10) was, “Just follow what she’s doing.” And so, I followed whoever was in front of me and mirrored every action she took. 

Not staring became a non-option as I had to look in order to follow. When the woman finally walked towards one of the tubs, I stepped quickly into the closest one. I felt an instant relief when my body sunk into the bubbling water; all private parts finally concealed. 

The woman sitting next to me was watching a programme in Japanese on a flat-screen TV by the tub with one knee up. Those who came in with a towel had them folded neatly and placed on top of their heads. 

I followed like a good student and in the course of doing so, I discovered to my horror that Sally was soaking in the same tub just a few feet away. I caught her turning her head away as soon as I looked at her. We pretended as if we didn’t know each other for the rest of our remaining time at the onsen. 

I spent about an hour just surreptitiously watching the women around me. Honestly, there was really nothing else to do but watch and I swore that the other women reciprocated as well. 

It felt like being in a crowded train where fully-clothed people are forced to sit or stand close to each other. There is eye contact and some sort of tacit acknowledgment of each other’s existence but yet you don’t speak to each other. 

Of course, those who came together bar Sally and I, were seen interacting comfortably. Mothers were scrubbing their young daughters and friends or possibly sisters, chatting as if it was just a regular spa day together. 

After an hour, I felt dizzy. The digital thermometer on the wall showed 43 degrees Celsius. By then, Sally had already left. I was ready to check out the al fresco bath. 

It was at the outdoor area when I finally enjoyed the bath. There was nothing more wonderful and soothing than feeling the fresh cold air on my face and being delightfully warm throughout the rest of my body. I could easily live in the bath for the rest of my life. 

I watched an old woman lying flat on the stone floor just a couple of feet away. She poured the highly therapeutic hot spring water all over her body with a plastic scoop over and over again. 

There were girls and women from different ages, shapes and sizes (but only one skin tone) entering and leaving the outdoor bath area. By then, I was comfortable enough to sit up and let the cold air caress my upper body. The show was over. It was time to kick back and enjoy. 

I left Japan with the onsen as my second most favourite highlight. For just 1000 yen (RM40), it was the best spa experience I have ever had and would never hesitate to try it again. And if anyone asks, a Brazilian wax is not needed at all.

 

Technorati Tags: Tokyo,Japan,onsen,public bath,hot spring

How to kill a guilinggao?

During lunch one day, my French husband, V, and I dined at one of his favourite duck restaurants in Bangsar. After finishing our meals, I requested to have dessert. He politely declined after scanning through the dessert menu, which is often rare for his sweet tooth.

Despite living in Malaysia for a considerable amount of time, V is still unable to get past the idea of eating local desserts. To his unaccustomed French palate, the ais kacang, red bean soup, cendol, sago gula melaka, etc. are not what he would categorise as dessert.

As French, he has a whole list of rules about dessert. Shaved ice is what children eat out of natural snow during the winter. Legumes of any sorts are meant for savoury stew or soup. Don’t even get him started on cheese cake, which is not typically Malaysian but nevertheless very popular here. According to him, cheese is meant to be smelly and dessert in essence, should never ever be made out of something that could potentially smell like athlete’s foot.

So when I ordered the guilinggao, V was naturally curious.

I described to him that guilinggao is a dessert made out of black jelly and is eaten cold. It has a bitter taste and that’s why it’s accompanied with honey and longan. I explained that the combination of bitterness and sweetness is rather interesting and tasty.

He looked at me with a confused and bewildered look.

To further convince him, I went on to explain the nutritious properties of the guilinggao and how it benefits the skin and health. I thought when I said it also serves as a natural cooling system for the body, it would win him over since he complains about the heat all the time.

He gave me a sheepish smile and a mocking “hmmmm” when I finished explaining.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

"No, it’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” I asked again.

“Well, it’s interesting because in France, a dessert is usually sinful. You know, sugary, rich, creamy, sweet, fattening and if I may also add, appealing to the eyes. The colour, texture, shape, smell. They are all designed to entice you,” he said.

He paused and declared, “What you’ve just described to me is not dessert. It’s medicine. Black? Bitter?” *Snort*

When my “dessert” finally arrived, it didn’t look as appetising anymore.

Technorati Tags: Guilinggao,ais kacang,cendol,red bean soup,cheese cake,sago gula melaka

Talking ‘bout evolution

This article was first published on The Malaysian Insider on 12 December 2011.

As a child, it was mandatory to obtain Mom and Dad’s permission before I could leave the house. It was also mandatory to inform them of my whereabouts at all time. Thankfully, I was mature enough to understand that the rules were imposed in my best interest. Hence, I followed them without much resistance.

Dad was however, particularly unreasonably strict. He would go to the extent of forbidding me from participating in optional school trips and innocent outings with my cousins. There were times when I would spend days prior to the actual trip obsessing about how I would ask Dad’s permission, only to know that the answer would be a strict no. I would resort to political tactics by using Mom as an ally. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it ended up in failed negotiations and days of cold war that followed.

You see, Dad is a reclusive and introvert person. He believes in traditional values based on hard work and sacrifices. He believes that one must sacrifice frivolous pursuits and individualistic wants in order to maintain harmony and achieve academic and professional success. He also believes that if you release a horse’s rein, the horse will go wild and never return once it has tasted freedom.

So I grew up feeling in awe and at the same time resentful of Dad. I respect and admire him for his integrity and honourable pursuits and yet I can never agree with this particular principle of his that restriction is necessary to keep a person from straying. Perhaps, that is one of the reasons why I’ve become fiercely independent and suffocate under authoritative environment.

A couple of months ago, I had the opportunity of accompanying a group of young American fellows on a private tour of Malacca. The tour guide was an elderly man who takes great pride in his origin as a bona fide Malaccan. He was the perfect person for the job as he was knowledgeable, passionate and eloquent in his narrations.

I was particularly amused by his footnotes, some of which were not entirely relevant to the purpose of that tour. You see, he avidly shared his strong condemnation of the government’s destructions of historical monuments and treatment of indigenous people. He was a sympathiser when it came to the topic of corruption and he even claimed that he works closely with indigenous tribes to protect their lands. You could see that he abhors some of the government’s policies and was not ashamed to express it, even before a group of foreigners.

After the tour, a few of us, including the elderly gentleman, stopped at on old-fashioned coffee shop on Jonker Street to have coffee. I brought up the subject of the Bersih 2.0 rally in the most innocent of manner and asked what he thought about it.

Indeed, he got pretty heated up but to my surprise, he was extremely critical of the demonstrators. He said that he did not condone the rally at all. He agreed that dissent is necessary but definitely not Bersih 2.0’s method of choice. He argued fervently that assembly of any kind in protest of the government is not the Malaysian way. National harmony must not be compromised at all cost.

When asked what else could be done if all diplomatic negotiations have failed, he was unable to produce a convincing answer. When asked how a peaceful assembly can be harmful, he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His point of argument was solely from a cultural perspective. It’s simply not the Malaysian way of doing things.

I found the juxtaposition of his contrasting views intriguing and could only conclude that he belongs to an older generation of Malaysians who still hold on to certain traditional values that are simply too strong to let go.

There are lessons to be learned from these two stories. I grew up in a generation that places greater value and appreciation for human rights and liberty as result of economic progress and globalisation. We are no longer isolated from the rest of the world and hence, are able to evaluate, compare and conclude for ourselves that respect for human rights and true democracy is fundamental towards progress and human evolution. Some would say that this is solely a Western concept but seriously so what? Isn’t it naïve to say that we want to be as progressive as Sweden but only insofar as its economy is concerned but not its form of democracy? Isn’t the very piece of garment worn by most Malaysians on a daily basis influenced by Western fashion? Besides, honestly what is the Malaysian way? Is the Malaysian culture based on corruption and abuse of power?

Democracy and respect for human rights is synonymous to progress. Brutal killing as a form of entertainment in a gladiator arena is a thing in the past. Child abuse and gender discrimination are now prohibited by our laws and they were not plucked out of thin air. It would be extremely foolish of the government to believe that all Malaysians of my generation would be content with just economic progress and half assed implementation of selected rights according to their whims and fancies.

Nature would dictate that human beings will continuously fight for their own survival. Once they’ve succeeded in that, they will move on to fight for freedom and progress. It’s called evolution and has been historically proven by the fall of great dictatorial empires.

Some would argue that there are those who genuinely reject progress and it’s only a selected few who impose on them the notion of progress. As true as it may be, the key word here is choice.

Dad’s method of discipline was wrong. If I had in any way betrayed his trust, he would have the right to punish me, but not to restrict me from the very start. The same applies to those who want to go on a peaceful street protest. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but that choice must be presented to those who have the desire to do so. Punish those who abuse that right but not those who want to exercise that right responsibly.

Evolution is part of nature and it will happen whether we want it or not. There comes a time when every child will want to grow up to become a free adult. The question is when and how. This is something the government must think about.

Technorati Tags: Malacca,Bersih 2.0,peaceful assembly,democracy,gladiator,evolution,Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011

Say No to the Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011!

An example of video posted by someone on the bus

Technorati Tags: Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011,PAB2011,PA2011

Souvenirs from France

This article was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 12 November 2011. The original version is reproduced here.

They live a lifestyle where clichés appears original.

Even with an armload, a baguette is conspicuously seen tucked under an armpit. It is almost as if that part of the body, often scorned as an object of odour despair, is made to cater for that precise purpose. I find this curious observation simply marvellous for who would’ve thought that the dreaded armpit can serve as a tool to hold food?

Here, dogs are men’s best friends, even for the destitute and homeless. The odds of encountering a homeless man begging for a stick of cigarette are higher than a stray dog begging for food. A man can be homeless but a dog is usually never without a master. I suppose it makes perfect sense to have someone who loves you unconditionally as your best friend. Dogs certainly make great candidates.

Old and young couples take lingering strolls with their palms locked together, almost always interrupted by long pauses of embrace and kisses. Evidently, their air is not only filled with the scent of expensive perfume but also of love and desire. It is a home where love is often made, not babies.

They live a lifestyle of intricate contradictions that can easily inspire a voluminous collection of great ideas for dinner party conversations.

For example, some women (of any age) may feel completely at ease lying naked on a public beach, but would never be caught dead strutting along the promenade in a g-string bikini, as you would have seen on American television. They make nudity seems natural and unintentional. Nobody blinks or gapes and it’s just another summer of sun and fun.

Foie gras isn’t just a piece of politically incorrect food but one that provokes the question of how well the rest of world are treating their own animals before turning them into American quarter pounders and fried chickens. The cows I’d seen on the Pyrenees are probably one of the healthiest and happiest in the world and needless to say, pets are not meant to be chained and confined to the porch. Neither are they to be subjected to the ridicule of dressing up like human beings.

Prostitution is tolerated more than pretty women who prey on wealthy men (and vice versa). Should sexual morality be held more sacred than deceit, dishonesty and greed?

Among the three virtues upheld by their national motto, liberty is perhaps the one that is most treasured and practised by them. It is often linked to a philosophical way of life, rather than just a literal translation of the word.

Restrictions and obstacles are to be limited and overcome as much as possible so that one can experience joie de vivre to the fullest. Being obedient to the notion that “I-shouldn’t-be-doing-this-because-society-says-so” does not make you decorous, but a body that’s absent mind, spirit and soul.

They talk about politics, religion and sex more openly than Malaysians talk about food. There are no sensitivities surrounding these issues because one of their greatest thinkers once said that he might disagree with what another person said, but he would defend to his death the right of that person’s speech. Plus, it would be completely delusional to believe that if you don’t talk about sex, it means you don’t think about it at all. The same applies to the rest of the other issues. Besides, isn’t it true that dissenting views are the ones that make far more interesting and intelligent conversations? A winning view is one that withstands the test of challenge, not one that is won by default.

I went for a walk on the promenade overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in Biarritz on an early Sunday morning. It was quiet and calm as the whole sea resort was still recuperating from the night’s partying. I stopped at one point to breathe in the cold morning air and when I looked down, there was a small group of men and women getting undressed together.

From afar, one wouldn’t take a second look to conclude that they were just a bunch of crazy kids attempting to conquer the cold sea water but for their silvery white hair. Stripped down to their bathing suits, only then were their age revealed. They could easily be at least seventy years old judging from the loose and heavily wrinkled skin all over their tanned body.

They ran towards the sea and dived into the freezing water with the courage and capriciousness of teenage adrenaline. Their total abandonment sent a strange shiver down my spine and it wasn’t until later when I understood that feeling as freedom and happiness.

According to French revolutionists, "Liberty consists of being able to do anything that does not harm others: thus, the exercise of the natural rights of every man or woman has no bounds other than those that guarantee other members of society the enjoyment of these same rights.”

I learned from them that freedom applies to all; whether you’re a grandfather, a mother of three, blind or a homosexual, as long as you’ve not done anything to have caused that right to be taken away from you. You’re free to live the life you choose and not what society expects of you. Passing judgments should be left in a court of law; not at school, workplace, supermarket, park or even the street.

Perhaps that is why women sunbathe naked but not strut around in mini bikinis. It’s not about parading their bodies for the whole world to see. It’s about feeling free in your own skin.

Maybe that’s what liberty really means.

Technorati Tags: France,joie de vivre,baguette,liberty,French revolutionist,g-string bikini,Biarritz,Pyrennes,foie gras,quarter pounder,Atlantic Ocean,homosexuality

The truth shall set you free

This post was originally posted by The Malaysian Insider on 4 July 2011.

Whenever I flush the toilet at home, my cat, often seen lazing on the floor would spring to her feet and run for her life. It’s obvious that the sudden sound of rushing water petrifies her tremendously. 

Sometimes, out of strange habit, I find myself warning her that I will be flushing the toilet in false hope that she would not get agitated. I used to think that once she gets accustomed to the noise, she would get over her unreasonable fear.

I’ve had her for more than two years and each time I flush the toilet, it still has the same effect on her, with or without my warning. 

It then dawns on me that my cat will continue to have this fear simply because she is unable to comprehend what is happening. There’s nothing I can do about it for how does one explain to a cat what a flushing mechanism is?

Life is full of fears. We fear for our safety, we fear for our future, we fear humiliation and we fear death but what we probably fear the most is what we don’t know, just like my cat. 

In the past weeks, the government has been carrying out a campaign to instill fear in the rakyat. We have been warned that if we participate in the Bersih campaign, we will be committing a crime and as result of that, our freedom will be taken away.

It is quite understandable that every reasonable person will be frightened by this knowledge. If the most fearsome thing in this world is indeed ignorance, why are we then still afraid despite knowing the consequences of our actions? 

Many people have asked me whether I am afraid. The simple truth is, yes I am but not so much of what will happen in the next couple of days, but of what will become of our beloved country if we continue to allow the government to intimidate us.

Knowing what might happen to my security and freedom is only half as scary as not knowing the fate of our country and the future of young Malaysians. 

Great religions and nations teach us to stand up for the truth. Our government teaches us otherwise. When a government becomes the main agent provocateur of fear and at the same time warns its people that they will be guilty for provoking fear and instability, something is fundamentally wrong. 

So far, the real culprit for instilling fear and provocation seems to be coming from the government, not those who choose to wear yellow T-shirts, blow bubbles into the air, carry yellow balloons and walk peacefully on their streets on July 9. The colour yellow does not provoke, but public threats of arrest and detention do. 

A few days ago, I confessed to a friend that what’s happening in Malaysia stresses me more than what I had experienced in Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia. He was surprised and wanted to know why. My answer to him, “Because this is not supposed to happen here. You expect it to happen in those countries but not here.” 

What most people don’t seem to understand is how fundamentally tragic and wrong it is to be ruled by a government that imposes arbitrary laws that go against the core principles of human rights and to add salt to the wound, resist the call by its people for free and fair election. I’ve seen it in Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia and sadly, Malaysia seems to have hopped on the bandwagon. 

Some friends have argued with me that Malaysia is far better off than these countries. I was asked to evaluate our economy and told that I should come to the conclusion that we are better off. I’m reminded that we’re blessed for having a government that promotes economic growth and I should just be grateful. 

It would be a persuasive argument but for the nagging question that if a man provides for his family, does it entitle him to do whatever he wants with them? Are they saying that if their father has looked after their welfare, then surely they should be able to forgive him for raping their sister? 

These days when I walk on the street, I look over my shoulders, not for snatch thieves but for the police. When an innocent citizen feels threatened by the very people they depend on for protection, something is wrong.

When an anxious child who is afraid of the dark is being told that monsters will come after them when the light is turned off, something is wrong. If you still don’t know how to differentiate who the real coward and culprit is in this situation we’re facing today, then shame on you for refusing to believe and see the truth. You’re not a cat and you should know better.

For close to half a century, we have been living in fear. I’ve seen that fear in my parents and friends. I’ve experienced how we have conditioned ourselves to lower our voices when we talk about “sensitive” issues.

I’ve seen how people disguise themselves as someone they’re not simply because they believe it is safer to live a lie than to face the truth. The only credit the government can ever claim is that they’ve run a pretty successful campaign, thanks to us.

We’ve come to a crossroad where we either rise above our fear or allow it to perpetuate for generations to come.

Plato once said, “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” 

We have been living this real tragedy for far too long. 

Technorati Tags: Bersih,Plato

, Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Cambodia, Yellow