17. As Water Reflects an Image, So the Face Reflects the Heart

"As water reflects a face, so a man's heart reflects the man." (Proverbs 27:19) I have always believed in this, and i know that it is true. Interestingly, there are two parts to this verse. The first part talks about a physical reflection, and the ease water can reflect an image. The second part talks about an inward reflection, how the heart can affect the being of a person. Combine these two parts, and i form an interpretation which says that the heart affects the thoughts of a person, then the decisions of a person, then the actions of a person, and finally the facial appearance and expression of a person. You can't hide what is in your heart.

One day i came home with severe bruising all over my body. I knew roughly why this had happened, as the red marks were symmetrical from top to bottom. I seldom take pictures of myself, especially of my body, of course unless for special occasions and this time being to show my mum what a brave boy her son has been in taiwan, and that he's still able to stand on two legs. Now i must start from the beginning.

It began one evening when my aunty 'L' known as 'L', invited me to go up into the mountains. To be polite, i said yes, and since there wasn't much to do at L's house, to say that i was busy would be asking to be exposed on the spot. So up we drove to the mountains. Though don't underestimate taiwanese mountains, the island may be small, but the mountains are steep. Half an hour later, we arrived at a massage house. How pleasant that L is taking me for a massage, i thought. I really could not wait to get inside. I have always been somebody who likes being touched. When i was young, my dad had to touch/massage me for many hours before i would fall asleep. And now that i am older and have more energy, it is always my turn to massage people to sleep. Thus, I have dreamed of this place, the massage house, for so so long.

Upon entering the massage house, we were greeted by three massaging men. Well-built, tall, thick arms - i'd say a it is a case of big talent small use. One of the men told me to take my clothes off. I took off my jacket. He wanted more. I took off my shirt. But he still wasn't satisfied. Okay so I took off my socks. But he disagreed. This time he eyed my pants with the 'ooh-don't-be-so-shy' look. And i knew that i was in big trouble. At that point in time i thought to myself: 'goodness, what could be worse than a thigh massage at this time of night?' But later on i found the answer to the question to be: any of the many shifty manouevres this massaging man stores inside his sleeves.

The masseur sometimes had me on my stomach while he pressed on my gluteus maximus. That is okay comfortable for a guy, but after a while, it became embarrassing, especially when he shifted my position a few times to wrestle-hold me in new postures. The standard thoughts of a massagee are things such as: "hmmm....", "go to sleeeeep...", "15 more minutes...", "yeah..." But the whole time, i was thinking about all the things a massagee should not be needing to thinking about during a massage. I figured that he mustn't be an experienced masseur to overly not understand guys' needs , especially when he is a man himself.

The masseur used a muscle scraper, which looked like a comb but it had some mass and was rock hard. He held and scraped it deeply and repetitively over most muscle areas on my body waist up and thigh down. The pain is indescribable with a few words, so i have to use a chinese idiom called 'sheng bu ru si' (alive not better than dead). Though i was not ready to die, i had learnt how to use the idiom. With each scrape, i would let out a singular side-splitting laughter. Just as seen on the movies, when pain reaches a certain level, the character no longer screams but laughs, because there is no more energy left for screaming. And why didn't the man massager stop his work at the sound of my explosive fragments of laughter? Because my aunty L had already paid him good money to spend time with me all night.

As the masseur was scraping, he was surprised to tell me that i was getting red bruises in the places he was contacting. I asked him why it didn't hurt afterwards. And he told me it was an uncommon form of muscular stress, that my muscles are constantly being exercised, and the red marks are just indications of the muscles that were ready to buff out of my fat and skin. Doesn't look much of it in real life does it? Doesn't even look like it with my clothes off.

It seemed to me, through the way that i was spoilt, that my aunty L didn't know how to spend her money. Not that it was a waste to spend money on me, but for the fact that she has so much money, i predict, would give her headaches every day. She took me to five-star restaurants and top-quality and delicate-sized-food all-you-can-eats, where i was careful of what or how much i ate just in case i scared L's daughter.

The streets of taiwan are peppered with small dessert like the one above, which would make a fortune if it opens in melbourne. There was a particular franchise called 'Ginger Female Duck' and its specialty was ginger female duck. As i was travelling around taiwan, i saw many times protruding signs and shopfront labels of 'Ginger Female Duck' written in ancient traditional font with its red-backgrounded and its delicious black duck logo. How i need one of those ducks, i thought each time walking past and seeing that sign.

Sure enough, one day, L brought home a 'Ginger Female Duck'. She put it in a bowl and called me enthusiastically to quickly come to try it before it turns cold. Quickly i was, to sit down on the sofa next to L in front of the tv with a bowl of duck on the coffee table. The first forkful was awesome! My eyes lit up to tell L just how wonderful it had tasted, and how it was twice as good as what i pictured it to be. And it was great! And it was tasty! And it was profound! And it was different! And it was flavoursome! And it was unique! And it was intense! And it was mind-boggling! And it was heart-throbbing! And wait, it was... absolutely disgusting! I was now up to my 12th forkful and my forkfuls were becoming smaller and smaller.

My aunty was staring at me with a kind smile. She asked: "hao bu hao chi? (is it good?)" Now to answer the question, i would have responded: "uh...bu tai xi guan eh...(not too used to it)." However, it was impossible that i could say that. Not after telling her just 10 seconds ago that it was awesome. So i said: "yes it is good." Then she said: "oh good, daughter and i have already had some, the rest of the bowl is yours. bu yao ke qi! (don't be so polite about eating the whole thing)." That was when my stomach began turn. And being inside my aunty's peripheral vision, even though she was laughing and commenting in front of the tv, forced me to eat on fork by fork. At this point, i could feel the duck gravitating inside my stomach as the contents of my stomach was ready to pour out. This agony was indescribable in a few words, such that i have to use a chinese idiom, this time called 'jin tui liang nan" which means 'forward, backwards, both difficult'. This idiom is usually used in the context of wars where an army is trapped in a dilemma, such that they cannot move forward to attack nor can they move back in retreat. Applied to my case, i was not able to forward any more food into my stomach, nor was i ready to vomit the contents of my stomach back to where it came from. Now that's some application.

After some time, the aftertaste from that night had still not subsided. Now, if you say to me the words 'Ginger Female Duck', i would give you a slow meditating look as i try to release those pockets of air out of my stomach. Yes even right now. Even if you remind me via sms.

(To be continued...)