Lum Ba

My latest and newest obsession.

And no, it is NOT that dirty word.


It all started shortly after I arrived in Honks and decided it was probably the best time to revamp my life. I could no longer run away from the fact that in the ten months that I had been shaking legs, I had also been bloating up, nurturing some unnecessary blubbs, becoming more sluggish than a slug.

The fact also that the knee is slowly but surely busting up again, very possibly breaking down under the extra blubbs as I intensify my activities, was the last straw.

So I decided, enough is enough. And I made up my mind, I need to learn to detox and eat better, and I need to embrace more good habits. With that, I have subconsciously created two new Fatmottos.

One: I will eat to live - so I can eat.

Two: For every one bad habit I have, I shall practise ten good ones.

So, I don't aim to give up the good food. I just don't have to have it everyday. And I will save my palate for only the best. No mediocre wannabes. No three-stars, only five-stars.

Neither do I aim to give up the bad habits. Thank God I have very few, like maybe two. Ok, maybe three.


So I started reading about glycemic indices and low-carbohydrate recipes. I learnt about eating six small meals over three big ones and resistance training to keep the muscles going. I am going to look for a real Pilates teacher once I am done with all the travelling, to balance out my strenuous activities.

But before that, I found out about lymphatic drainage treatments and got hooked on the idea.

Thus began my fervent search for lum ba.

But these aren't cheap deals, as I soon found out. And being the kiam ku that I am, I decided to hold the seemingly professional and authentic ones and seek the cheaper alternatives at the massage parlors first.

The first three places I went to, I had an easy time and I came out feeling good and all. But it just didn't feel right. Like I would know what was right since I had never had a real lymphatic treatment before, but something in my head just told me, "This is not it. There must be something better."

After all, I felt more like I had a good relaxing body massage than anything different.

And then, today, I attained enlightenment. Or so, I'd like to think.

I really wasn't planning for a massage. I really only wanted to be a coffeeship girl today.

But as I limped down a dirty little street off Lyndhurst Terrace that I usually don't take, the bright yellow signboard of the reflexology parlor hanging prominently above the otherwise nondescript street caught my eye - and tickled my backside - immediately. I remember noticing the signboard before, but never bothering to take those extra few steps down to check it out.

Well, I did today. And I even walked in. And in less than five minutes, I was stripped down to my undies again.

What would happen to me for the next sixty minutes turned out to be one of the most painful moments of my life.


"OOH! AAH! EEW! WAH LAU!"

This must've been the very first time I went through an entire massage session without snoring one bit. God, I actually wished she would take a club and knock me flat out at some point - and that was even before she had finished with the first leg.

There I was, squirming and squeezing my butt, flailing my arms, even raising my head. But she wouldn't relent.

In fact, she seemed to ignore my reactions altogether, never once asking if I was still alive. But I actually like that.

She wasn't unkind. Just very matter-of-factly cool.

"WAAH. This part is so knotted up, can you feel it?" she asked as she hardened her fingers and pressed with all her life to sort out the knots behind my right knee. I raised my head at that point, but it wasn't to answer her question. Besides, I was in no right frame of mind to think of the right Cantonese words to say.

The legs were the worst - from the calves, to the back of the knees, to the thighs. The shoulders and back were terrible too, especially the flanks. I almost died when she worked on my neck and chest (and thankfully no boob job). And when she started on the stomach... ok wait, I take back my words. The stomach is THE worst.

Half the time she was pressing and rubbing around the mid-torso (there are many lymph nodes around the tor zai, so I found out), my stomach was just churning and growling.

"Mmm, a lot of gas you have," she offered. I had to squeeze the butt harder, because I really couldn't embarrass myself any further by farting now, could I?


The ordeal ended after what felt like two hours.

Other than some sores in my calves still, I actually felt more alive than when I had first walked in. I actually felt less bloated too - which was a bad thing because I mistook that as having more space for food in my stomach. =/

"Sixty minutes too short. I cannot clear everything for you in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes means I can spend only ten minutes on each body part. Next time, do ninety minutes at least."

*Gulp*

Yes, Bobo.

What a cute name for such strong hands.