November 30, 2006

Rice Is E-V-I-L



It’s official. Rice is evil.

I’ve read enough about its high glycaemic index and how it spikes up your sugar levels … the fact that it’s so processed that it’s void of any discernible traces of fibre … the way it makes you feel bloated and sluggish … and when I caught Rajen M’s article in the New Straits Times several Sundays ago, which details why “Rice Is Worse Than Sugar”, it was final. Rice is indeed evil.

The interesting thing is, I’ve stopped eating rice almost completely (save for the Chinese family dinners I get dragged to every once in a while where my grandmother thinks I’m on some hunger strike unless I gobble at least two bowls of rice). It all started when I returned to Malaysia after studying abroad. I came home 10kgs heavier than when I left. My brother’s first words to me at the spanking new KL International Airport were, “Wah! You’re damn fat!”



That was when I decided to stop eating rice. Don’t ask me why I decided that. I just did – women’s intuition, I’m guessing? Anyway, that’s what I did and the weight just dropped off … it was pure magic.


So I, for one, can attest to the fact that yes, rice IS worse than sugar:

(1) The calories of one bowl of cooked rice is equal to that of 10 teaspoons of sugar

(2) Rice is chemically no different from sugar – it converts into glucose the moment it enters your body

(3) Rice is difficult to digest. Honestly, avoiding rice for a few days will do wonders for the digestive system

I think someone wrote in to the papers to say that this was a load of hogwash. He’s probably a ‘chap-fan’ seller in Petaling Street and therefore, has vested interest in keeping us pumped up with rice. Mercenary.

Accutane: Entering Week 4



I am not one of many virtues. And among my many non-virtues is sheer impatience. I’ll soon be in Week 4 on Accutane and this is how my skin has improved so far:

(1) zilch

You mean I’m taking the risk of possibly becoming deformed and dying a painful and untimely death just for skin that doesn’t resemble the surface of the moon? With the horrific side effects of this drug, you’d think it would produce effects real fast. I’ve taken antibiotics that have worked in just a few days. What gives?

Okay, okay. Must stop whining and look on bright side of things:

(1) skin is tender and pinkish, which means I don’t even need blush anymore, which means my Max Factor will last a little longer than usual

(2) skin isn’t sticky or oily towards end of day (because it’s so dry now it resembles cracked cement. I’m exaggerating, of course)

(3) being ugly has its advantages. For one thing, um … ah … I can’t think of any. There are NO advantages to being ugly.

Every time I think of the possible side effects, I get a chill down my spine. I deal with this anxiety the best way I know how: I go into denial. These things won’t ever happen to me … they only happen to other people … gulp.

"Just One Ciggie, I Swear”



I haven’t called Auggie at all today. It’s 10pm right now. He rang me once this afternoon to carp about how miserable / lousy / unfocused / disoriented / blur he’s feeling sans nicotine. I displayed little empathy. My lack of empathy was retaliation for the conversation we had last night which went a little something like this:

Auggie: Oh, I feel so crap (whine whine whine)

Me: You feel like crap now but it’ll get better. You just have to get through the first few weeks (broken record)

Auggie: More like first few months, years even!

Me: Don’t be so dramatic. Before you know it, you’ll be glad you made this decision to quit.

Auggie: (ruckus in the background)

Me: What’s all that noise? What are you doing?

Auggie: I’m making a cup of coffee. I’m going to drink coffee and eat the chocolate bar I bought just now, then go to sleep.

Me: Good. Gum, chocolate bar, whatever. Anything to distract you from the craving.

Auggie: (indistinct mumble)

Me: You have a pack of cigarettes with you right now, don’t you?

Auggie: (in small voice) yes.

Me: You were planning on having a smoke after we hung up, weren’t you?

Auggie: (in smaller voice) just one.

Me: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Auggie: I bought it just in case…

Me: JUST IN CASE WHAT?

Auggie: Just in case I couldn’t tahan and needed to smoke!

Me: WHAT YOU MEAN CANNOT TAHAN? IT’S A CHOICE. YOU MAKE THE CHOICE, YOU BREAK IT. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Auggie: I’ll just take one. I swear.

Me: Whatever la. It’s your body, it’s your choice, it’s your health. If you can’t hack it, if you don’t want to do it, then whatever.

Auggi: Okay, okay, I won’t smoke!!!

Me: Whatever.

Kill That Tobacco Turkey


Cigarette Graveyard
Originally uploaded by JuanJ.
My boyfriend – let’s call him Auggie – is quitting smoking. Today is Day 3 and he just rang a couple of minutes ago to tell me he had caved in and had smoked a whole pack of ciggies. I hope to God he’s joking.

I know quitting is not easy but hell, that’s why they call it an addiction! If it were easy, it wouldn’t be an addiction, would it? It would simply be a hobby or something.

Anyways, he was having a rather hard time the past three days. Kind of crabby. Feeling out of touch with reality. Fidgety, fidgety, fidgety. Increased appetite … just so that he has something to do with his mouth. Keep it busy, you know. I know he was fighting the urge to light up, which would explain the many hours he spent wrapped up in the comforter, forcing himself to sleep.

Auggie grumbles that I have no idea how tough it is to quit smoking. Well, of course, I wouldn’t. I’ve never smoked my entire life. I have no idea what it feels like to smoke; I have no idea what it feels like to go cold turkey. What I do know is that he MUST quit. There are no two ways about it.

He knows it too, which is why he gave me a date: November 25, 2006. Cold turkey. We have a pact: whenever he feels the urge, he will either (1) call me - so that I can knock some sense into his head and launch into my lengthy 'do you want to die early?' diatribe, (2) chew some gum or (3) eat something, anything.

So far today, I've called him three times. He's called me none. I wonder what that means?

Oh God, What Have I Done?


scream_1
Originally uploaded by winnie.yong.
Okay. I’m nearing the end of Week 3 and I’m beginning to regret ever taking Accutane. My face is tightening and the drying effects are becoming more pronounced. Skin is actually flaking! Mostly on the forehead and especially around the jaw line. I have no idea why. To make matters worse, acne on the forehead and temple area seem to be getting worse. My cheeks and chin are clear though (touch wood, cross fingers, kiss finger and tap spot between eyebrows three times).

All I’m saying now is, this had better improve by end of this week or I’m going to completely lose it. I’m getting pretty damn sick of this. I mean, come on, do I not have enough to worry about in my life? Do I need to worry about this (some skin retardation that should have – by right – ended when I graduated from puberty?) on top of everything else?? Good freaking grief.

Accutane: Week 3, Day 2


010
Originally uploaded by winnie.yong.
Significantly fewer scabs now. They seem to be coming off my forehead rapidly now. Want to know something odd? I almost wish they wouldn’t fall off so fast. I know, I know, scabs aren’t exactly face accessories du jour, but I kind of like having them around.

Scabs represent progress (as in, used to be big fat zit and is now dried up, crinkly, hardened scab with pointy tip). They represent hope. They represent my vengeance and hatred of all things zit – “Die, acne, die!!”. They represent efficacy. They tell me, yes, the Accutane is slowly but surely working!

My face isn’t itching anymore either. Week 3, Day 2 and counting …

Suicidal Tendencies? Tick No



I’m feeling great today. I guess the suicidal tendencies of Accutane haven’t exactly set into my system yet. I wonder if I’ll be overcome with the sudden desire to plunge headfirst into a mini van during coffee break. Who knows? But for now, I feel absolutely great.

I feel great because I look pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. This probably sounds strange after my endless whining about the nightmarish state of my skin, huh? But truth be told, I have some way to go before I truly deserve the moniker Bride of Freddie Kruger. Despite having been dragged kicking and screaming into the other side (the side where people have zits as opposed to the side where they don’t), I’m glad to report that I’m still snuggled up in the ‘I-can-still-score-a-second-look’ territory. For now, anyway. Sigh. Of course, there’s always the chance that I may also be dragged kicking and screaming from here to the other territory. You know which one I’m yammering about … the “I-can-walk-down-the-street-naked-doing-the-hustle-and-nobody-would-bat-an-eyelash”...

… oh god! I can’t imagine a more terrible state to be in!!

It's All About The Cleanser


Simple Moisturiser
Originally uploaded by Mizeyeliner.
If my boyfriend only knew … if he knew I was on Accutane, he would absolutely flip. He who thinks I’m the greatest, most beautiful thing to have ever graced the earth is of the opinion that I’m nuts to take drugs for my zits.

As far as he’s concerned, all I need is...“All you need is the right cleanser. Maybe your cleanser and lotion thing in the fancy bottle you use aren’t right for your skin. Why don’t you just change the brand?”

“It’s not that simple. My skin is very complex, you know.”

“You're making it sound worse than it really is. If it really bothers you so much, maybe you shouldn’t eat so much fried stuff or sleep so late then.”

“I haven’t had a plate of char kway teow since they erected the Petronas Twin Towers la, what do you mean I eat fried stuff?”

“Okay, but I really don’t think you need to see the dermatologist or pump your body with drugs! Your doctor should stop prescribing you all this!”

Ah … the naïve, simple words of someone who’s never had a zit in his life. People like him – you know the type: the ones with skin as smooth as a baby’s arse – will never truly understand the anguish of people like me. He thinks antibiotics are evil, so if he knew I was on Accutane (which can deform innocent little fetuses and turn me into a manic depressive), he would go berserk.

Accutane Does What?!!


Do Not Get Pregnant!
Originally uploaded by Theo Workman.
I’m so disturbed. Was surfing two nights ago when I decided to look up Accutane. For a while there, I was scared shitless. Apparently, it’s “the biggest breakthrough in acne drug treatment over the last 20 years” and works “miracles” and produces “tremendous, dramatic improvement” but may lead to … brace yourselves …

… serious problems with organs like the liver, intestines, eyes, ears, and skeletal system. If you’re pregnant, your kid will probably come out deformed. And according to the USDA, “Some patients taking Accutane have developed serious psychiatric problems, including depression. More rarely, patients have developed suicidal behavior and killed themselves.”

Good freaking grief!!! So what does this mean? It’s either you live life looking like the offspring of Cousin It and some woman named Olga, or you have real clear skin and die of liver disease. You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.

I wonder what I should do now. Give it till the fourth week and see if I get the urge to roll myself down a cliff, I guess. Beautiful and dead vs ugly and alive. That’s one bitch of a choice, isn’t it?

Week 3 on Accutane


accutane package
Originally uploaded by anitakim.
I’ve been on Accutane for 15 days now. I’m now in my third week. I confess that I’d never heard of Accutane when my doctor prescribed it. The only thing that unnerved me was the fact that I had to take a urine and blood test first to make sure I wasn’t pregnant or carrying some unfortunate disease or something. That kind of worried me but I let it slide because as far as I was concerned, bad skin = horrible life not worthy living. So, following that line of thought, I threw caution to the wind and charged ahead.

My Accutane experience so far ...

Week one: acne started to dry up and become scabby; skin slightly itchy

Week two: skin seemed to have gotten slightly worse; more sensitive; becoming flaky; acne drying up some more; much itchier; extremely hard not to pick (as everyone knows, there’s little else more pleasurable in life than picking at scabs – they’re irresistible); extremely hard to refrain from scratching too

Week three: itching has subsided; still hard to prevent self from picking at scabs but am trying very hard; acne drying up at a faster rate; skin still sensitive and very dry

All I can say is ... thank the good lord above for creating the people who invented make-up.

My Skin: The Unravelling


one. ugly. monkey.
Originally uploaded by berbercarpet.

My skin history is a sordid one. I’ve always had flawless skin. So flawless in fact, that it wasn’t unheard of to have strangers come up to me to comment how good my skin was. Fair. Rosy. Smooth. Not a zit in sight. And even when I did have an occasional zit, it was small, insignificant and fleeting.

And then my epidermis bliss ended. I turned 25. I started this new job. And I got a zit. And another. And another … and another … I started to really panic when I noticed a sinister pattern to my zits: (1) they didn’t dry up and go away after their customary three days, (2) they travelled in groups and (3) they started to hurt.

Now, you have to understand that this was tantamount to a Code Red situation for me. I am, to put it mildly, a shamelessly vain person. Looking good and having people look at me looking good are very important aspects of my life. True, I’m smart and funny and can pronounce really difficult words like ‘phantasmagorical’ effortlessly but suddenly, all these qualities don’t matter anymore because I had ZITS.

THE UGLY FENCE

Suddenly I was on the other side of the fence. The ugly side. The side that dreads looking into the mirror at your own reflection; the side where washing your face is not unlike running your fingers over a reflexology mat; the side where you wait with trepidation for the next person who comes up to you to say, “What happened to your face?!”; the side that envies all the people on the other side … “Why god, why?!”

Of course, I did what every desperate, newly ugly girl would do: sign up for a bunch of facials and purchased an entire range of must-have of skincare products (makeup remover, gel cleanser, clay cleanser, toner, essential oils, booster, serum, moisturiser, sunscreen, the whole works).



THE FACIAL FARCE

I can sum up my whole facial experience in two words: very expensive and very, very painful. Okay, those were six words. And goddamn, were they expensive (and painful). It was two hundred bucks per session and they went by packages which simply meant that you had to buy something like half a dozen sessions at once. And they were heinously painful. I swear, they can abolish the death penalty and just sentence convicted serial killers to a lifetime of facials. That’ll teach ‘em to kill, steal and destroy.

Facials are very traumatic experiences. Not only do they hurt like hell, you come out each session looking like mini volcanoes had taken up residence on your war-torn visage and had erupted one after another. It’s vicious. Red. Bloody. Poked. Prodded. Destroyed, absolutely destroyed.

But I went back again and again and again. Partly because I’d paid for the thing, but also because – miracle or miracles – they worked.

I went for facials for two to three years. My skin got better, then worse, then back to normal, then slightly better … it was a roller-coaster ... and then, the facials just stopped working. And after a while (and lost of money flushed down the toilet), I just got sick and tired of the whole routine. I wondered why I was putting myself through such physical agony when my skin wasn’t even getting better. I mean, it’s one thing to suffer and get better in the end but when you suffer and still keep on getting worse, I mean, that’s just plain freaking dumb. So I decided to stop.

TO THE SKIN DOC

I went to see a dermatologist. The real kind. At a real hospital. He had a Dr. in front of his name so I figured he must’ve gone to university and all that. Maybe he could put an end to my misery. He did. For a couple of years anyway. The antibiotics worked wonderfully and I could go back to worrying about more important things like what clothes to wear, how to colour my hair and which lip gloss to buy. My skin was finally behaving itself. I loved it.

But alas, good things always come to an end, don’t they? And they recently did. A couple of months ago, my forehead started acting up. You know that familiar sense of dread you get when you suddenly feel a little bump on your face after months of clear skin? Yes, that’s the one. And they starting popping back up, like mushrooms after the rain. All over my forehead. Pop pop pop.

I went back to the good Doctor and whined to him about my skin. I can’t remember what I said exactly but I’m sure I uttered the phrase, “Oh god, please do something before I stab myself in the stomach with a wide-tooth comb.” And that’s when I first heard about Accutane.