of course
My older sister buried her son’s in the backyard. Guess she didn’t think that maybe someone in Cambodia might want it.
But more importantly:
just what I needed
It’s nigh on impossible to find skincare products in Cambodia that don’t boast of their whitening powers. I just re-upped my exfoliant supply, thinking that I’d somehow found the only non-wiggerfying cream at Lucky Supermarket, only to discover that small print on the label: “rejuvenates, revitalizes and whitens”.
Every summer of my life, I have crammed in as many sweaty, boring hours in the sun as I could to dim the whiteness of my skin. Now I find out that I’ve wasted my time. Almost all of the Cambodian people I interact with on a regular basis have made negative comments about how dark I’m getting. My Khmer teacher—ever the charmer—suggested that I’m turning African. Even our sweet little doorman keeps telling me I should start wearing long sleeves to protect my Caucasianicity.
My white liberal guilt starts panging like crazy whenever I see those skin lightening creams, especially when they’re made by Western companies like Olay and Vaseline. The racial and colonial implications are so obvious that I won’t expend precious finger energy typing about them.
But on the other milky white hand…
My friend/coworker Bopha is the only Cambodian I know who thinks white people look nice with a tan. I asked if the pressure to be pale bothered or offended her at all. Not at all, she said: “I just think people want what they don’t have.”
About time there was a new post. You were about to get the dreaded, “nice blog, no blog” posting, which would have sounded the death knell to this whole enterprise.
I have to confess I use this stuff for my hair. It’s like buckleys – its disgusting, but it works.
Leave it to the Colombians to out-gross everybody in the entire world.
I don’t know what’s more off-putting, the fact that I’ve touched Gab’s hair recently or that these products sell for less than my toothpaste.
Placenta is boring. Where’s the new post?
Gab, you’re revolting.
Perhaps you should send a supply to Michael Jackson!
Your hands are made of milk??
I’m thinking of you as it’s snowing outside. 10-15 cm fore casted today – bleh. How are you doing anyway? Give me your number and I’ll call.
Hey. That was between you and me. And Mom. And Steve. And Wynne. And Dad. Nevermind.