Whipped eggs.

Yesterday I asked Inti [my mom’s maid] to do a bit of reflexology since my feet were in serious pain. And the second that she put pressure on various parts of my feet it felt like daggers were being prodded into the area. Unlike that ‘good’ kind of pain one feels, this was nowhere near pleasure.

They say “Reflexology is a science which deals with the principle that there are reflex areas in the feet and hands which correspond to all of the glands, organs and parts of the body. Stimulating these reflexes properly can help many health problems in a natural way, a type of preventative maintenance”. And benefits the mind, soul and body.

So there I was chit chatting to Inti about her family back in Indonesia whilst she was kneading the living shit out of my feet. She spoke about how her mother got married at 12 years old and had her eldest brother at 17. Twelve years old... one is still being charged Children’s price! But mind you, her family lives in a small village on the outskirts of Java and life in general evolves around the farm and paddy fields.

Was relieved when the kneading had to stop because dinner had to be prepared. I’m not sure whether it improved anything but I later rubbed some tiger balm joint cream onto the bruised areas because it was sore. 18 hours later and still smelling like a chinese medicinal shop, my feet feel like oversized tenderized pieces of meat.

The area that connects my foot to my ankle remains very sore. According to the chart it refers to my Ovaries, so I’m not sure what that means but it feels like my ‘eggs’ have been indirectly whipped and anymore kneading, they'll soon turn into meringue.