I had my first ever facial today.  And it was good.I’m now nice and blotchy and glowing and relaxed.  Aside from the astringent/toner spray at the end there that stung like a mofo–however, my aesthetician fanned my face vigorously to some relief–everything was wonderful.

While she left me for a minute while my face get steamed, it hit me.

I used to follow my mom to her facial appointments.

There was this one salon down the way on Soi Langsuan wayyyy back in the day that she used to go to.  Our driver would take us there.  We’d get our hair washed.  And while mom got her facial, I would either sit in the salon chair and read or draw, or, often, stick my head in the steamer helmet thingy, pretending to be an astronaut.

I remembered coming into the treatment room to see my mom’s face got steamed and then the aesthetician would turn the steam on my face a little bit.  I remembered the extraction tool and that I was told they couldn’t try that on me just yet.  I remembered my mom’s face in a facial mask.

That memory of the salon also brought back another memory of my mom’s beauty routine of the moment: the Swedish massage she’d get at home.

After both of my brothers left to study abroad, I came to sleep in my parents’ room to save on electricity spent on A/C.  I would still get to play/study/do homework in my room with the A/C on for a few hours after school through dinner time and maybe a few hours on the weekend.  When my mom found a masseuse that does house call, my bedroom turned into a massage therapy room for a few hours every weekend.

The scents of massage oil and whatever cellulite cream that was used still linger in my room until this day.And now the scent of whatever my aesthetician used for my treatment reminds me both of my bedroom and the time at the salon with my mom.

Funny how all the little things bring back a lot of memories.

And a little bitter sweet that now I am where she was and am doing things she used to do.