Mask

I am an ugly woman.

Every Chinese New Year, my relatives never fail to remind me of this.  My huge nose and tiny eyes are not subject to their scrutiny. Rather, they hone in on my skin.

“Eh Yi Lin, got this new skin serum on the market, I heard it’s good for anti-aging. Auntie give you free sample?”

I’m 25. 

“Dear, my friend from Korea got this amazing face cream, she say can remove acne and blackheads! I help you order ah?”

I smile and nod.

“My friend opened this spa at Paragon, very atas one! You go there, she give you discount, you want?”

I’ve probably been there already. 

Puberty hit me like a truck, and I’ve been in the hospital ever since. My skin is a greasy version of the Himalayan mountain range. From slathering my mother’s dubious-looking products on my face to spending $150 on a measly 15ml container of “Brand New! Brightening Acne Acne Pimple Blackhead Pore Smooth Skin Skin!” cream imported from Korea, I can’t say my skin has gotten any better. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Years of burying myself in academia and work has made me look haggard. People always ask me when I’d be getting married, because I’m “not getting any younger”. Pft. No one would marry me. 

I’d nearly given up and resigned to my fate of rotting away as an old cat lady in my parents’ condo at Tanah Merah when she called me. Sarah Tan, one of my few friends. We hadn’t talked much prior, but she’d called to invite me to her wedding. “Please come, I’d love to catch up. Daryl’s going to be there as well., I’m sure he’d love to chat with you. I’ll text you the details later. Bye!” Daryl. My first and only real relationship, prior to the Great Invasion of Acne Vulgaris, circa 2010. That was before I realised that such bouts of infatuation never would have borne fruit because no one would ever fall in love with a girl like me. The mention of his name had given me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps I’d thought I could replicate the whimsy of our young, pre-pubescent love before he left Singapore for America.  The wedding was in three weeks. My skin needed to change. 

I scoured the Internet for beauty treatments. After an hour of sorting through an ocean of soap, scrubs, and serums, I’d found the winner.  “Dr. Chan’s Miracle Mask!” I’d nearly dismissed it as a scam until the 3,000 reviews (with an average rating of 4.8 stars) caught my eye. 

“Forget about those ridiculously expensive treatments from Korea. This homegrown mask is the way to go! My boyfriend says that I don’t even need filters for my Instagram photos now.” 

Attached were pictures of the reviewer’s face. Her skin was everything I’d ever wanted. Smooth, radiant, supple… I ordered it immediately. 

It arrived in a typical brown bubble mailer, nothing too fancy.  

I opened the unassuming package. The tube was made of shiny white plastic, with the product name scrawled on it hastily. I squeezed out the mask -- a thick, glue-like green paste. I smelt a potpourri of detergent, dirt, and rose. I brushed aside my suspicions.  Spread evenly on face. After 10-15 minutes, wash mask off with warm water.  By the time the mask had arrived, I had 2 weeks left to salvage my skin.  I went with 40 minutes. Time was not in my favour, and this had to work. After washing it off in the shower, I stared at my face in the mirror, I was sorely disappointed. Nothing happened. I sighed, tossed the bottle into the trash can, and went to bed.

“Yi Lin. Yi Lin, wake up! Need go work already! Oi!” 

I groaned and unearthed myself from the heap of blankets. “So old already still need Ma to call you…” As I stared at my mother, she raised an eyebrow. “Yi Lin, your face…” “Huh?” “You see yourself.” As she left the room, I stumbled to the bathroom and saw my reflection. My skin was shinier -- not oily, but glowy. The pimples that swarmed my face were less inflamed.  But it wasn’t just my skin. My eyes seemed wider, my nose smaller, and the mole above my lips had begun to fade. For the first time in over 10 years, I didn’t look like a total mess. I was no Gigi Hadid, but there was a definite improvement. Holy cow, this stuff is great! That same night, I ordered 3 more tubes of Miracle Mask. I upped my dosage and applied the mask religiously twice a day; once in the morning, once at night for an hour at a time. I’d even wake up earlier on working days just so I’d be able to slather it on. Every single day, I got prettier.  

However, every application hurt more. It evolved from a mild, minty feeling to an intense burning. Sometimes, after washing off the mask, my skin turned raw and red. But it’d disappear the next day, so I continued my ritual. 

As my eye bags lightened and my face slimmed to attain the perfect V-shape, everyone, even strangers began asking questions. I lied to everyone that the spa that my aunt recommended worked wonders. Soon, my aunt told me her friend’s business was booming. My skin rivalled that of top models, glowy and flawless. My relatives shut up. Men ogled, while women turned green with envy. 

But I wasn’t happy.

While I could’ve easily taken my pick of men as Yi Lin 2.0, I didn’t want them. I wanted Daryl. 

We’d lost touch over the years. Maintaining an intercontinental connection was no easy feat, and very soon he was just somebody I used to know.  But I’d never stopped thinking about him.  I’d cried because he’d found a  white girlfriend. Her defined nose, gorgeous deep-set blue eyes... Thankfully, his Facebook status had been “single” for over a year.  I hadn’t seen him in a decade, but I was certain he’d fall head over heels for the new and improved me. 

I smiled.

3 more days. 

I arrived on time for the wedding in a new lavender dress. My eyes were shadowed in hues of brown and my lips were coated in red lipstick. I’d never bothered with makeup in the past because it’d just slide off my face in an hour. But this time was different. I noticed Daryl by the hors d’oeuvres, decked in a sleek suit. Just as handsome as I’d remembered.

“Daryl! How have you been?”

His bewildered gaze said everything. 

My heart sunk, but I continued. “It’s me,  Yi Lin!”

“Yi Lin… Chew Yi Lin?” I could hear uncertainty in the timbre of his voice. 

“YES! How are you?” I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement. 

I was waiting for the gasp of recognition. For his jaw to drop. For him to hug me. For him to say, “Wow, Yi Lin, you look fantastic. I didn’t recognise you at all! I’ve missed you so much.” 

A scoff.

“You’re not Yi Lin. You look nothing like her.” 

What? 

“If you do see her though, tell her to look for me. I told my sister to invite her. I’d love to talk to her again.” He smiled stiffly and walked briskly past me.

I wanted to run after him. Tell him to snap out of it. Tell him that I was Chew Yi Lin. Tell him that I still loved him. 

But I couldn’t. Instead, I fled, hot tears dripping from my eyes. I flagged a taxi and left. I sat in the back of the taxi, barely choking out my address to the driver. The makeup I thought wouldn’t fade was now trickling down my neck.

I got home and rushed to the bathroom. What does he mean, I’m not Yi Lin?! Then I saw. The face in the mirror was beautiful. Poreless skin, wide double-lidded eyes, and a slim nose. 

This is not Chew Yi Lin. Chew Yi Lin is an ugly woman. Chew Yi Lin has always been ugly.

I frantically rummaged through my purse for my I/C, my only remnant of my former self. I looked at her. Pockmarked skin. Small, slanted monolids. Big nose. I laughed.

Daryl wanted Chew Yi Lin. The ugly, nerdy girl. 

Scraping myself off the floor, I laid supine on my bed and buried my face under the thick paste. When I wake up, I hope my skin burns off.