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Massage The Pain Away

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Written by Matt   
Thursday, 20 May 2010 13:02

At the age of 28, diagnosis I gave in and finally decided to get a massage. I tell people this and they think, I guess, that I’ve been living in a cave for the past quarter century. The kind of place where you scribble your feelings on walls and the only food available for consumption is an oversized turkey leg.’s hard to request something when someone’s striking you in the mouth.


“How you could go so long without have a massage?” my friend Gisella asked me, as if I had been starved of some vital and essential human right.

I’ve experienced several massages in my life but according to Gisella, I’ve never actually had one.  She made this comment at Ciao Pescao in Casco Viejo and it came right after a tiny Chinese boy, like maybe four years old, who was entirely by himself at 10PM, passed by our table and said to me in perfect Spanish, “where is your mother at?” 

I told Gisella I used to have one of those spinal massage rollers and that one time I spent something like thirty minutes at a Brookestone sitting in one of their hi-tec chairs. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “To have a real massage, you need a real masseuse and a table and oil.”

When my real masseuses arrived ($25/hour), it was raining and the pitter patter of drops on the interior courtyard was soothing. She began the massage and at one point did the karate chop method, but on my face, which is when I learned that it’s hard to request something when someone’s striking you in the mouth.


Yesterday afternoon, I was walking in Multiplaza Mall when I saw someone I knew. So I waved. However, they didn’t see me. And all that was left to observe me was a group of Panamanian teenagers. So to prove I wasn’t crazy, I pointed and said “acquaintance.”

“Hello,” one of them said laughing. “Hello, how are you doing friend?”

“What’s up friend?” said another. “Where you going? What you doing man?”

It’s hard to feel embarrassed in circumstances such as these.

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