The beautiful blind touch.

My first real massage.

Context: This is one reflection from my recent trip in Beijing — what I observed, experienced and learned from it.

At the end of the two-week trip to Beijing, Sam, my new Dutch friend, introduced me to try the Blind Person Massage, a seemingly well known service in China. I never had a real massage by a professional. It was really cheap too, 50 RMB per hour, barely 8 USD. Plus it would be done by people who are blind. I was excited — I believed that the masseur was really skilled, for their tactile sensitivity has been compensated for their visual impairment.

The massage was amazing. Not all of masseurs were completely blind, but all seemed to know the anatomy of the body very well. Sometimes my masseur hit my pain points and stayed there, pressing just enough to make me cringe but not cry. It’s the best kind of pain ever.
 
But if it were only for the massage then it wouldn’t be such a special experience for me. I expected to be touched, but I didn’t expect to be touched at many levels, not only body but also mind and heart.

Let’s start from the outside. The outlook of the house can at best be described as sketchy. The inside was not much better — three tiny rooms with low ceiling house, dark tube lighting and closely packed beds. The masseurs all dress in white clothes, almost like nurses. Clearly not as nice looking as other message houses next door were with their fancy signboards and blinking neon lights.

Yet the atmosphere of the place was surprisingly delightful. My masseur tried to talk to me, and with my extremely limited Chinese I managed to explain that I didn’t speak the language. I ended up mostly groaning during the massage, for at least then he would know he was doing well. It must be a tiring job as I saw my masseur taking momentary jobs once in a while. The masseurs were bantering with each other; some were engaged in personal conversations with their customers. I wish I understood what they were saying, but I could tell that they enjoyed the connections there.

A masseuse came to the door, brought some buns to everyone and joined the chitchatting. There was something about the scene that felt personal and rejuvenating for me. The scene reminded me of how people go to hair salon not only for the hair but also for the relaxation and social connection. Just the day before, a friend was telling me about how competitive the working environment in Beijing was and how few dared to leave office early because everyone else was staying at work. I was a bit taken aback — how common is this high pressure culture at work, and how much dissatisfaction has it bred in the people?

Not all workplace has to have banters and coworkers buying buns, but still I think the workplace can be more personal and humane like the massage house. It first has to start from the people and their values. Perhaps not all the masseurs there were passionate about this work, yet they clearly got a lot of joy and satisfaction from it given how appreciative their customers were.

Another interesting scene was when a masseur massaging with one hand and pulled out with the other hand his smartphone to look at his WeChat, the ubiquitous Chinese messaging app. He scrolled through the group thread, tapped at the picture of a friend and his newborn son and then zoomed in to see more clearly the face of the baby. Some might think that that was a sign of low quality service and unfocused workers. I just thought I saw real humans who got bored, who wanted to be connected, who daydreamed. Who knew if he might be hoping for a family, let alone a child?

The most memorable moment for me was at the end of the hour when I stood up and looked at my masseur. We know that the gaze of someone can reveal so much about him: understanding, distress, passion, anger, longing. Sometimes even I pause for a moment in the midst of conversation to appreciate how beautiful the person in front of me is. Most of that beauty comes from the eyes. They are called “window to the soul” for good reason aren’t they?

Yet if that were true, how about those whose eyes are always closed like my masseur? There was something sacred in that moment, standing face to face with my blind masseur. He couldn’t see me, but I felt as if he knew me. I felt like I knew him too. Seeing people whose eyes were closed allows me to see beauty in a different way, more direct and refreshing.

I couldn’t communicate with him in words because of language barrier. I wanted to find a better way to appreciate him than saying Fēicháng gǎnxiè nǐ(“Thank you very much” in Mandarin, thanks to Google Translate offline). As I was about to say Goodbye, I held his hand in my two hands, pulled his fingers like he did to mine and squeezed from his palm to his forearms. He may never know my face, but I hope he remembers my touch.