My First Cupping Experience

I’ve come to a life-altering realization: if I don’t actively find things to do every day, I’ll have absolutely nothing to write about in this blog. And let’s be honest, the only thing I’ve been consistently doing lately is morphing into a house potato. Very comfy. Very unproductive.

So today, I finally decided to do something that’s been on my list ever since I got back—and no, it’s not organizing my wardrobe (RIP, intention). It’s getting a full-body massage!

Now, like any budget-conscious detective with neck pain, I did extensive research (a.k.a. scrolling endlessly online) to find the perfect place. The famous ones? Either outrageously expensive or suspiciously overhyped. Then, good ol’ Mr. Google whispered sweet nothings to me and led me to a hidden gem: a Thai massage shop with a glorious rating of 4.9 out of 5. Mysteriously, not many people raved about it on XHS, which made me feel like I’d discovered a secret portal to bliss.

The place is called Thai Retreat, and I went for a 90-minute Traditional Thai Massage for only RM118. Bargain, right? But wait, there’s more—I saw a cupping session for just RM30, and my curiosity couldn’t resist. So I made an appointment 11:15 a.m., and they had a slot at 12 p.m. So I took a shower, fluffed my hair (for no one), and embarked on my journey to ultimate relaxation.

When I arrived, I was greeted by a friendly girl at the front desk. Not sure what her ethnicity was, but she spoke Mandarin like a pro. Then, my Thai therapist guided me to wash my feet and into a separate room where she proceeded to knead every sore inch of my tired, office-chair-hugging body. Honestly, the head massage? Absolute chef’s kiss. I left the room feeling like my skeleton had been rebooted.

Next up: cupping! A new therapist strolled in with the mysterious suction devices and gave me a crash course on their purpose. Apparently, they "suck out toxins"—which, according to her, means the redder your skin gets, the more toxic you are. Basically, it was my body’s version of a traffic light warning. The sensation? Not painful, just a strange but oddly satisfying skin tug. Like being hugged by a vacuum cleaner.

After the session, I met the owner, who looked at my post-cupped back and gave me the most dramatic diagnosis ever: “Your condition is quite serious.” (Ma’am, please don’t scare me like that.) She also warned me not to shower for the next 4 to 5 hours—which, as a clean freak, was borderline torture. The front desk girl chimed in and asked if I sit a lot while working. Ma’am, I basically live in a chair.

All in all, 10/10 experience. I walked out feeling lighter, looser, and maybe a little bit cupped to death. I’m already planning my next visit—and this time, I’m dragging my mum with me. Because if I’m going to suffer for wellness, she might as well come along for the ride.