By: Dahlan Iskan
This time to China, I conducted a small experiment: rescuing my lips with a new method.
I used virgin coconut oil (VCO). Let it be called old-fashioned or smelling of cooking oil. The important thing is to try.
You’ve probably experienced it too. In the peak of winter like this, lips become dry and feel thick, even scaly.
By the third day, it feels like there’s a layer of skin on the lips that needs to be peeled off. The temptation to peel off the annoying dry skin is strong. However, the consequence is well-known: a thin wound, a bit of bleeding, and stinging pain.
Women don’t experience this issue, thanks to lipstick.
Men using lipstick?
Robert Lai was the first person to teach me to use lipstick over 25 years ago—lip balm, to be precise. Lip balm must always be in the thick jacket pocket. Apply it regularly.
The problem isn’t just with the lips but also with the skin on the hands, feet, and heels. The hands and feet’s skin becomes scaly, and the heels crack and sometimes look repulsive.
My Singaporean friend, born in Hong Kong, taught me to use lotion. He bought a specific brand for me.
After every shower, I had to use lotion on my face, hands, feet, heels, and the entire sole of my feet. If he saw my skin starting to scale, he would force me to apply lotion to my entire hands, then ask me to take off my socks. He’d inspect my heels, rough and cracked, and rub them with lotion.
I became a consumer of Robert’s favorite lotion brand.
This time, I brought VCO with me, genuine Indonesian product made by Ricky Elson.
I brought a small bottle, fearing it might not pass through the airport security. Besides, this trip wouldn’t be long, so a 90cc bottle should be sufficient.
Ricky has been producing VCO for a long time to help coconut farmers in Ciheras—where he established a motor technology institute.
I chose Ricky’s product because I knew the manufacturing process, having seen it with my own eyes. I also knew its authenticity.
Certainly, many supermarkets sell VCO, even in Hong Kong. Wherever I’ve been abroad, I’ve never seen Indonesian-made VCO. The VCO on the shelves is usually dominated by products from the Philippines.
So, during my stay in Beijing, I had a stash of VCO from Ciheras. Before landing at Beijing airport, I applied VCO to my lips.
I also rubbed VCO on the back of my hands and my face. Everything smelled like coconut oil for a moment, then it disappeared. Or maybe my nose became immune. No problem; no one would be sniffing an old man like me.
The important thing was that my lips were safe, the skin on my hands remained soft, and my heels were smooth. The skin wasn’t exposed to chemicals. VCO is plant-based, natural—back to nature.
Even in Shanghai, though not as dry as Beijing, the air in Shanghai remains dry in winter. As evidence, my laundry dried overnight. Just a bit slower than in Beijing—drying in half a night.
That’s my old habit. I bring only a few clothes in winter. Look at my photos: it seems like I never change my clothes.
Every night after a shower, I also wash my underwear, inner shirt, and socks. Then, I squeeze them out and hang them on a clothes hanger. By morning, the clothes are dry and ready to be worn again.
The same goes for my pants. I only brought one thick pair of jeans. I haven’t even worn them yet. These black jeans feel so comfortable on my body. Warm.
After wearing them for three days, I wash them in the bathroom. I sleep in my pajama pants. By morning, the jeans are dry. Poor light blue jeans, left on the backup seat.
I advised my wife to follow my style: don’t bring too many clothes. It’s winter, it’s dry. But she has her own beliefs: “I am a woman.”
Oh well.
I’m not what you accuse me of: being afraid of my wife. But I indeed never argue.
On New Year’s Eve, I brought that VCO along Nanjing East Road, Shanghai. Heading to Old Jazz at the Peace Hotel with my son-in-law, Mas Tatang. The others, as planned, stayed in the hotel room.
Nanjing East Road was crowded. We chose to walk on the parallel street.
When we got closer to the river, according to the plan, we would turn left. Turns out, all left turns were guarded and not allowed.
We were directed to continue north, to the riverbank. That was the main destination for New Year’s Eve: the riverbank.
I tried to explain: my goal was that hotel, not the riverbank. Still, no chance.
So, I became a regular tourist, heading towards the riverbank. Then, turn left there. Colliding with the human flow from Nanjing East Road, like a flood.
It turns out I could turn towards the Peace Hotel. Just had to make a detour, following the flow that had been arranged for the smoothness of New Year’s Eve.
Last night, Nanjing East Road was divided into two: the south side for pedestrians heading to the river and the north side for those returning from the river.
The one dividing the road was a row of soldiers. Not a fence. The soldiers were in two rows, facing each other, leaving a 1.5-meter empty zone between the north-facing and south-facing rows. Very neat.
The south side was filled with people heading to the river.
The north side was filled with people leaving the river.
In the middle, a vacant space fenced by soldiers.
At each intersection, there was a more organized arrangement. The road cutting across Nanjing East Road wasn’t closed. Vehicles could still cross Nanjing East Road, following the traffic lights.
Approaching the red light, 16 soldiers made a precise move to close the road. All pedestrians had to stop in front of those soldiers. The atmosphere became dense, like swift-flowing water being dammed. No one tried to break through the soldiers.
As the light turned green, those 16 soldiers made a move as if a door was opening. A disciplined, orderly movement typical of soldiers. The line of 16 soldiers remained straight. Disciplined. Like a real door opening. Pedestrians then crossed.
Hundreds of thousands of people were organized in this way. It wasn’t a permanent road closure.
The movement of the soldiers itself became an interesting part of the New Year’s Eve show. I watched it for quite a while. Mas Tatang recorded a video.
One soldier asked me not to stop there. I said, “I just want to see you organizing people; it’s impressive.” He smiled a little. A firm smile. Allowing me and Mas Tatang to stay there.
Then, we entered the Peace Hotel. I knew the way. I had stayed there before. Often watched its Old Jazz performances.
This time, I couldn’t get in.
“It’s full,” said the staff. “No chance at all,” he added.
Oops. Well then. Just watch the human coordination along Nanjing East Road. Which now looked like a big river with people as its flood, flowing in two directions.
Occasionally, I reached into my thick jacket pocket, looking for VCO. It was like using lipstick; the oil inside had frozen. Since Beijing, it never melted again. Just open the cap, apply the tip to the lips, cheeks, and back of the hands. Then, rub it in.
When I woke up, I felt safe. My face wasn’t covered in ants. (Dahlan Iskan)
