It was December of 2017… I still vividly remember returning to this particular spa because their therapists are undeniably skilled at acupressure. I needed the relief; my office is constantly chilled by air conditioning that never seems to hit the right balance, leaving my back and shoulders in knots.
At that point, I had almost given up on my “mission.” For a long time, I’d been searching for a therapist who wasn’t just skilled, but someone I could truly connect with—a permanent personal therapist who might become something more. I was trying to be realistic. In my experience, it felt like many people in the industry were only focused on the financial gain, moving from one client to the next like a business transaction. I didn’t blame them; everyone is struggling to pay bills and support loved ones in this world. I actually respected their hustle, but it made finding a genuine connection feel impossible.
When I entered the spa, I paid the usual 350 for an hour of Swedish massage. While waiting, I flipped through a magazine. Then, she walked in, carrying a towel and a pitcher of water. My heart skipped a beat. She was striking—naturally beautiful with a grace that seemed out of place.
After she washed my feet, she said softly, “Sir, just follow me to your room.”
Her voice sounded incredibly innocent. I was struck by her natural kayumanggi beauty—long, straight black hair that complemented her slender frame. As I followed her, I thought to myself: In a decade of visiting different spas in Cebu, I’ve never seen anyone like her. I felt a sudden, urgent need to make a good impression. I didn’t want to let this chance pass me by.
Once inside the room, I prepared for the massage, but I felt a wave of nervous energy. I told myself to slow down. I wanted to be a gentleman. I didn’t want her to think I was just another entitled customer. I wanted to captivate her, but my mind was racing with questions: Should I ask for her number? Should I invite her to dinner? What if she says no?
She knocked gently on the door. “Are you ready, sir?”
“I’m ready,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Sir, let’s start with your back,” she said as she entered.
The massage began, and I noticed her hands were shaking slightly. I realized we were both nervous. She was clearly a new recruit. Her technique was conservative and professional, keeping a respectful distance. As she worked, I decided to break the silence.
“Miss, are you new here?”
“Yes, sir. Just a week.”
“Really? What’s your name?”
“Lani.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I said, offering a warm smile.
She remained professional, asking, “Is the pressure okay, sir?”
“It’s fine. Honestly, it doesn’t matter—you’re doing great.”
In a moment of poor judgment, I reached out to touch her hand as a gesture of appreciation, but she flinched and pulled back. “Sir, please don’t do that.”
I froze, embarrassed. “I… I just meant to be friendly. Is something wrong?”
“Sir, it’s not allowed here,” she said firmly.
“I am so sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I stammered.
The rest of the session was silent. I felt a deep pang of regret. I had wanted to impress her, but instead, I had let my eagerness overstep her boundaries. I felt small.
When she finished, she asked, “Water or tea, sir?”
“Just water, thank you. And Lani… I really am sorry about earlier.”
She didn’t say anything, she just nodded and walked out. I sat there for a moment, taking a deep breath. Mike, what are you doing? I scolded myself. You have to learn to lead with respect, not just impulse.
I dressed quickly and prepared a 500-peso tip. It was the only way I knew how to apologize for the awkwardness I’d caused. When I left the room, I found her, discreetly handed her the tip, and lowered my eyes. I couldn’t even bring myself to drink the water; I just needed to head out into the fresh air and think about how to do better next time.
Mike m. luster 