“The obsessive quest for cleanliness can become its own kind of dirty.“
– Marty Rubina, a relatively obscure but widely quoted American writer, best known for his concise, philosophical, and often paradoxical aphorisms.
I WAS a toddler in the mid-1950s when I first encountered soap. Not found, mind you – encountered. It wasn’t lost; it was just there, sitting at the bottom of a battered old tin pail, whose leaky base had been patched with a blob of dried rubber latex.
Now, you may ask, surely toddler memories can’t last for decades? Maybe not. I’d like to think so too, but I still remember that fateful day. There it was – what looked like a rather inviting yellow cake. I tried to pick it up, but it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck fast to the bottom of the pail.
Curiosity being what it is (and toddlers being how they are), I prodded it with my finger. Finding it softish, I gave it a scratch. A bit got under my fingernail, and naturally, I had to smell it. It smelt rather pleasant, actually. So, as any self-respecting toddler might do, I tasted it.
The bitterness hit me like betrayal. I spat it out at once, eyes watering.
At that precise moment, my mother turned and saw the scene. I swear she sprang up from a sitting position on the floor without the aid of physics, shouted my full name (always a bad sign), and rushed me to our little water station — a modest collection of jars, jugs, and peculiar vessels used to store water.
Before I could protest, she scooped up some water and shoved her fingers into my mouth to wash away the “poison”. I coughed, wailed, swallowed, and spat water in chaotic rotation while she scrubbed my mouth as though rescuing me from certain death.
From Family Bars to Boarding School Baths
Fast forward nine years, and I was a Form One student in a government boarding school, miles away from the village. It was my first long stretch away from home — and, more importantly, the first time I had my own bar of soap. Each of us kept our soap, toothpaste, and toothbrush neatly in a cup. It felt oddly personal, almost indulgent, considering how I’d grown up sharing soap with the whole family.
And thus began my solo soap opera — er, I mean, my cleanliness journey. Most of it was quite uneventful: the standard washing, scrubbing, and occasional frantic hunt for where the soap had vanished.
Being a bookworm, I spent many hours in the school library. One day, I stumbled upon the saying “Cleanliness is next to godliness”. I paused, thoughtfully scratching my (clean) chin, and wondered why something so blindingly obvious needed to be written down. Surely, good hygiene is common sense?
The Age of Lather and Illusions
Time, as it does, slipped by with its usual lack of manners. Before I knew it, I’d transformed from scruffy schoolboy to self-respecting adult, who now owned not one, but several bars of soap — all in different fragrances, mind you. Progress, I told myself. Civilisation.
Then came the age of “personal care products”, a term that makes it sound like one might require an assistant, or at the very least, a governing body.
Soap was no longer soap. It now came in “formulations”, with “infusions” of fruits that had no business mingling with sodium salts. Frankly, I’m still recovering from my first encounter with cucumber-scented soap. A bath should not feel like a salad.
In my mother’s day, we had one kind of soap. It washed everything – our hands, our body, our clothes, the occasional stubborn dish. If we were feeling truly daring, it washed our hair too. It was dependable, honest, and cheap.
These days, I need a degree in chemistry just to navigate the supermarket aisle.
Then there’s the marketing: hydrating, detoxifying, balancing, energising – as if the average person is in constant danger of chemical collapse or emotional depletion. I half expect a bar to whisper affirmations while I bathe: “You’re doing great, champ. Now rinse.”
Still, I keep buying them – all the lotions, gels, and foaming whatnots – because, deep down, I suspect they’ve sold me not soap, but aspiration. Soap that smells of confidence; soap that promises youth; and soap that, if it could, would file your tax return.
Among all these, for some people, the simple act of keeping clean spirals into a full-blown obsession. This is where sanity starts to slip on the proverbial soap.
Enter the Cleanliness Freaks
No, don’t bash these well-meaning folks. Let’s give them credit — they are nothing if not committed. You know the type. They’re the ones who vacuum their vacuum cleaners, sterilise their sterilising tools, and probably consider boiling their toothbrushes every night.
Their floors are so spotless you could eat off them — though you’d never dare, lest you trigger a cleaning frenzy. A single fingerprint on the fridge door can launch a sanitising siege.
Then there are the germophobes, armed with hand sanitiser, dispensing it with the speed and precision of a cowboy in a Western. They’re quick on the draw whenever they spot a doorknob, a handrail, or — heaven forbid — a public toilet seat. To them, germs are the ultimate villain, and every squirt of sanitiser is a small victory in the never-ending war for sterility.
When Fear Drives the Mop
For many cleanliness freaks, the obsession stems from a fear of illness. And fair enough — no one enjoys a bout of flu or food poisoning. But at some point, the paranoia becomes the problem.
Consider this: you’re so afraid of germs that you refuse to touch anything in public without gloves. Fine. But then those gloves touch your phone, and your phone touches your face. Congratulations — you’ve created an elaborate Rube Goldberg machine of contamination.
Or what about the folks who insist on showering three times a day because “You can never be too clean”? Actually, yes — you can. Over-cleaning your skin strips away natural oils, leaving it dry, irritated, and ironically, more prone to infections. Sometimes, the cure is worse than the disease.
A Plea for Moderation
So, what’s the solution? How do we balance cleanliness with sanity? Here’s a radical thought: moderation.
Accept that some dirt is inevitable. Life is messy by nature. Embrace it. A little dust never killed anyone (unless they were allergic — in which case, carry on).
Focus on the essentials. Clean your hands, your kitchen, your bathroom. Beyond that, ask yourself: “Am I cleaning this because it’s necessary, or because I’m spiralling into madness?”
Give your immune system a job. Let it fight the occasional germ. It’s like a muscle — use it or lose it.
Seek help if needed. If your cleaning habits are interfering with your quality of life, consider speaking to a mental health professional. Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) is a real and treatable condition.
A Clean Conclusion
So, back to my case…
These days, I keep my bathroom shelf well-stocked. Bottles of this, bars of that – some claiming to contain sea minerals, others whispering about “botanical extracts” as though the plants themselves wrote the marketing copy.
Occasionally, I stand there, towel around my shoulders, examining the labels like a philosopher pondering the meaning of bubbles.
And I wonder: how did it come to this? From a humble tin pail and its yellow lump of bitter treachery to pastel-coloured bottles promising enlightenment through exfoliation, we’ve lathered our way into an era where soap is no longer a thing, but an experience – one apparently worth several ringgit a bar.
Every time I unwrap a new one, I swear the scent of nostalgia sneaks through – faint but stubborn, like the memory of childhood mischief. I can almost hear my mother’s voice – that alarmed cry, the hurried footsteps, the splash of water that followed. I survived my first taste of cleanliness, quite literally, and perhaps it prepared me for life’s later absurdities.
Because here’s the truth few people will tell you: a bit of dirt never really hurt anyone. Life, after all, is a little grubby by nature.
And despite all our scrubbing, scenting, and sanitising, we remain gloriously human – beautifully imperfect, occasionally sticky-fingered, and forever curious about what happens if we just taste the yellow cake at the bottom of the pail.
Relax – It’s Just a Speck
To all the cleanliness freaks out there, we love you. We appreciate your dedication to keeping the world a cleaner, safer place. But please, for the sake of your sanity and ours, take a deep breath (preferably unfiltered).
Life isn’t meant to be lived in a sterile bubble. It’s meant to be messy, unpredictable, and yes – occasionally a little dirty. So put down the mop, step away from the antibacterial spray, and remember:
A little chaos never hurt anyone.
Okay – maybe it hurt the carpet. But that’s what rugs are for.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at hayhenlin@gmail.com.
