Yes, that really happened—to me. Psychologically, emotionally, and very much physically, I lost my nose. Not permanently, mind you, but it took a little holiday from feeling like part of my face.

So how did this nose-less saga begin? Let’s rewind.

It was 2013. My two travel buddies and I had rented a cozy B&B in Lake Tekapo, New Zealand. And let me just say—if heaven ever had a Pinterest board, New Zealand would be the final product. I’m convinced someone in the clouds got bored, painted paradise, and dropped it onto Earth. It’s that beautiful. You could literally stop by the roadside, pose under some random tree, and boom—you’re in a Lord of the Rings movie.

Back to Tekapo. We arrived late in the evening, just before nightfall. On the way, we stopped at a grocery store to grab ingredients for chicken curry (Malaysian instincts, activate!). The weather was flirting with winter, and the air was crisp—translation: I was freezing my tropical soul off. That curry? A spiritual experience.

Over dinner, I suggested, with full enthusiasm: “Guys! Let’s wake up early and catch the sunrise over Lake Tekapo. It’ll be epic!” Spoiler: only two of us actually woke up. The third slept like a log. A toasty, smug, oblivious log.

The next morning, I stepped outside into what can only be described as a freezer pretending to be air. My friend casually said, “Oh, it’s -1°C.” Cool. No big deal. I was determined.

My friend, clearly built different, strolled ahead like she was vacationing in Genting Highlands. We called her Lemak Penguin (translation: “Penguin Fat”) because cold? What cold? Meanwhile, I was dressed like I was going to war. Four shirts, one winter jacket, thermal leggings, fluffy boots, a neck warmer, earmuffs, thick gloves—if I’d had a blanket and less shame, I would’ve worn that too.

From the B&B, I thought the lake looked just five minutes away. Lies. Pure, frozen lies. Ten minutes in, with wind slapping my face, I brushed my hair aside… and realized something terrifying.

I. Couldn’t. Feel. My. Nose.

I touched it. Slapped it gently. Nothing. Numb. Gone. My first thought? This is it. This is how it ends. With a frostbitten nose falling off in a foreign field. Just like those documentaries on frostbite.

Panicking, I shouted to my friend ahead, “IS MY NOSE STILL THERE?!”

She turned around, completely confused, saw my glove-covered panic, and burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Yes, it’s still there, lah! Probably just numb from the cold!”

Thank. God.

For a moment, I thought it had fallen off and rolled into a bush or something.

But did we catch the sunrise?
Heck. Yes. We. Did.

And was it worth the temporary nasal disappearance? Absolutely. 10/10 would lose my nose again.

Hours later, back in the warmth of our B&B, all snuggled up, I felt something strange—like a tiny alien was trying to crawl out of my nostril. Panic (again). Had something gone in while my nose was frozen and defenseless?

I ran to the sink, blew my nose, and—BAM. Blood. Lots of it. Streaming out like my dignity when I screamed about my missing nose earlier. I let it run its course, and thankfully, that was the end of that drama.

Later that day, I posted dreamy photos of Lake Tekapo. Everyone commented, “OMG, it’s so beautiful! I wanna go there!”

And I thought: Yeah… just wait till you lose your nose.