Camel. Milk. Tablets. My soul levitates. My inner child—trauma-ridden, sugar-addicted, and vitamin D-deficient—screams: YES.

I click buy without blinking. I don’t even care that it says minimum NT$199 or that they won’t ship until next Tomb-Sweeping Festival. Take my money. Take my trust. Just give me that dusty Arabian childhood in chewable form.

🐫 Flashback: Arabian Nostalgia Mode Activated 🐫

As a child growing up in the Arabian Peninsula, camel sightings were like pigeons in New York—everywhere, but with more sass and spitting. It’s like I’m back there, in the midst of the golden dunes, with the sun beating down and the smell of camel dung in the air.

We were once a whole family then—Mom, Dad, Big Bro, and me. Happy-ish. Sweaty. Poorly dressed in matching family shirts from Bangkok’s Chatuchak Market. We gallop across deserts on one-hump camels that smell like a mix of sun-dried carpet and armpit yogurt.

But two-hump camels? Still a unicorn to me. Just a mythical beast of textbooks and exotic memes.

I swear I once saw a mirage of a Bactrian camel and chased it, only to crash into a cactus and ruin family photos forever.

📦 DING DONG. My Package Arrives 17 Camel Moons Later

I rip open the box like a desert bandit. Inside lies a 256g package of individually wrapped camel milk tablets—naked in a “simple series” bag, modest like a Bedouin bride but brimming with secrets.

I pop one in. It’s chalky, like a desert breeze carrying sand particles. It’s dry, like the heat of the Arabian sun. It’s got that mysterious fermented, sun-scorched, slightly tangy udder funk only a true camel product can achieve, reminiscent of the unique aroma of a camel farm.

The taste? It’s like a blend of condensed milk and that moment you exhale during a desert hike and inhale a whiff of camel poop—but in a strangely nostalgic way.

I tear up. I’m not crying because it’s good. I’m crying because it is my childhood.

💩 Real Talk: The Aftermath

Let me warn you, though—camel milk doesn’t play.
If your gut flora ain’t desert-hardened like mine used to be, you will feel a rumble in the sand dunes.

• Three tablets in: I am farting in Morse code.
• Four tablets in: I begin sweating and hallucinating a Bedouin wedding.
• Five tablets in: My mom bangs on the bathroom door yelling, “Did you eat something weird again!?”

“Yes, Ma. I ordered 256 grams of my repressed memories. Leave me be.”

🛒 Final Verdict: Worth Every Camel Toe Print

• Texture: chalky yet nostalgic
• Taste: funky with a hint of spiritual awakening
• Emotion: a blend of regret, love, abandonment, and dairy
• Price: cheap, unless you count the therapy I now need
• Would I buy again? Already did. Ordered 3 more bags.

🌟Rating: 5 out of 5 Dunes of Digestive Destiny.
💩Warning: Not for the faint of stomach. Or lactose-intolerant romantics.

🍼 Flashback #2: The “Juice Milk” That Wasn’t

Biting into another Xinjiang Camel’s Milk Candy, I’m hit with a second wave of memories—this one not from the golden dunes of Arabia, but from a sweaty, mosquito-infested apartment in New Taipei City.

Why? Because I. Hate. Milk. Always have. Always will. It tastes like regret and smells like unwashed dreams.

But my mom—oh, my crafty, Leo, mastermind mom—wasn’t having it. She’s deeply invested in my vertical success. So when my aunt moves in to spend her postpartum period after giving birth to my baby cousin—a soft, milk-scented blob of a human—Mom sees an opportunity.

“This is Juice milk~ Drink it quickly, it tastes best when it’s cold～” she sings, holding up a baby bottle with the label peeled off and suspicious condensation on the outside.

My brother and I look at each other like two starving gremlins with undeveloped taste buds. He shrugs. I shrug. We gulp. We drink it like it’s mango Yakult. Like. Idiots.

That moment haunts me now as I chew on this desert-born奶片 made from camel udders. Because suddenly I realize—this isn’t the first time I’ve been tricked into drinking something from another mammal’s mammary glands.

And maybe… just maybe… I didn’t hate milk. I just needed it disguised as exotic, mysterious, and possibly illegal. Camel milk tablet = my redemption arc.

It’s the adult version of “Juice Milk Scam.” But this time, I know exactly what I’m putting in my mouth. And I welcome it. I crave it. I chase the taste like a feral child seeking closure.

And honestly? I’d rather eat chalky Camel milk candy and fart all night than relive the moment I found out my bones were built on my cousin’s breast milk. 🍼💔

Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Auntie. Thanks, weirdly anonymous Taobao-ish camel milk shop. You brought me full circle. From goat milk confusion, to breast milk betrayal, to desert redemption.

Moral of the story? Trust no milk unless it comes from a mammal that walks on four legs and spits. Read the label. And if it says “Juice milk” in a baby bottle… run.

🍼🫣🐪💨
LMFAO Rating: 10/10 Would slurp again (with trauma).