Hong Kong: The Patience of Moms

Everyone says that patience is learned when you become a mom and that it evolves with the child’s age. It starts right away during the hours of labor torture. When doctors tell you to breathe and not to contract the belly, that eventually will pass, it’s just a couple of hours (or days for the less fortunate ones) that you are not dying, you are giving birth to a child. Then breathe, yell, think the worst things about your husband who did this to you, hate the midwife, turn off the light, switch on the light, walk, lie down, send to hell the nurse who try to let you drink a juice, but I recommend you, be patient. Than a

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Macao: Born for Trash

 Going to Macau is like taking a space-time trip. I love this island, a shrill of cultures, halfway between a decadent Lisbon, an ugly Chinese town and Las Vegas. In the old part of the city you can walk through the uphill slopes street paved with the typical Portuguese mosaic. There are old buildings falling apart followed by colonial houses restored with warm colors, secular plants, names of the streets written in Portuguese and Chinese painted on Azulejos . Coming here from China you immediately feel at home, the many churches that you encounter walking, the sound of the bells and the pedestrian street full of shops that flows into the ruins of the church of Sant Pau have the

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Hong Kong: Hong Kong: Chinese or Indian Waxing?

Four years ago, I did waxing for the last time. I switched to the razor in a blink. And you know? I like it. Is a bit like gardening, from time to time you see the fruit of your work grow lush become increasingly thicker and stronger, see the hair challenge the force of gravity and pierce even the most thickest of stockings, see them twist and grow in two from the same bulb. I’m satisfied. But I have not always been this way. I decided to switch to shaving fast and easy after undergoing waxing in Shanghai four years ago. I went to one of those “centers for expats” where they used imported products because Chinese ones scratched your

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Hong Kong: The Villain Hitters

I’m walking around Hong Kong. Strangely it rains. I take shelter under a highway and I see them, in their splendor, all old, toothless and smiling, they are the Villain Hitters. It’s like a siren calls for me. I smile at all, I try to communicate but obviously they speak only Cantonese. I am not even helped by the two words I know in Mandarin. I choose the less-tooth hitter, just for sympathy and compassion. She has oily hair held back with iron combs, a gorgeous blouse and long yellow nails. I love her already. She makes me sit on a low stool, hands me a bunch of printed sheets in different colors and shapes, folded over one another, makes

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