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: 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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The Moment, Forever

“Per sempre (forever) solo per sempre (only forever) cosa sarà mai portarvi dentro solo tutto il tempo (whatever will be bring you inside me just for all the time) per sempre (forever) solo per sempre (only forever) c’è un istante che rimane lì piantato eternamente (there is a Moment that remains eternally there” Luciano Ligabue   The brain, what a mystery. I wonder what snaps into our skull when we live “in the moment,” when we are so aware and present that everything becomes clear and clean, and that moment – beautiful, horrible, sometimes apparently insignificant, is so intense that it is sticks to gray matter and we can no longer remove it. Why then just “that moment” and not

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