Goodnite Mister Terzani
by MephisLee

I was randomly googling stuff before I went to bed, when my weary eyes chanced upon the name Tiziano Terzani on one of my book spines. And so it happened that I googled Mr Terzani's name, only to find that the esteemed author had kicked the bucket. Dead.Gone. The page was littered with tributes and obituaries from various notable publishing houses. I felt a sharp pang of disappointment. I had just read Mr Terzani's book "A Fortune-Teller Told Me" at the start of the summer, in my desolate student room in Malaysia. It followed me from cab to LRT ,from my Grandmas dinner table to lunch at Chinese coffee houses. Somehow, his touchingly human descriptions of Asia seemed much more realistic, in this setting, and I was truly glad to be present in Southeast Asia while reading his book. The connections, and descriptions were much more real, more tangible ,than I expected when I first glanced at the book two years ago and dismissed it, in my ignorance as "another Asian story written by yet another gweilo journalist".
I found myself totally absorbed in Mr Terzani's journey across Asia, in his own special way, and was struck in particular, by his uniqness and inquisitive commentary on life and its various strata, pertaining to Asia. Dreading the end of my involving journey with him, I sought out other novels and materials to read, postpoing the inevitable end of his tale.Alas! I couldn't be kept away from him that long, and one drunken morning after returning from the craziness that is Jalan Sultan Ismail on a Saturday night, I again opened Terzani, and lost myself in his words.
His disillusionment with western capitalism, all the way to his embracing of meditation in his latter years, seem to me the epitome of development of the modern human mind. At last I had found a writer that blended in with my ideals almost perfectly-his concern for the materialism and capitalism embraced by Asia, coupled with his search for himself made him me. Yes.
I became Terzani. I was Tiziano Terzani, born September 14 1938, in Florence, Italy. Seldom has the written word seeped through the pages and into my blood, making me part and parcel of its existence. "A Fortune Teller Told Me" left an indelible mark on me, unique only to me, in my own understanding and born of my idealistic dreams as an individual. I had thought that that part of me would forever be Tiziano Terzani. Well, on July 28, 2004 Tiziano Terzani passed away.For a wild moment, after reading his obituary, I thought that I, Tiziano, had died too.Then I realized my absurdity! Terzani really is dead.But his ideals and outlooks live on forever in me and all others who understood or interpreted his journey- his life's journey in their own particular way.
Goodnite Mister Terzani!!

"I Miss"- Part II
Verbal boogers by MephisLee

I miss waking up in my small bare room, the sun smiling at me through my dirty hibiscus patterned curtains. The smells of Subang Jaya ss15 permeating the air; sewage ,take away Chinese food, and cat feaces mingling with the stench of vodka and Product that seems permanently attached to my room. I miss the two minute walk to Taylors , out the front door, through the chipped cement courtyard with weeds peeking through the gaps, through the creaky front gate with a “For Sale” sign welded to it, and out onto the short stretch of road, bathwater from my mop-like hair showering my shoulders as I jog across the busy street.
I miss my breakfast of nasi lemak and Nescafe Iced Lemon Tea. I miss the quiet sober morning atmosphere of Aunties shop, where I read a chaper or two of any of Osho’s work and plan my day. I miss the gym, desolate and stripped to it bare necessities, the carpet stinking of sweat and the barbells and weights coated in a sheen of rust, grime and oil. I miss the fruit stall down stairs that sells slices of pineapple, water melons and honey dew melons that taste as if they were stolen from the Garden of Eden. The mango slices are wet and succulent to the taste.-unripe, sour and green on the outside, red, fleshy and oh so juicy on the inside, like some women I know.
I miss the clubs, dressing up, endless vodka shots, blurred vision and light feet. Popping, two stepping, thunda clapping my way across the dancefloor. I miss the chicks black white, Chinese, Indian, Hapa, different flavours, one game to balance it all out. Miss the Game. I miss making eye contact one..two…conversation, huge smiles, body contact, hugs, pecks, caresses, deep kisses. Miss the smses later in the night- “Interesting…should meet up…get to know you better..stimulating conversation…connections…miss you” I miss the dates, the nervousness, the rush of adrenaline contrasting with the calm, sure smile and direct prolonged eye contact. Love cutting her down when she tries to act confident by sprinkling cocky all over her utterances. Love the shocked look in her eyes as her defences come crashing down, to rest at my feet in a crumpled unrecognizable heap. I miss grabbing her attention vocally, stimulating her imagination, journeying with her to realms of ecstasy, losing myself in the Game, the coffee gone cold. Miss not being able to break eye contact with her, and loving it!! Damn!! Love the excitement, the wetting of lips, physical arousal, foot shuffling beneath the table….love them all-every single hung up on ex-bf, flaky, conniving ,sex addicted one of them..
Love driving down the jammed highways, screaming along to the tunes on the radio, motorist glaring, smiling indulgently and cursing at me. Love Grandmas prawn sambal , love Grandpas repetitive questions. Miss the goddam playful cocker spaniel that needs so much petting and affection. Miss clear Malaysian night skies…the smell of brine in Redang , the rural quiet of the stray path in Langkawi, with the little kampong boy resting on his broken bicycle. I miss the bustle of KLCC, Central Market, miss KLIA and the emotions it arouses each time I step into it…
Alar..I miss Malaysia, lah!!