I worked as a biologist for two years, in a lab where I had to titillate frogs and rats to collect their eggs and semen. It didn't exactly match the romantic dreams I had about science. I switched my field of interest to the human brain and worked on a mathematical model of the cerebral cortex and thought processes. Continuously thinking about thinking managed to drive me crazy and so, one day, during the financial boom of 1986 I made some money on the stock exchange and left for a three-week vacation that lasted some eleven years, one in California and ten in East Asia. I took a diploma in gemology in Bangkok and started dealing precious stones, then I spent five years in a little island in Thailand, running some bungalows and a little restaurant, but mostly fishing, reading and watching videotapes. What did I like about Asia? The people, their being so different from me. For instance I liked their habit of referring to themselves in the third person. Someone might say to you, "Yang thinks you are stupid," and you'll ask "Who's Yang?" and he'll say, "I'm Yang," with a smile, because he's not offending you, Yang is. It's the same attitude an actor has with his part, he doesn't identify with it and can always get out. It's a very healthy habit that allows you to relax and laugh at yourself. The difference between tragic and comic is in the point of view: your troubles are tragic, somebody else's are comic. So laughing becomes a sort of spiritual exercise in relinquishing your ego. I believe that every tragic story has a comic "translation" that is harder to put together, but that says the same things in a more effective way. To me, good comedy, laughter that overcomes tragedy, is the highest form of art, and good comedians are saints. And then I like the japanese practise of "mu," of seeking enlightenment in a cup of tea, even if I don't like tea.

At some point, I started writing postcards to my friends. One of them, my best pal ever since, found my mail interesting and suggested I write something longer. So I did a travel article about my riding a camel in Sinai, a camel called Bob Marley who never took me where I wanted but always went in pursuit of lady camels. While doing that, in the middle of a particular sentence, I suddenly realized that writing could be something fun. I don't remember the particular sentence, I only know that it seemed to be written by someone else. It was a revelation to me that I could be someone else. It was a revelation to me that you don't have to be a nice person to write something nice. Sometimes mistakes do happen, and stringing them together you may fool even the toughest of critics. (Actually it takes a while to realize that what looks sublime to the writer is usually just another piece of trash to the reader. When you see a piece of quartz in the dirt it looks like you've found the shining eyeballs of the universe, but when you take it to the jeweler. . .) Anyway, I consider this business of writing pretty much like kamasutra: the art of giving pleasure, of taking you to a place where everything is wonderful, like when you are a kid, or in love, or traveling, or about to die (though coming back from a place where everything is horrible is just as good). As in love talk, it doesn't really matter what you say, however perverted, but only what it feels Iike. As opposed to science: I always thought that science was serious business and real knowledge, while fiction was more like playing around. I still feel that way but now I'd rather play around. Trying to create, to give birth to something (not surprisingly, the favorite pastime of all animals) is frightfully more fun than trying to explain or even to understand. This novel I wrote surely isn't about the meaning of life. If something is funny or beautiful it already is the meaning of life.