Nissan Teana

This is not an automobile review. I am no expert on cars and am not an experienced driver. I should only like to say how Nissan Teana came to my attention from the outset and how this car's image had developed within me and how it eventually took me over from my original favourite Audi A4 and completely reversed my supposedly sturdy view that I must own a European but not Japanese car.

The passage of development and change within me was subtle and while not quite lengthy in terms of time past, was rather slow and in a sense below your consciousness that allowed you to be highly cognizant of the development. I must say, from the appearance of it, Teana is a beautiful car, rightly curved and squared, impeccably constructed on a right size of an Accord or Mercedes E-Class. More than that, Teana partakes of a subtlety and, so to speak, a hint of modesty, in the face of a Mercedes or BMW (a Beemer, as it sometimes is called) such that the aesthetics of such an impeccable body defines itself as a different yet substantial and functional counterparty by no means inferior to any of its rivals of all classes.

I believe luxury itself is hallow without substance from a higher civilised cause, and luxury is an inanimate object if not pouring in it a soul from plausible human activities. In those days when luxuriousness, the nature behind luxury and luxurious items, was interpreted, rather correctly, to equal elegance, erudition and sophistication, it would be easier for me to be in love with luxury. But now times have changed, we have to face a deformed concept and a distorted mentality of human-like organisms. The elegance, erudition and sophistication which once define luxury have given way to much lesser attributes such as showiness, loudness and conspicuousness of those activities that are branded as luxurious. Still matured economies such as Japan and France, where the old school luxury is preserved, still provide us with such surprises from time to time. I need refreshment.

The silhouette of Cefiro, a former model similar in style - or the predecessor of Teana, gave me some impression that some Nissan model was meant for an upper market than the average Japanese car such as Civic and Jazz from Honda or Picnic or Corrolla of Toyota. Then I forgot it until one day I saw a black sedan in front of me going in such a smooth and gentlemanly manner that it attracted my attention. I noticed the engine size, a 3.5. I thought it was a Cefiro as far as I could remember its silhouette. I saw someone sitting on the back seat, comfortably, probably a client whom the car which was supposed to bring to his destination. After a while, I saw another one, which was a 2.5 model with a smaller engine, again black and moving gracefully. That black image and the comfort of the person who sat on the back seat lingered on my mind. For the next few days I put this image away. Then in a certain night I picked it up again and immediately went to Nissan's homepage. I found no Cefiro but Teana. All right, it was a Teana I saw the other day. Clearly, Teana is no direct successor of Cefiro, probably in a lot of places, improvements and changes are made including the engine and the chasis. The first part of the story ends here.

The Strings in Shinagawa

How do I treat a people or a population I supposedly belong to? Yes, a population. I should treat it nicely, for if I am one of them, and I do not treat it nicely, I probably do not treat myself nicely. The logic could be right. But in fact, I shall not bother. Perhaps, I should say, whenever I bump into any one of this clan, I shall slap him on the face. The logic is right, as I do not bother and slapping him on the face does not cause me anything that I should consider as treating myself nicely. Instead I treat myself really nicely, for I feel happy if not ecstatic by slapping this person on the face. What can I be made happier then? Slapping him a few more times. I am a Happy Slapper. This is the clan, a group of nonsensical compost-eating, urban-shitting cowards that I have to face everyday and tolerate and am forced to belong to. But the Happy Slapper could not be happier, if he goes to Japan. I am just fine without having to bring along with me the Happy Slapper. I shall be reluctant to become a villian in the highly pressurised nation, Japan, which is built by pressuring her subjects and by her subjects being subjected, rather willingly I guess, to such pressure. But pressure constructs beauty. I should say Inferno, not Purgatory, should consider bringing the reprobates to the city where I stay.

Shinagawa gives me another misty impression of Japan, which, despite such poetic obscurity necessary for aesthetics, is absolutely endearing, a feeling from within. I do not like commercial slogan but I cannot but admit that this makes feel home - Home Away from Home, a motto found on the brochure of The Strings in Shinagawa, an InterContinental Hotel. It would be unnecessarily profound to be ontological about Home Away from Home, as I did quite some time ago. Comparing Home Away from Home with Nirvana or plugging it into an ontological argument that 'Japan is home' per se is undeniable may still be logically and analytically understandable but will easily be rendered nonsensical. If you read existential writings of Continental Europe, you will oftentimes find something similar, well, by all means, as ontological as Home Away from Home, so gorgeously packaged in philosophical wrap, pretentiously posed for eternal discussion aimed not at finding an answer but meant to continue the game. However, from deep within myself is there a sense of aesthetics that guides my feeling, temperament and disposition; and this sense of aesthetics produces such power on me that I say, 'yes, I am home.' Such proclamation, so devoid of patriotism, is simply here, inside me. Some scenary such as Laforet or Gingakuji provokes the aesethetical sense to lead me to say 'yes, I am home'. The Strings is again another provocation - or put it more mildly - stimulus. With it I have the confidence to say, 'go back where you belong, patriotism.' At least, patriotism or chauvanistic nonsense attaced to my population in this case becomes obsolete and highly obscene, not to mention blasphemous against humanity.