What I think about when I think about loving



What I think about when I think about loving

Let’s replace the butterflies with bees
A constant list of things to do
Of ways to be better
Of ways to be

Let’s replace the fireworks with a flame
Just one that stays burning
Stay away from the explosives,
The aftermath burns

Let’s replace the theme song with a soundtrack
Transitional, track after track
Grow up from fleeting moments
Live past ever after

Let’s replace the superlatives with consistency
Balance the emojis with dates and a night in
Pajamas with nachos
But remember there’s always room for stilettos and white knights

I remember I always wanted that look Leonardo Di Caprio had when he saw Claire Danes through the aquarium
I wanted that moment when Shane West built a telescope for her to see the stars
Breakfast, it is sacred and sharing the moment should be a blessed sacrament

I still fumble with my keys at the doorstep
I still smile with the first morning greet
I still roll my eyes at natural quirks and end with a laugh
It’s silly but I still…

Home cooked meals and vinyl records
Dim lights and road trips
Street food and take aways
Through the morning rush
And the turning of newspaper pages

In all it’s intensities
Passed through the ambiguity
Questioning capacities
Across my palm lines
Awkward cliches and broken cracks
I still think about love

The Patrician’s Creed


To here I stand promising myself to the world. The bliss it brings and the hurt it

I believe in the power of the people, the human element in skill. The workforce
behind the frame of life and the reason for results.

I believe in happiness, moreover the essence of joy. To the days of those long
runs that prizes me or just the joy of jogs.

I believe in the suffering, not the punishment. The loss of links and the loss of
pause. For every pain that strikes me, I’ll take it to the heart. To strengthen and
bestow it with the wisdom to understand sacrifice.

I believe in the good of all things, a witness of experience and a carrier for shares.
To lives lived and that lives that go. To the things that finished and the ones that
barely reached brink. The necessity seems mere but a heavy one that sows.

I believe in evil, that antimatter of all things. Its hidden hints and taunting
thoughts, pieces that we tend to forego. The sole reason of the s7ven and the
crying of lost souls.

I believe in the fear of it all, the risk that plays and the loss of it all.

I believe in progression; the personal touch of God. The challenge to take in
change and the wisdom to understand it.

I believe in peace, the kind that allows you to sit in your thoughts and bask to the
beat of your heart.

I believe in faith itself, the second hardest concept to understand by humankind.
The constant questioning, the risk and the time to let go and let God.

I believe in love, the most difficult notion to accept. An acquired taste but
apparently a universal tongue.

I believe in freedom, the cutting of chains and the state of parity.

I believe in the fight, the raging passion from within. The expression of self and
the kinds that jabs my life to spin.

I believe in all of the above and all of below. The person that I am and the fires
that will refine me. I am limitless, here I stand and give myself to the world as it
gives a piece of itself in return. I will leave my legacy and to the world, I bestow
my all.

Will, I am.


Photo by: Pascal Campion

I’ll give you a name,

because you mean something to me.

More than just the penny in my pocket,

you’re the warmth in my tummy after pumpkin soup.


I’ll clasp my hands together more often,

eyes closed and everything.

because I’m not begging for you,

you’re the reason for my rugged rosaries.


I’ll wear my glasses all day,

and not just in the office to see Powerpoint slides from afar.

Because when you cross the road,

I want to know the color of thread on your shirt buttons.


I’ll finish the book,

and not one of those weekend binges to escape my mind.

Because I want to be a somebody five years from now,

and I want you to be there with me.


I’ll listen to the mixtape,

I need to start somewhere.

Because my hips needs to find its own rhythm

and I eventually want you to hold them when they do.


I’ll be eating porridge and fruits in the morning,

because this is how I do.

Toast when I’m anxious

but I promise we can do with some bagels or waffles on weekends.


I’ll do the dishes and the cleaning,

because I’m good at it.

The ironing and anything above an arm’s length my head,

no. That’s all yours.


I’ll always sell you an idea for dinner,

because I’m an Ad girl at heart.

I’m all about the references,

them words in those lines and them meaning between it all – my antics.


I’ll be the frustrated patriot,

because I’ve got no home.

The places I know,

is a washing machine full of my laundry.


I’ll be doing a lot of things,

I’ll be changing from person to person,

I’ll be all sorts of crazy,

because that’s what I’ve got to do.

because I need to keep going.

because I need to.

Home For The Nomad
















Note: Dear readers, this is not at all a political blog/rant/article, just merely inspired by 2016 political results from my point of view.

If 2016 was a person, I’d buy him a glass of wine to celebrate for endurance, a cup of coffee as my way of sharing comfort and then kick the jukebox for some old tunes to talk it all out. Loss comes in different forms and 2016’s political events had an evident pattern – Brexit, Duterte and Trump for example. How different would our lives be if votes that won were to stay, to let political dynasties continue and had another Clinton to rule?

As I sip my cuppa tea, I grinned at how votes turned out across all elections this year. And how mainstream of me to use this line but people wanted a change.

Three years ago, I moved into my own apartment after over a decade of serious Asian parenting, Catholic schools / communities, Sundays at Church (a weekday in Dubai) and fighting over the remote control (five people versus me).

I was at home.

I built the foundation of my single adult life in that studio apartment with my first ever groceries purchased by yours truly, furniture of my choice, music at my volume and a brand new car to top it all off. Freedom defined, hey?

Three years ago, my parents left Dubai for retirement and I remember losing both my maternal grandparents that same year. These people have long served the countries they worked in and considered it home. I remember my first Christmas in Bahrain; I don’t think my parents could afford a big tree then so they got creative and got Christmas lights instead. They taped the lights on the wall and shaped it as a tree and there they placed our oddly shaped presents. I never really thought we needed a better tree, at an early age, we knew my mom and dad did their best. That they were just starting out.

I remember the first time I saw Kodak photos; they were glossy prints of Lolo and Lola (grandpa and grandma) in Universal studios, Lolo was posing with a Jurassic Park logo while Lola was looking for something to eat. They looked very funny in their oversized coats amongst a world of dinosaurs and film references. I never thought much about it except how cool of them to go to all these grand theme parks! But Mom was in Bahrain and her parents were in America. She kept those photos to remember of how happy they looked as she stayed back to take care of us, her own family.

I remember when we would go on an adventure with Mom while Dad was on a business trip, we watched a Jackie Chan movie at the theatre as we waited for his arrival and sneaked our microwaved popcorn to share. We would have our alarms set at odd hours so we could welcome him home from the airport. We waited because we missed him and wanted to tell him about our adventures.

Fast forward today, my siblings and I have taken the roles of the new generation of expats. How strange this world has become with oceans and continents that brought people apart now merely feels like a lake and a few mountains. We’ve become closer yet still apart. We have what we want but is it what we need?

People voted to leave, a change and to go against the popular choice. They did this silently amidst the noise because they didn’t want to be in the same place and wait for the next election. They didn’t want to stay.

My sister called me a few weeks ago and started with “you’re not gonna like what I’m going to say next” – we’re nomads by DNA, where you are now is not where you will be in the next three years. You will be somewhere else; building, discovering, finding your own oasis and also facing your own versions of sword play.

People choose the cards they play for their wellbeing; it is one of those needed self centred acts for their own betterment. We deserve the president we voted for. Benefits and sacrifices included.

Which means – this is the path we chose. The path not to stay, to keep going and continue building a home in every house we live in. To seek similarity and celebrate differences in the people we meet. To make things work. To love above and below imagination.

It is now three years since my first apartment and I am now in my new home. I’ve oriented myself to locals terms (hob vs stove / cardigan vs jumper / fries vs chips, etc). I’ve walked most of the city through hail, rain and wind. No TV but hey, there’s Spotify and Netflix. Work – home – work – home. This is my version of silent voting; it’s been two years since my family has been together; the wait at the airport has been replaced with Skype calls. The Christmas tree is there with presents kindly sponsored by DHL/FEDEX/ ARAMEX boxes. Death threats over dinner and remote control ownership is replaced by cheesy emoticons and funny memes from different timezones.

As 2016 is close to an end, if it was a person, I would  punch him with my new boxing skills and hug him because sometimes it gets so tiring to deal. Rest for the night and then keep going. Loss may come in different forms but seeking home in people and places is a consistent reminder for the kind of life we want to build and the person we want to be.

Loving above and below imagination,

Pia the Nomad