If This Heart Can Plead

A long ode of imaginary banter from heart to stubborn self. I warned you …


Make space for me, my love

My curves, my smiles and fury

I started off with strings from every angle;

Through the years, a few notes have been played,

Broken, strung and slayed

Make space for me, my love

My punches are strong

Yet kisses are sweet

I’ve taught your lips

And tongue the moves of intimate hips

Make space for me, my love

My sides have been scratched

I won’t deny, I heal through seasons;

Last few Winters have been windy, Summer and Spring had some sun

But Fall is when I am one

Make space for me, my love

My pulses know the words before you speak

When feelings become emotions, you crumble in a million questions

I know your pain, sighs and vulnerabilities

Trust that I know your capabilities

Make space for me, my love

My apologies, as I’ve always been alone in you

I swear I can more than manage,

I’ll send you pulses for signals to warn and seek

Love, be courageous yet meek

Make space for me, my love

My! Before your bright eyes to see or

Curious hands to touch, a pulse…a beat

Dug-doog. Dug-doog

You sent your first message even before those text messages!

Make space for me, my love

My guards are high up until down below

And there I thought you’re not a fan of ironman

Bring the walls down, breathe, let go and let be

Don’t let yourself wander too far till eternity

Make space for me, my love

My feelings are immense, I know

I get too excited when you’re in Kung Fu panda mode

I’ll sit with you through the swords, silence and sensuality

I promise one day, it will be more than just a dramedy

Make space for me, my love

My words have become so cheesy

I’ve aged like dairy

Let me in, please

So I can finally serve you some hot curry

Make space for me, my love

My jokes have not changed, they’re still corny

Sprinkled with bits of truth

I know you’ve already done your list

My love, you gotta let me in …

Head and face

Arms and hands

Legs and feet

Butt and womb

Spine and stomach

I’m beating myself in frenzy

With your crazy inventory

Make space for me, my love

Through seasons to seconds

From salsa to slow dances

Question marks to commas

Zodiacs to Hail Marys

Love letters to playlists

Sheep running back to your shepherd

From genre to genre

Appetizers to take outs

Make space for me, my love

I’ve lost all my strings

And walk around with my underpants in the morning

I promise you a cuppa

I promise you it can happen again

And again

But my love, please open the door

There’s always room for more.



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