My supportive friend qualities

So this soberingly sad conversation actually happened the other day. I was sitting in a coctail bar on a Sunday afternoon in Camden, with little gay Asian friend #1 (female) and little gay Asian friend #2 (male).

Little gay Asian friend 1 (in a sad tone): After four years, I've finally broken things off with my girlfriend.

Little gay Asian friend 2: Poor you... you guys were at least talking, right?

Little gay Asian friend 1: Yes... but I've decided I need to move on, I think.

Me (sympathetic and helpful): That must have been hard.

Little gay Asian friend 1: It was... I was afraid at first.

*Faint beginnings of mischievous beat forming deep in the back of my head*

Little gay Asian friend 1: I thought I wouldn't be able to do without her by my side.

*Beat taking a distinctively fabulous shape now*

Little gay Asian friend 1: But I've spent so long thinking about it, and I don't think is right.

*Beat has gained words and thrust its way into the conscious part of my brain, where I am struggling to contain it, given the seriousness of the moment*

Little gay Asian friend 2: But you're strong...

*Please stop... It's no longer just a question of how inappropriate it is, it's also the fact that given my present company I should not be the one coming up with this, right? I now feel like Kevin Kline from In & Out... *

Little gay Asian friend 1: Yeah, I'll learn how to move along.

*That's it... here we go...*


Me: "And so you're back... from outer space... I just walked in to find you here..."

*Little gay Asian friends 1&2 looking slightly mortified. Erm... do I backpaddle, or roll with this?*

Me: "I should have changed the stupid lock, I should have made you leave the key..."

*Little gay Asian friends 1&2 slowly beginning to smile, then laugh, then join in*

Little gay Asian friends 1&2 and I: "No just go... walk out the door... just turn around now... cuz you're not welcome anymore..."

*People at surrounding tables at Camden's poshest cocktail bar now turning around to look at us*

Little gay Asian friends 1&2 and I: "I will survive..."


So... that went well, and she didn't seem too mad at me.

Of course, when I asked her opinion 30 seconds later on a hanging hammock style chair I'd spotted in the market, her response was "I think that's a great idea. You should go hang yourself". Maybe there is some lingering resentment.

Thinking time

I woke up today in London, on a Monday. It's been two weeks since I made the final decision to move to Dubai, a little too long for it to really be a topic of conversation anymore.

It's also two weeks until I move - a little too far away to really start packing.

Which leaves entirely too much time to think... what am I getting myself into again?

Attempted to get in touch with my company's Middle Eastern head office. They didn't answer, but that's normal, apparently - it's located in Beirut, where most people are staying home today because of Anti-Syrian demonstrations. Which I suppose is better news for me than the time it had to be closed because it shares a building with the Swedish embassy, which someone (or rather, a large group of someones) had decided needed to be punished for the Danish cartoons. You know, Dane, Swede, whatever. Icelander?

But I'm headed for 'greener' pastures anyway - Dubai. Based on a 24-hour whirlwind of an introduction, without the benefit of sleep. Yes, it was vibrant and colourful, and yes, the job is intriguing.

What am I getting myself into again?

The Nomad Diaries

I am a nomad.

I’ve said it before, but it’s always been tongue in cheek. A joke. Until now. Walking back from the store where I went to buy alcohol on a bad day, it occurred to me that it is no joke.

The life of a nomad is a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. The ancient nomadic people would travel, continually seeking the place that would provide the best conditions for each season. I travel, continually seeking the next experience and never dwelling in one place too long – not even when I plan to.

On good days I'll look back at my life with pride and feel like I've accomplished a great deal, like living in nine countries on five continents before the age of 30. On bad days I will think of the fact that I've moved between countries fourteen times in sixteen years, and feel homeless, vagabond – a nomad.

Keeping an open diary may be the ultimate self-indulgence, but it also takes discipline. I'm pretty confident I have the former... we'll see if I have the latter too.