In Abu Dhabi, where skyscrapers kiss the sky and souks echo with ancient stories, I discovered what I least expected—profound stillness. It was the last thing I thought I’d find when I arrived with a heart full of hesitation and a mind overwhelmed by change.
I still remember the day I landed in Abu Dhabi for the very first time. I had left behind a life that was mine in every sense—one rooted in Vadodara, Gujarat. The world I had stepped into felt unfamiliar, almost surreal. Though Abu Dhabi was modern, dotted with high-rises, malls, lush parks, and endless amenities even back in 2005, it couldn’t compete with what I had left behind. Emotionally, I was adrift.
Every passing day on my visit visa felt like a countdown. I wasn’t present—I was waiting to return, to escape what felt like a forced pause. Was I being too emotional? Too naïve? Or just a quiet dreamer who found it hard to let go?
For months, I let silence seep into my creative world. I haven’t blogged. I hadn’t shared. Life had taken over, as it often does. But somewhere between the swirl of responsibilities and the quiet corners of my home, I started noticing moments that didn’t demand anything from me. Moments that just… were.
Abu Dhabi, with its paradox of motion and peace, became my teacher.
The Hustle and the Hush
It’s easy to get swept up in the rhythm of this city—the rush of the highways, the towering architecture, the relentless pace. But between all that, there’s a cadence you only hear when you slow down.
Late nights always comforted me more than early sunrises. But mornings in Abu Dhabi arrived uninvited, loud and unapologetic—blaring honks of cars heading to offices, school buses weaving through narrow lanes, everyone in a synchronized rush to beat the clock.
Yet somehow amid this chaos, a different rhythm quietly unfolded through the senses.
It began with smells—familiar and foreign, grounding and nostalgic. The earthy aroma of Aloo Parathas mingled with the sharp scent of freshly brewed Starbucks coffee. From neighbouring kitchens, the whistle of pressure cookers and the comforting fragrance of dosa and sambhar wrapped around me like invisible threads connecting me to a distant home. And then there was the divine, soul-soothing scent of Bhukhur and Attar of Jannat-ul-Firdous—a fragrance that didn’t just calm my nerves but stilled my entire being.
But nothing evoked emotions like rain in Abu Dhabi. I experienced a new face of Mother Earth here. It rained in winter when the temperature dropped in the desert—a surreal experience for me. That heavenly scent of wet earth—raw, sacred, and familiar—awakened a thousand buried memories. It was as though the desert wept with me, and in that shared silence, I found a piece of myself again.
The air before sunrise carries a sacred kind of hush. I’d hear the call to prayer, feel the warmth of tea in my palms, and smell the faint salt from the sea breeze. These weren’t just daily details—they were invitations to the presence.
Even in the markets, where life buzzes with energy, I found mindfulness in watching hands that craft, voices that barter, and eyes that smile. There’s poetry in everyday life if you choose to see it.
From Loneliness to Layers of Life
Being alone in a new country after leaving a stable job wasn’t easy. I became quiet, inward, and constantly adjusting. I kept myself going by stepping into the role of a supportive wife. But the days stretched long, and emotions ran deeper than anyone could see.
Over time, another kind of longing grew—a yearning for a child. After seven long years of waiting, precisely 2,641 days, our daughter arrived—a blessing we had whispered for in countless prayers. Her arrival changed everything.
She brought light, laughter, chaos, and transformation. I became a full-time mother and homemaker. This transition was both beautiful and unsettling for someone who had always defined herself through work and ambition. The shift wasn’t just external but emotional, spiritual, layered. The early years overflowed with giggles, baby babbles, tiny fingers, and warm cuddles. But as my daughter grew, the dynamics shifted. My role began to feel constraining, as though I was only allowed to wear one identity at a time.
As she blossomed, so did the questions inside me: Who was I beyond this role? Was I allowed to feel lost while living the dream I once prayed for?
Parenting is a paradox—exhausting yet exhilarating. Watching your child grow is a once-in-a-lifetime journey that renews your spirit daily. There’s magic in the ordinary: the way she runs, the way she stumbles, the way she says something that shifts your entire perspective. I laughed with her, cried quietly in corners, and paused when emotional waves crashed. Unknowingly, these moments were building stories inside me. Yet, in those shifting times, I found myself juggling emotions—grateful yet grieving parts of myself I thought I’d forgotten.
Pauses That Planted Stories
Every emotional dip became an opportunity to pause. And those pauses weren’t elaborate—they were beautifully ordinary.
- A solo coffee date.
- An impromptu walk through a park.
- Laughing over silly things with gym friends.
- Organising family gatherings where chaos transformed into connection.
These small escapes gave birth to something much bigger within. They planted seeds of reflection, creativity, and stories I didn’t even know were forming.
The writer in me was never lost—she was gathering the details.
Abu Dhabi: The City That Gave Me Back to Myself
Abu Dhabi is not just where I live. It’s a city that has mirrored me back to myself.
This place, which once felt like a stranger, slowly transformed into a quiet companion. It became the backdrop to the most intimate chapters of my life.
Abu Dhabi taught me to see the extraordinary in the ordinary:
- A lone woman at a bus stop, her tote bag bursting with books
- A father adjusting his child’s backpack, helping him cross the street, forehead pressed in a gentle goodbye
- The scent of ouds lingering behind a passerby in a bookstore
- A janitor sweeping desert sand from marble steps as the call to prayer begins
- The profound stillness of the desert
- The golden light of sunrise washes over the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque
These moments—the ordinary, unfiltered, un-Instagrammed—are what made this city feel like home. In these quiet flashes, I’ve found inspiration not just for stories, but for living.
These aren’t fleeting details—they are pieces of a mosaic. And this mosaic tells a story that I now live in every day.
An Invitation to Be Here, Now
If you’re reading this and feel you’re always rushing through routines, expectations, and deadlines, I invite you to pause.
If you’ve made it this far, perhaps your heart needs a moment of stillness.
- I invite you to breathe.
- To notice.
- To simply be.
Let your tea grow cold as you gaze out the window. Feel the wind against your skin and remember how far you’ve come. Allow the scent of your surroundings to anchor you in the present moment.
Mindfulness isn’t something you do. It’s something you become.
Step outside without your phone. Let the aroma of your morning coffee awaken memories you’d forgotten. Observe the world not to capture it, but to truly see it. Mindfulness isn’t about doing nothing—it’s about noticing everything.
And in that noticing, a whole new world begins.
– Lamiya Siraj
Lamiya Siraj: Stories & Beyond 
“Your thoughts matter – Share them below!”