+971
It’s 2019. I’m living in Germany, and I hate it.
I find myself listening to Arabic music all the time. It does something to me—I can’t really explain it. It touches me from the inside, like it’s part of my DNA. Every day, my little ritual is the same: I prepare my shisha, sit down, and play Ash or André Soueid x Jad Halal videos. That’s how I end my days.
I don’t know when or how it started, but I truly believe God placed in me the desire to experience Arabic culture. I knew almost nothing about it, yet I felt attracted to it. I remember thinking: I want to go to Dubai. So I made it a goal. I didn’t know how, but I knew I would find a way.
Then Covid hit. I had to leave Germany and go back to my hometown in Spain. But Dubai stayed on my mind. If anything, I started thinking about it even more. I would even use “Dubai2021” as a password for everything. It’s something I do—a way of reminding myself where I’m going, even in the smallest, most random moments.
And then, it happened. A work trip came up in November 2021.
I was on an Emirates flight for the first time, and everything felt new. A double-decker aircraft, lights on the ceiling like a Rolls Royce, the window shades you can control. I remember feeling this deep sense of gratitude. A dream I had been holding onto was becoming real.
I landed in DXB International Airport. Passport stamped. A SIM card handed to me. And I felt it instantly—this wasn’t foreign to me. It didn’t feel like I was arriving as a stranger. It felt like I was meant to be there.
It was only a short work trip, just a few days. But I wasn’t wasting a second. While my colleagues were sleeping, I was waking up at 5am for a quick workout. Then coffee on the hotel terrace, watching the sky sunrise colors while the Adhan played in the background. It was my first time hearing the call to prayer. I loved it. It felt peaceful.
Next I took a taxi and said: “To the Burj Khalifa, please.” When I saw it for the first time, I felt something I can only describe as accomplishment. Anyone can visit a place. You can book a flight and just go but for me, I wanted to earn it. My job brought me there. My first time in an Arab country. She made it to Dubai.
I didn’t have much time—just that morning—so I wanted to see more. I took another taxi and said: “Take me to the beach.” The driver asked, “Which one?” I said, “Any.” He took me to Kite Beach. It was November, and I was swimming in the sea, tanning under the sun. I couldn’t believe it. The water was turquoise. It felt unreal. Like paradise. I remember thinking: it doesn’t get better than this.
Everything felt right from the moment I stepped on that plane.
Later, at Expo, I saw abayas and kandooras for the first time. Some of my colleagues were criticizing them, and I couldn’t understand why. First of all, I liked it. Second, we were guests in a different culture. Why criticize it instead of respecting it? Or even trying to understand it? I found it beautiful.
The next day, we went to Abu Dhabi. Some wanted Ferrari World. Others wanted to stay at the hotel. I had barely slept, but there was no way I was missing the Sheikh Zayed Mosque. When I saw it from the outside, I felt something deep and special.
We had to cover ourselves, but due to Covid, they weren’t providing abayas, so we had to buy one. Everyone was complaining—about the rules, about the money. And me? I was excited. I didn’t go for the cheapest one. I chose the most beautiful one. I loved it. My first abaya. My first hijab. I felt beautiful. Walking into the mosque was peaceful. I was happy to be there. Barefoot. Silence. Peace.
The next day, I was back in Spain—with my abaya, a UAE flag in my suitcase and hundreds of pictures. I was the happiest one. My colleagues kept calling me “that Arab girl” or “this place fits you the most”.
It was a short trip. Too short for me. I needed more of the UAE. I wanted to live there. I had to find a way.
And I did.
-
It’s 2025. I’m living in Qatar. Dubai is no longer on my mind the way it used to be. I’m happy in Doha. I’m already in the Middle East—it feels close enough. From time to time I have business trips to Dubai and I enjoy it. I have the best of both worlds.
Until one day, an opportunity in Dubai comes up, four years later. I don’t hesitate. I say yes, pack my life, and start again. No friends, no acquaintances. Just me and my ambition.
My first months in Dubai changed me—but not in the way I expected. I wasn’t myself. I lost myself without noticing it. I was trying to be like everyone else. Trying to fit into a version of the city that didn’t feel natural to me. Sometimes I felt like I was overacting, like I was forcing something. And slowly, I stopped connecting with me and ultimately I blamed into the city.
Dubai felt overwhelming. The buildings too high. The traffic never stopping. The constant movement, the noise, the social life that never pauses. I felt small, like an ant. I couldn’t breathe. I started thinking that maybe this place is not for me.
And then one day, I was in a taxi, right under the Burj Khalifa. And it hit me: this is what I prayed for in 2019 and now I’m here, thanks God. I felt guilty about my ingratitude. Maybe I just needed time...
Summer came. I went back to Europe for my summer holidays. When I returned, something shifted: I stopped trying to fit into Dubai—and started building my own version of it: my own routines, my own places, my own rhythm. I don’t wanted anymore the flashy life, I wanted the raw, the real one.
Step by step, I came back to myself. And somehow, I found peace in a city that never stops and I realized it was never about the city but me. I started to understand Dubai differently. I started to be able to see its beauty, not just the places—but its foundation, its rulers, its culture, its people. And the more I learned, the more I loved it.
I could see my life here: my future, my routines, my home. Even my children, one day, growing up here. I can’t think of a better place for it all.
I felt proud of the UAE. It became my home too.
-
It’s February 28th, 2026. A war starts. People want to leave. I don’t: I want to stay, this is my home.
Things get worse. Work slows down. And then—“your position is redundant”.
I have 26 days to leave the UAE.
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There was a girl in 2019 who dreamed about this life. It took years, detours, patience, work and trust. But God made it happen, in His time. It’s always in His time. And now, seven years later, just went everything felt right, the dream feels like it’s slipping away.
But I know something: this is still my place. I trust that I will come back, if God wills. That He will open a way for me—one better than anything I could have planned, one my limited mind could have never imagined. I have faith.
I’m not changing my UAE number.
I’ll keep my +971.
I think I’ll need it again.
