I opened a Facebook account a couple of years ago and left it to rot. I paid for a swanky URL and design for a blog I wanted to start but which never took off, and I still think that dial-up is more reliable than a wireless connection.
I vowed I would never tweet. Not only do I have a twitter account now but I follow exactly three people; Lady Gaga, Kim Kardashian and Abu Dhabi Police. I tried venting on Twitter, but found that 140 characters are not enough to get everything off my chest. Besides, nobody cares what I’m craving or if I have a headache, really.
I’ve recently upgraded my MP3 player from a 256MB to a 4GB. I can’t figure out how to save numbers onto an existing contact in my BlackBerry and I still can’t tell if Apple TV is hardware or software.
My iPad is a better collector than me; at least it collects dust.
Just thinking about how technologically illiterate I am gives me stress. Trying to catch up with my tech-savvy generation gives me stress. New technology popping up faster than jaywalkers on Airport Road gives me stress.
Technology is wasted on me, but for some reason, cyberspace is the first place you’ll be able to find me.
Marketers, media specialists and public relations practitioners all swear that online and social media are here to stay, and if you don’t get with the times and update faster than your anti-virus protection, then you’ll virtually get left behind.
My first accidental encounter with social media was Flickr, a blocked photo sharing website which became a nesting ground for amateur Emirati photographers, although it has since faded into history. I doubt its creator ever intended it to become a meeting place, but people showed up to socialise while showing off their creativity. The epitome of social interaction got captivated in comments like “NiCe piC bRO ^_^”
Before that it was online chatting. Remember FreeTel? That was my first online chatting experience. Admittedly, I can give FreeTel credit for helping me become more articulate. FreeTel transmitted what you wrote as you wrote it, so if you think the joke/pick up line/story you are halfway through typing won’t get you any results, no backspace would have saved you.
The person you are chatting with sees it, and the Wizard of Oz mystique you had spent days perfecting was lifted to reveal the Average Joe that you are… and now we worry about the “R” superscript that you get when somebody reads a BlackBerry message. Ha! Or the fact that the other person knows you are writing something back and should expect to hear from you soon. Kids these days have it easy.
After leaving high school, my friends all went their separate ways and suddenly found each other again on Facebook years later. Without physically meeting again, Facebook made us family. Together, we vacationed, got married, partied into oblivion and occasionally did some really stupid things just to impress. If you want a glamorous version of the life you already have, create one on Facebook.
Your new life doesn’t come free though. The first time I saw an online advertisement, it was for a draw to win the lottery for an American green card. Most online ads I see now promise me tips for a flat tummy. We all know how impossible it is to get either. But seriously, do they actually work? Has anyone bothered clicking to find out?
I’m sure someone has, it’s why I get even more ads telling me where I can bling out my name, or find single girls, or play dress up using avatar models. All useful and entertaining to someone I am sure, just not me.
I’m not completely ungrateful for what’s orbiting around cyberspace. Planning a trip has become faster and cheaper thanks to holiday booking sites. If you are looking for instant satisfaction, all you need to do is score an amazing bargain online.
I used to find many things to occupy myself with on the internet, but now it has become a web of contradictions. Content has obviously increased but the appeal is gone. You can have 100 friends but still feel lonely. Even when you want to get a company’s contact details, they ask for yours first.
The internet was my America, a dangerous new land to explore and get lost in. That was until people found ways to find me. It’s inevitable, the internet and the people who own it get access to you every time you sign up for their latest offering. We all know what checking the box to accept a licence agreement means, but we still do it. We don’t want to get virtually left behind right?
I know I’m not the only one out there, but the internet is my virtual sanctuary. Even though it’s crowded, it’s the only place left where I can be left alone.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100903/OPINION/709029946&SearchID=73402033774609
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Marriage is more than a wedding – it’s a new stage of life
Being caught smack in the middle of Cyclone Phet a few weeks ago would have knocked my socks off if I hadn’t been stuck in a leaky hotel in Muscat. I was tagging along with a friend and her family to Oman to celebrate the blissful union of two young college sweethearts. In a nutshell, boy meets girl, boy weds girl, and everybody eats cake.
Summertime love is in the air. Whether it’s love of the heart, the body, the money, or pure convenience, we’ve found good enough reasons to form a commitment that will hopefully last a lifetime.
For many, marriage is only the beginning (or the beginning of the end). For a select few, it’s the easiest decision they ever had to make. In most cases, it’s everything you dream about and nothing you expect.
Conventional marriages in this society come as a result of proposed arrangements. An aunt will propose to her nephew that her next-door neighbour’s daughter is a good match. A friend will propose to a cousin that their colleague’s sister would make a great wife.
Proposals, if thought through properly, can end up in marriage because the matchmaker knows the potential couple and has a good understanding of what each person is looking for in a spouse. A great amount of due diligence and scheming go into these proposals. And once intentions are clear, the couple are presented to each other with a cloud of knowing smiles and coy glances. If they like what they see, they give the final OK to tie the knot and make the union public.
If we are talking about a typical Emirati union, social and cultural restrictions will prevent the couple from getting to know each other personally before the actual wedding. Some couples may have the privilege of chaperoned visits and telephone conversations, but in most cases, it doesn’t get any better than that.
What compensates for it, though, is our web of contacts; our network is so intricate that almost everything you may want to know about your potential spouse will get dug up and shared with you over tea and fuala.
Mentality, religious beliefs and personality? Past relationships, spending habits and addictions? You name it; somebody will know about it. There’s a degree of comfort in knowing what you are getting yourself into, but in missing out on this journey, you miss out on the bonding process and compatibility test.
Even if you’ve done your homework, you will never know intimate details, like a person’s hygiene routine, their TV habits or their sleeping patterns until you live with them – the kind of things that could put a strain on any relationship if you don’t simply compromise or just agree to disagree.
Many couples prepare themselves for a wedding, not a marriage. The amount of time that goes into preparing for new responsibilities and attaining a new level of maturity is nothing compared to the time spent on table settings, dress fittings and flower arrangements.
Most girls, and some guys, dream of their wedding day for a long time. The day when the spotlight is on them, when people gravitate towards them, listen to them, celebrate them. And in all this selfishness, they fail to notice the person who will play the other leading role in the dream.
Couples should extend their sight beyond the glitz and glamour of the wedding day. Does it really come as a surprise that you’ll need to reboot your life and start on a new operating system the second you move in together?
In reality, the move catches many off guard. Couples need to arm themselves with realistic expectations, and coming from a happy home doesn’t guarantee a happy marriage.
From the day you are born, it takes a good 20 years to eventually understand your own parents – the same parents who gave you life, discipline and principles. It’s exciting to start your life fresh and live with someone brand new, but habits need readjustment, middle grounds should be unearthed and a whole lot of growing up needs to be done.
New relationships are hard, especially ones that are under social pressure to succeed. So be smart and have realistic expectations to make it work.
Don’t expect the same lifestyle, don’t expect the same freedoms, and don’t expect marriage to become a solution to your problems.
If you want to solve your problems, fetch your friends. And if you just want to feel special, throw a party, have your cake, and eat it too.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100705/OPINION/707049960/1080
Summertime love is in the air. Whether it’s love of the heart, the body, the money, or pure convenience, we’ve found good enough reasons to form a commitment that will hopefully last a lifetime.
For many, marriage is only the beginning (or the beginning of the end). For a select few, it’s the easiest decision they ever had to make. In most cases, it’s everything you dream about and nothing you expect.
Conventional marriages in this society come as a result of proposed arrangements. An aunt will propose to her nephew that her next-door neighbour’s daughter is a good match. A friend will propose to a cousin that their colleague’s sister would make a great wife.
Proposals, if thought through properly, can end up in marriage because the matchmaker knows the potential couple and has a good understanding of what each person is looking for in a spouse. A great amount of due diligence and scheming go into these proposals. And once intentions are clear, the couple are presented to each other with a cloud of knowing smiles and coy glances. If they like what they see, they give the final OK to tie the knot and make the union public.
If we are talking about a typical Emirati union, social and cultural restrictions will prevent the couple from getting to know each other personally before the actual wedding. Some couples may have the privilege of chaperoned visits and telephone conversations, but in most cases, it doesn’t get any better than that.
What compensates for it, though, is our web of contacts; our network is so intricate that almost everything you may want to know about your potential spouse will get dug up and shared with you over tea and fuala.
Mentality, religious beliefs and personality? Past relationships, spending habits and addictions? You name it; somebody will know about it. There’s a degree of comfort in knowing what you are getting yourself into, but in missing out on this journey, you miss out on the bonding process and compatibility test.
Even if you’ve done your homework, you will never know intimate details, like a person’s hygiene routine, their TV habits or their sleeping patterns until you live with them – the kind of things that could put a strain on any relationship if you don’t simply compromise or just agree to disagree.
Many couples prepare themselves for a wedding, not a marriage. The amount of time that goes into preparing for new responsibilities and attaining a new level of maturity is nothing compared to the time spent on table settings, dress fittings and flower arrangements.
Most girls, and some guys, dream of their wedding day for a long time. The day when the spotlight is on them, when people gravitate towards them, listen to them, celebrate them. And in all this selfishness, they fail to notice the person who will play the other leading role in the dream.
Couples should extend their sight beyond the glitz and glamour of the wedding day. Does it really come as a surprise that you’ll need to reboot your life and start on a new operating system the second you move in together?
In reality, the move catches many off guard. Couples need to arm themselves with realistic expectations, and coming from a happy home doesn’t guarantee a happy marriage.
From the day you are born, it takes a good 20 years to eventually understand your own parents – the same parents who gave you life, discipline and principles. It’s exciting to start your life fresh and live with someone brand new, but habits need readjustment, middle grounds should be unearthed and a whole lot of growing up needs to be done.
New relationships are hard, especially ones that are under social pressure to succeed. So be smart and have realistic expectations to make it work.
Don’t expect the same lifestyle, don’t expect the same freedoms, and don’t expect marriage to become a solution to your problems.
If you want to solve your problems, fetch your friends. And if you just want to feel special, throw a party, have your cake, and eat it too.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100705/OPINION/707049960/1080
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Use the vanity of reckless drivers to change their ways
I used to think that it takes two bad drivers to cause an accident. That was until a speeding Toyota Land Cruiser flipped into the air and landed upside-down on top of a car my parents were driving … on a different carriageway.
A freak accident? It was nothing short of a miracle that everybody survived.
The Land Cruiser had six teenagers in it; the eldest had just got his driving licence 10 days earlier and decided to take his friends out on a joyride in his father’s new SUV. The car tried to jump the queue but instead hit the pavement where it pole-vaulted onto oncoming traffic on the adjacent carriageway, landing on top of our sedan. Needless to say, both cars were wrecked. The young driver’s biggest worry was how his father would react to the now non-existent car, while he was getting his forehead stitched up.
My father hurt his sternum and had trouble breathing. My mother ended up with three fractured ribs and a bad case of insomnia that the rest of us caught subconsciously.
That was two years ago, and even though we have all accepted the fact that my mother will never fully recover (driving long distances and picking up heavy objects are physically exhausting and sometimes painful for her) I am eternally grateful for the few broken bones and sleepless nights we endured considering what might have happened.
Road casualties are the biggest waste of human life. You just don’t realise it until that life leaves behind an unrecognisable corpse.
Scare tactics, tear-jerkers and simple logic have all been used to get drivers to become more self conscious of their driving. The ones that do work have a short lifespan, almost like witnessing a roadside accident and slowing down for the next 10 minutes until you accelerate back to the 20 kms mark above the speed limit.
Besides the Abu Dhabi-Dubai motorway, what scares me the most is how much disregard people have for their lives, not to mention the lives of others. When I see this behaviour, I wonder “don’t you love yourself?”
The drivers featured in a recent YouTube sensation, Sheikh Zayed Road Madness!, are the ultimate example. They put the lives of others at risk at the expense of their own while pulling stunts on Sheikh Zayed Road. They look like they are enjoying every second of the thrill and basking in all the glorious attention they are getting. They even mesmerise with their manoeuvres and at some point – after you stop reprimanding them – you even start to get excited.
Yes, these drivers are bored and probably don’t have anything better to do, but if there’s any way we can protect them from themselves and us from them, then we need to speak their language. Those drivers are accused of being selfish; selfish for not sharing the road, selfish for disrupting traffic, selfish for taking our attention off the road, and most importantly, selfish for putting the lives of others at risk. The police are on a mission to extinguish bad driving, but is this what we should call it?
If you were honest with yourself, you will realise that these drivers are better drivers than most of us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating reckless driving, but you have to admit, that they know more about cars than the average driver.
They have control of their vehicles and that’s why they can do things with their cars that seem to defy the laws of physics. Of course one momentary lapse in control can create unimaginable consequences.
So they are not bad drivers, they just lack driving etiquette.
Good manners are often learned experiences with ill mannered people. Nothing will convince you to reach for your handkerchief than someone spraying you with runny mucus and saliva.
Understanding etiquette requires that we become more conscious of how we are perceived. Often this can lead to vanity.
While this is not a trait to be proud of, it can make you more conscious of your driving because you care about how people see you rather than just your car. What’s the point of driving a flashy car if no one can see you in it?
Look around and take in your surroundings. Slow down. Indicate. And most importantly, rather than use them as target practice, give pedestrians the right of way. You might even get a few friendly waves and smiles along the way.
With vanity comes better driving manners. Learn them. Use them. And look good doing it.
http://thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100526/OPINION/705259934&SearchID=73392238628274
A freak accident? It was nothing short of a miracle that everybody survived.
The Land Cruiser had six teenagers in it; the eldest had just got his driving licence 10 days earlier and decided to take his friends out on a joyride in his father’s new SUV. The car tried to jump the queue but instead hit the pavement where it pole-vaulted onto oncoming traffic on the adjacent carriageway, landing on top of our sedan. Needless to say, both cars were wrecked. The young driver’s biggest worry was how his father would react to the now non-existent car, while he was getting his forehead stitched up.
My father hurt his sternum and had trouble breathing. My mother ended up with three fractured ribs and a bad case of insomnia that the rest of us caught subconsciously.
That was two years ago, and even though we have all accepted the fact that my mother will never fully recover (driving long distances and picking up heavy objects are physically exhausting and sometimes painful for her) I am eternally grateful for the few broken bones and sleepless nights we endured considering what might have happened.
Road casualties are the biggest waste of human life. You just don’t realise it until that life leaves behind an unrecognisable corpse.
Scare tactics, tear-jerkers and simple logic have all been used to get drivers to become more self conscious of their driving. The ones that do work have a short lifespan, almost like witnessing a roadside accident and slowing down for the next 10 minutes until you accelerate back to the 20 kms mark above the speed limit.
Besides the Abu Dhabi-Dubai motorway, what scares me the most is how much disregard people have for their lives, not to mention the lives of others. When I see this behaviour, I wonder “don’t you love yourself?”
The drivers featured in a recent YouTube sensation, Sheikh Zayed Road Madness!, are the ultimate example. They put the lives of others at risk at the expense of their own while pulling stunts on Sheikh Zayed Road. They look like they are enjoying every second of the thrill and basking in all the glorious attention they are getting. They even mesmerise with their manoeuvres and at some point – after you stop reprimanding them – you even start to get excited.
Yes, these drivers are bored and probably don’t have anything better to do, but if there’s any way we can protect them from themselves and us from them, then we need to speak their language. Those drivers are accused of being selfish; selfish for not sharing the road, selfish for disrupting traffic, selfish for taking our attention off the road, and most importantly, selfish for putting the lives of others at risk. The police are on a mission to extinguish bad driving, but is this what we should call it?
If you were honest with yourself, you will realise that these drivers are better drivers than most of us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating reckless driving, but you have to admit, that they know more about cars than the average driver.
They have control of their vehicles and that’s why they can do things with their cars that seem to defy the laws of physics. Of course one momentary lapse in control can create unimaginable consequences.
So they are not bad drivers, they just lack driving etiquette.
Good manners are often learned experiences with ill mannered people. Nothing will convince you to reach for your handkerchief than someone spraying you with runny mucus and saliva.
Understanding etiquette requires that we become more conscious of how we are perceived. Often this can lead to vanity.
While this is not a trait to be proud of, it can make you more conscious of your driving because you care about how people see you rather than just your car. What’s the point of driving a flashy car if no one can see you in it?
Look around and take in your surroundings. Slow down. Indicate. And most importantly, rather than use them as target practice, give pedestrians the right of way. You might even get a few friendly waves and smiles along the way.
With vanity comes better driving manners. Learn them. Use them. And look good doing it.
http://thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100526/OPINION/705259934&SearchID=73392238628274
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Fun and games aside, are you happy? Dare I even ask?
I can’t even begin to tell you how many times a Dubai resident has asked me: “What do you do for fun in Abu Dhabi?”
Having lived in the capital all my life, I have always found modest means to entertain myself. For me, a night out usually consists of dinner and a movie with friends. If we feel adventurous, we might even eat somewhere with a dress code.
I’m pretty sure that our counterparts in Dubai do the same sort of things. They just switch Abu Dhabi’s Marina Mall for Dubai Mall, and our Corniche for Jumeirah, right?
Whatever your idea of fun is, the concept has begun to replace something else, something we all seek but never know we have until it’s gone.
I’m referring to the kind of happiness where you truly believe that depressions come and go, failures are just mistakes, and people are still human – a relatively stable state of internal bliss. But in our quest to achieve happiness, we have been distracted by mere fun and games.
Young adults are constantly on the verge of boredom. It might be because we are still waiting for “life” to happen, and until it does, we have to come up with an assortment of activities to keep us busy. We manage to turn shopping into an art, relationships into a science, and careers into an ecosystem that we have adapted to with our own flare. But in all our fun, yet calculated approach to life, we have forgotten to aim for happiness.
Many suspect that the materialism surrounding us has rendered us jaded. Family elders are always going on about the past and the simple pleasures, like seasonal fruits worth waiting for. The kind of life they had before computers and mobile phones. Has technology, in an attempt to connect people, disconnected us from ourselves?
If there’s one thing that brings me happiness, it’s “me time” and using “me time” to excite my senses. Nothing brings me more tranquillity than feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the sensations of carefree days.
Some realise happiness in being charitable and giving a helping hand, while others find it in a mug of coffee, or a flirtatious smile, or singing aloud to a favourite tune.
However you see happiness, it is one of those underrated feelings that gets overshadowed by love, anger and jealousy, three emotions that have been the topics of literature, movies and self-help books for years. Yet, for something so wonderful, people don’t consider happiness as a major factor.
How often do you ask yourself, “Will this make me happy?” when you need to make a major decision? Given that most decisions are self-sacrificing and made for the benefit of the majority (whether a household or an organisation), if it was purely and exclusively your decision to make, how often would your happiness be the deciding factor?
When I came to the realisation that happiness was very rarely a deciding factor for me, unless it was to decide on which ice cream flavour I was about to enjoy, I started inquiring about other people’s happiness.
Not surprisingly, most people are taken aback, before they utter a hasty, “Yes, alhamdulillah” (thanks be to Allah). Typically, this reply was followed by a questioning stare. I wasn’t sure if I had trampled on some forbidden territory with my question, or whether they actually didn’t know for sure.
At first I gave them the benefit of the doubt and thought that I had become too intrusive with my questions, but then I realised that the subject of happiness is taboo. It is never disclosed for one interesting reason: in this society, it is superstition.
Happiness is considered good fortune worth guarding and people will do anything to avoid being jinxed, even if it means keeping good news to themselves for as long as possible. For example, a marriage proposal is kept under wraps until just before it is set in stone (or in a marital contract, as the case may be) and pregnancies are also hidden until at least the end of the first trimester.
So until it stops becoming taboo, I hope you are all happy out there. You don’t have to keep it to yourselves.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100511/OPINION/705109952/1080
Having lived in the capital all my life, I have always found modest means to entertain myself. For me, a night out usually consists of dinner and a movie with friends. If we feel adventurous, we might even eat somewhere with a dress code.
I’m pretty sure that our counterparts in Dubai do the same sort of things. They just switch Abu Dhabi’s Marina Mall for Dubai Mall, and our Corniche for Jumeirah, right?
Whatever your idea of fun is, the concept has begun to replace something else, something we all seek but never know we have until it’s gone.
I’m referring to the kind of happiness where you truly believe that depressions come and go, failures are just mistakes, and people are still human – a relatively stable state of internal bliss. But in our quest to achieve happiness, we have been distracted by mere fun and games.
Young adults are constantly on the verge of boredom. It might be because we are still waiting for “life” to happen, and until it does, we have to come up with an assortment of activities to keep us busy. We manage to turn shopping into an art, relationships into a science, and careers into an ecosystem that we have adapted to with our own flare. But in all our fun, yet calculated approach to life, we have forgotten to aim for happiness.
Many suspect that the materialism surrounding us has rendered us jaded. Family elders are always going on about the past and the simple pleasures, like seasonal fruits worth waiting for. The kind of life they had before computers and mobile phones. Has technology, in an attempt to connect people, disconnected us from ourselves?
If there’s one thing that brings me happiness, it’s “me time” and using “me time” to excite my senses. Nothing brings me more tranquillity than feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the sensations of carefree days.
Some realise happiness in being charitable and giving a helping hand, while others find it in a mug of coffee, or a flirtatious smile, or singing aloud to a favourite tune.
However you see happiness, it is one of those underrated feelings that gets overshadowed by love, anger and jealousy, three emotions that have been the topics of literature, movies and self-help books for years. Yet, for something so wonderful, people don’t consider happiness as a major factor.
How often do you ask yourself, “Will this make me happy?” when you need to make a major decision? Given that most decisions are self-sacrificing and made for the benefit of the majority (whether a household or an organisation), if it was purely and exclusively your decision to make, how often would your happiness be the deciding factor?
When I came to the realisation that happiness was very rarely a deciding factor for me, unless it was to decide on which ice cream flavour I was about to enjoy, I started inquiring about other people’s happiness.
Not surprisingly, most people are taken aback, before they utter a hasty, “Yes, alhamdulillah” (thanks be to Allah). Typically, this reply was followed by a questioning stare. I wasn’t sure if I had trampled on some forbidden territory with my question, or whether they actually didn’t know for sure.
At first I gave them the benefit of the doubt and thought that I had become too intrusive with my questions, but then I realised that the subject of happiness is taboo. It is never disclosed for one interesting reason: in this society, it is superstition.
Happiness is considered good fortune worth guarding and people will do anything to avoid being jinxed, even if it means keeping good news to themselves for as long as possible. For example, a marriage proposal is kept under wraps until just before it is set in stone (or in a marital contract, as the case may be) and pregnancies are also hidden until at least the end of the first trimester.
So until it stops becoming taboo, I hope you are all happy out there. You don’t have to keep it to yourselves.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100511/OPINION/705109952/1080
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Parents seek prestige, but we still want our dream jobs
When I was in the fourth grade, I wanted to become a palaeontologist. That’s not a word a nine-year-old would typically have in her vocabulary (or even attempt to pronounce). But I was reading a book on dinosaurs at the time and thought how much fun it would be to dig and look for bones when I grew up.
A quick survey around the office where I work resulted in more interesting dreams. When they were younger, my Emirati colleagues wanted to become directors, cartoonists, veterinarians, fashion models, professional football players and teachers.
So how did we all end up working for the government?
An Emirati society is a collectivist one. Families get involved in the decision-making process. Whether it’s to select a child’s extra-curricular activity or a potential spouse, the family will influence the thinking process and, in most cases, the final decision.
Take my brother, for example. He loves building computers. He spent his teenage years sifting through old discarded computer parts and putting them back together. His peers seek his advice on anything IT related. He had found his calling. Yet when it came time to attend university, he graduated from the same oil and gas programme at the same university my father attended exactly 25 years earlier.
Coincidence?
Any young adult will base a career choice on two factors: earnings and interest. Emirati parents have just one: prestige. A wise friend once told me that you don’t matter if you are not relevant to other people. It sounds harsh but it has a resonating truth.
Successful parents want to raise successful children, which is why there are a handful of careers that parents deem prestigious enough for their children to have, mainly in the fields of engineering and medicine, or working for the government. If a child shows solid interest in something less prestigious, like digging for dinosaur bones, the dream gets buried in the sand.
This mentality has given birth to an infamous stereotype: Emiratis have unrealistic career expectations.
How many Emiratis do you know who expect a managerial post as soon as they graduate from university? I know quite a few actually. They dream of running a department from a corner office with a killer view of the Corniche, not to mention that ideal benefit: a reserved parking spot.
This dream is fostered during a student’s senior year in university when the corporate world starts to beckon. At a time when demand for Emirati graduates is high, students get lulled into believing that they have what it takes to run a company, especially if they speak English fluently. A little encouragement and confidence building goes a long way, but employers need to manage expectations and clearly define success in terms of professionalism, not ranking.
Society sometimes mistakes rank for prestige. Young adults are under so much pressure to succeed that their own dreams have to take second row to please their parents.
But that’s not going to stop young professionals from living their dreams. As for my colleagues, their parents always gave the same automated response to their aspirations: “Do it on the side.”
There’s a bittersweet phenomenon spreading through the UAE right now. Cupcakes. Moist, colourful, mouthwatering cupcakes.
The UAE is ranked second highest worldwide for diabetes prevalence – not something to be proud of. But it shows we know a thing or two about simple sugars. And a group of smart young women have capitalised on this idea. People here pride themselves on their connections, and almost everyone will know who to call to get their cupcake fix.
Surprisingly, most of these bakers have a day job, and in order to become self-fulfilled professionals they have gladly accepted the idea of living their dreams “on the side”, even if it means frosting red velvets before heading to work in the morning.
For society, the one difference between a hobby and a career is money. Hobbies cater to your interests while careers cater to your needs. You need a lucrative position to meet the latter and enough left over for the former.
Have young professionals come to terms with leading a corporate existence while secretly nurturing their creative streak? And has society started accepting compromise?
Society resists change until change impacts society. For now, cupcakes have succeeded in tempting society to reconsider its expectations.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100428/OPINION/704279954/1080
A quick survey around the office where I work resulted in more interesting dreams. When they were younger, my Emirati colleagues wanted to become directors, cartoonists, veterinarians, fashion models, professional football players and teachers.
So how did we all end up working for the government?
An Emirati society is a collectivist one. Families get involved in the decision-making process. Whether it’s to select a child’s extra-curricular activity or a potential spouse, the family will influence the thinking process and, in most cases, the final decision.
Take my brother, for example. He loves building computers. He spent his teenage years sifting through old discarded computer parts and putting them back together. His peers seek his advice on anything IT related. He had found his calling. Yet when it came time to attend university, he graduated from the same oil and gas programme at the same university my father attended exactly 25 years earlier.
Coincidence?
Any young adult will base a career choice on two factors: earnings and interest. Emirati parents have just one: prestige. A wise friend once told me that you don’t matter if you are not relevant to other people. It sounds harsh but it has a resonating truth.
Successful parents want to raise successful children, which is why there are a handful of careers that parents deem prestigious enough for their children to have, mainly in the fields of engineering and medicine, or working for the government. If a child shows solid interest in something less prestigious, like digging for dinosaur bones, the dream gets buried in the sand.
This mentality has given birth to an infamous stereotype: Emiratis have unrealistic career expectations.
How many Emiratis do you know who expect a managerial post as soon as they graduate from university? I know quite a few actually. They dream of running a department from a corner office with a killer view of the Corniche, not to mention that ideal benefit: a reserved parking spot.
This dream is fostered during a student’s senior year in university when the corporate world starts to beckon. At a time when demand for Emirati graduates is high, students get lulled into believing that they have what it takes to run a company, especially if they speak English fluently. A little encouragement and confidence building goes a long way, but employers need to manage expectations and clearly define success in terms of professionalism, not ranking.
Society sometimes mistakes rank for prestige. Young adults are under so much pressure to succeed that their own dreams have to take second row to please their parents.
But that’s not going to stop young professionals from living their dreams. As for my colleagues, their parents always gave the same automated response to their aspirations: “Do it on the side.”
There’s a bittersweet phenomenon spreading through the UAE right now. Cupcakes. Moist, colourful, mouthwatering cupcakes.
The UAE is ranked second highest worldwide for diabetes prevalence – not something to be proud of. But it shows we know a thing or two about simple sugars. And a group of smart young women have capitalised on this idea. People here pride themselves on their connections, and almost everyone will know who to call to get their cupcake fix.
Surprisingly, most of these bakers have a day job, and in order to become self-fulfilled professionals they have gladly accepted the idea of living their dreams “on the side”, even if it means frosting red velvets before heading to work in the morning.
For society, the one difference between a hobby and a career is money. Hobbies cater to your interests while careers cater to your needs. You need a lucrative position to meet the latter and enough left over for the former.
Have young professionals come to terms with leading a corporate existence while secretly nurturing their creative streak? And has society started accepting compromise?
Society resists change until change impacts society. For now, cupcakes have succeeded in tempting society to reconsider its expectations.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100428/OPINION/704279954/1080
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
This is how I became Maryam the Motorhead
Nothing gets my blood pumping like American muscle. The Japanese are bland, the English are temperamental, the Germans lack personality. I’ve given up trying to catch up with the Italians.
My name is Maryam, and I am a motorhead.
Many Emirati women probably think they need to know what a crankshaft is to be a motorhead. But a motorhead is just a motor vehicle enthusiast who has taken it to the next level. If you are into cars, then you are at risk of becoming one. It’s not a bad place to be; you get to enjoy the sound of screeching tyres and the smell of burnt rubber. Join the club.
I grew up in a house where my social life was shaped by the availability of one of my parents to drive me around. In the days when school ended on Wednesdays, my parents would drop me off at a cinema at quarter to five and promptly pick me up at nine. If they had plans, I had to cancel mine.
During those times my father would teach me to drive his SUV around the block. I wasn’t very good but I was very adamant. I felt very grown-up behind the steering wheel. I was in control and felt extremely powerful.
By the time I turned 18 and went to university, I was bought a Toyota Corolla. Driving it scared me senseless. On Salam Street, lorries would zoom by at a speed that shook my little car like a leaf. There was no power and control at this steering wheel. It seemed that I was driving a matchbox on wheels, and if it wasn’t for the fact that many of the girls at university weren’t even permitted to get a driver’s licence, I would have felt quite embarrassed.
I loved my Corolla though – it gave me the freedom to shape my own schedule instead of freeloading on somebody else’s.
After I started working, my Corolla caught a deadly cold and wouldn’t stop coughing smoke. After a year of saving, I had decided to get an upgrade: a car that could stop traffic.
We live in a culture of exclusivity, and most Emiratis will go to any extreme to make their ride stand out. First, there was the baby-pink phase with the knock-off designer interiors. Then, there was the dark matte paint job, which then evolved into the orange-and-black colour combination. So it wasn’t surprising that almost everybody I spoke to suggested cars that were way over my budget – because anything cheaper will hurt my Emirati pride.
“Get a car loan,” they said, “it’s worth it,” they said. The best one was something a male cousin told me. “It’s an investment.” I’m sorry, I thought that cars typically lost 15 to 20 per cent of their value the moment you take it home? How could it be an investment?
Feeling deflated, I grabbed my brother and decided to hit the streets, listening to the sounds of Rihanna. That was when we happened by a Ford dealership.
I wasn’t remotely interested in American cars. American cars are famous for their comfort and cup holders, and infamous for the “soccer moms” who drive them. My mother used to drive a Chrysler Voyager, a ship of a car that could sardine-tin 11 children.
As we entered the dealership we were greeted by a Ford Mustang, a beast of a car that was launched at the New York World Fair in 1964.
Nobody anticipated how successful the launch would be at the time, not even Ford. They thought they wouldn’t sell more than 100,000 Mustangs that year but they ended up selling four times that many thanks to the Baby Boomers who were entering into their teenage years. The Baby Boomers loved the “Pony”. They took it to the open road and experienced the kind of freedom that you can feel flowing through your hair as you drive down any American coast at sunset.
Four decades later and I was looking at the pinnacle of Mustang design and innovation. I was stopped in my tracks by a redfire 2007 California Special, a 4.6L V8 engine that cranks out 300hp. In other words, it was red-hot and really fast, barely street legal.“Can you turn it on?” I asked the salesman meekly.
What happened next was something out of Gone in 60 Seconds. Tripping the wires beneath the dashboard brought the beast to life. I had never heard anything more deafening and thunderous in my life. The whole dealership was shaking.
It was at that moment that I became Maryam the Motorhead. One day perhaps, I’ll drive an electric car. For now, I’m in love with my Mustang.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100418/OPINION/704179938/1006/rss
My name is Maryam, and I am a motorhead.
Many Emirati women probably think they need to know what a crankshaft is to be a motorhead. But a motorhead is just a motor vehicle enthusiast who has taken it to the next level. If you are into cars, then you are at risk of becoming one. It’s not a bad place to be; you get to enjoy the sound of screeching tyres and the smell of burnt rubber. Join the club.
I grew up in a house where my social life was shaped by the availability of one of my parents to drive me around. In the days when school ended on Wednesdays, my parents would drop me off at a cinema at quarter to five and promptly pick me up at nine. If they had plans, I had to cancel mine.
During those times my father would teach me to drive his SUV around the block. I wasn’t very good but I was very adamant. I felt very grown-up behind the steering wheel. I was in control and felt extremely powerful.
By the time I turned 18 and went to university, I was bought a Toyota Corolla. Driving it scared me senseless. On Salam Street, lorries would zoom by at a speed that shook my little car like a leaf. There was no power and control at this steering wheel. It seemed that I was driving a matchbox on wheels, and if it wasn’t for the fact that many of the girls at university weren’t even permitted to get a driver’s licence, I would have felt quite embarrassed.
I loved my Corolla though – it gave me the freedom to shape my own schedule instead of freeloading on somebody else’s.
After I started working, my Corolla caught a deadly cold and wouldn’t stop coughing smoke. After a year of saving, I had decided to get an upgrade: a car that could stop traffic.
We live in a culture of exclusivity, and most Emiratis will go to any extreme to make their ride stand out. First, there was the baby-pink phase with the knock-off designer interiors. Then, there was the dark matte paint job, which then evolved into the orange-and-black colour combination. So it wasn’t surprising that almost everybody I spoke to suggested cars that were way over my budget – because anything cheaper will hurt my Emirati pride.
“Get a car loan,” they said, “it’s worth it,” they said. The best one was something a male cousin told me. “It’s an investment.” I’m sorry, I thought that cars typically lost 15 to 20 per cent of their value the moment you take it home? How could it be an investment?
Feeling deflated, I grabbed my brother and decided to hit the streets, listening to the sounds of Rihanna. That was when we happened by a Ford dealership.
I wasn’t remotely interested in American cars. American cars are famous for their comfort and cup holders, and infamous for the “soccer moms” who drive them. My mother used to drive a Chrysler Voyager, a ship of a car that could sardine-tin 11 children.
As we entered the dealership we were greeted by a Ford Mustang, a beast of a car that was launched at the New York World Fair in 1964.
Nobody anticipated how successful the launch would be at the time, not even Ford. They thought they wouldn’t sell more than 100,000 Mustangs that year but they ended up selling four times that many thanks to the Baby Boomers who were entering into their teenage years. The Baby Boomers loved the “Pony”. They took it to the open road and experienced the kind of freedom that you can feel flowing through your hair as you drive down any American coast at sunset.
Four decades later and I was looking at the pinnacle of Mustang design and innovation. I was stopped in my tracks by a redfire 2007 California Special, a 4.6L V8 engine that cranks out 300hp. In other words, it was red-hot and really fast, barely street legal.“Can you turn it on?” I asked the salesman meekly.
What happened next was something out of Gone in 60 Seconds. Tripping the wires beneath the dashboard brought the beast to life. I had never heard anything more deafening and thunderous in my life. The whole dealership was shaking.
It was at that moment that I became Maryam the Motorhead. One day perhaps, I’ll drive an electric car. For now, I’m in love with my Mustang.
http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100418/OPINION/704179938/1006/rss
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