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

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