Art and culture

The New Love for Old Things, Rediscovering the Romance and Beauty of Another Era, Longing for a Time We Never Knew By Hifza Ehtisham In a world full of algorithms, artificial intelligence, and instant everything, Gen Z is finding beauty in the things that once felt conventional: handwritten letters, old films, vintage clothes, slow music, and the romance of a life lived offline. We are living in an era consumed by the need for speed. Artificial intelligence can create an image in seconds, a message can travel across the world instantly, and social media gives us an endless stream of new trends before we have even had time to comprehend the last one. We have grown accustomed to a world where everything is just a click away. Yet, strangely enough, the generation growing up in this digitally fast world seems to be looking backwards. Across fashion, music, travel, and popular culture, there is a growing fascination with another kind of life, one that embraces simplicity, authenticity, and the beauty of imperfection. Young people dress like characters from another decade, collect film cameras, listen to old classic songs, visit historic cities, and romanticize handwritten letters. It is almost as if we are nostalgic for a world we never actually lived in. Perhaps that is the point. Fashion has become one of the most pronounced ways to express this nostalgia, with aesthetics such as Old Money, Dark Academia, and Victorian gaining attention. From tweed jackets and tailored trousers to corsets and lace details, people wearing these pieces look as though they could belong in a photograph from decades ago. These styles bring the elegance of earlier eras into modern wardrobes, celebrating individuality and understated charm. There is something so powerful about clothing that does not immediately announce its brand. A well-cut coat or a simple cream blouse can communicate more than a large logo ever could. The appeal is not necessarily about looking wealthy; it is about looking intentional. Dressing well becomes almost like stepping into a different version of yourself. Think of the way people dress in films such as Little Women. The clothes are not simply costumes. They tell us who the characters are, where they come from, and what kind of world they inhabit. Even Bridgerton and The Crown have contributed to our fascination with historical fashion, reminding modern audiences that clothing can have atmosphere, weight, and meaning. Then there is the influence of the screen itself. Television and cinema have become time machines. Stranger Things, for example, brought audiences into the texture of the 1980s, denim, graphic sweatshirts, analogue technology, bedrooms filled with posters and, most importantly, a world without smartphones constantly demanding attention. The past holds a certain charm, making us long for a time we can only imagine. Perhaps the strangest part of nostalgia is longing for a time we never lived. We romanticize the stories our parents and grandparents tell us, of long days that seemed to stretch endlessly, simple joys that meant everything, and a life that felt less like a race and more like something to be lived. There was a certain innocence in not knowing everything, a quiet peace in being unaware of what we now spend so much time worrying about. Their world had its own struggles, but in the stories passed down to us, there is a warmth that makes us wonder if, sometimes, knowing less allows us to appreciate more. The feeling of romanticizing the past can be heard in music too. Artists such as Lana Del Rey have built entire worlds around vintage Americana, old Hollywood glamour, tragic romance and melancholia. Songs such as The Night We Met by Lord Huron or Love Story by Taylor Swift continue to resonate because they feel emotional rather than disposable. Even older songs like Golden Brown by The Stranglers have found new audiences through social media. We seem drawn to music that sounds as though it belongs to a memory. And perhaps that explains why the handwritten letter has become almost whimsical in a world of instant messages. In an age where a conversation can consist of disappearing messages, typing indicators, and a string of emojis, the idea of someone sitting down with a pen and taking the time to write several pages feels almost extraordinary. A handwritten letter carries the evidence of a person’s time, handwriting, and imperfections, which cannot be replicated with copy-and-paste text. The same appreciation is appearing in photography and art. Film cameras, old paintings, physical books, vinyl records, calligraphy, and handmade objects have gained a new kind of value. When artificial intelligence can produce a polished image almost instantly, something created slowly by a human hand begins to feel more meaningful. A slightly imperfect or blur photograph may feel more alive than a perfectly edited one. This desire for the tangible is also changing the way people travel. Instead of searching only for the most modern destinations, travelers are drawn towards places that feel as though they belong to another era. Edinburgh, with its stone buildings, narrow streets and Gothic atmosphere, can feel like stepping into a novel. Old European towns, quiet museums, libraries, countryside cottages and wooden cabins offer something that a five-star resort sometimes cannot: a sense of escape. People are not necessarily trying to escape technology forever. They are simply searching for moments when technology is not the center of everything. That may be why the idea of “dressing for the plot” has become so appealing. It is more than putting on a vintage dress or a tailored blazer. It is about treating ordinary life as though it deserves a little more imagination. Wearing perfume before going to a café. Putting on a coat and walking through the city with headphones playing an old song. Writing in a journal or reading a novel instead of immediately reaching for a phone. Visiting an art gallery simply because it is beautiful. All these small choices create the feeling that life is not just something

Dana Najib, The Poetry of the Everyday By Janhavi Gusani Dana Najib has never seemed particularly interested in fitting creativity into a single definition. Her work moves between words and images, observation and reflection, vulnerability and play. She writes about the things that catch her attention, but beneath the beauty of her work is something more personal: an ongoing attempt to understand herself, her creative instincts and the kind of life she wants to build around them. That process has required her to question some of the assumptions that once shaped her ambitions. Success, for a long time, could be understood through familiar markers: a career progressing in the expected direction, professional certainty, the reassurance of knowing what comes next. Yet there came a point when continuing along that path felt less honest than stepping away from it. Leaving a successful career was uncomfortable precisely because it required Dana to trust a vision that other people could not see. Standing at that crossroads gave her a different understanding of what it means to move forward. Her ambition did not disappear. It became more inward. Instead of asking how far she could go, she began asking what she actually had to say. That question remains central to the way she approaches creativity. Better storytelling matters to her, but so does becoming more curious, vulnerable and willing to make herself uncomfortable. She measures growth less through a fixed destination than through the quality of the questions she continues to ask. For a creative person, there is always another layer to explore, another assumption to challenge, another way to become more honest with the work. It is perhaps why noticing comes so naturally to her. Dana describes it as both a refuge and a philosophy, but it is also an expression of her personality. She pays attention instinctively. A tiny green bug crossing a flower, sunlight falling across a single cup, the shadows of a familiar tree on her wall, the pace at which an old man drinks his coffee: these details register because she is interested in the world beyond its obvious surface. But her attention is not reserved for beauty. She is equally conscious of pain, discomfort and the quiet experiences of other people. There is a heaviness to noticing everything, she admits, but she sees that sensitivity as an opportunity for empathy rather than something to suppress. Feeling deeply, in her view, is not a liability. It can become a way of understanding. That sensitivity also shapes her relationship with memory. Dana is deeply sentimental, surrounded by objects and rituals whose significance may not always be immediately explainable. A handmade mug, a journal beside a window she once imagined having, a plant growing sideways and reminding her of her mother’s plants can become emotionally charged without needing to represent anything monumental. Sometimes, she says, the reason we love something is simply that we do. Her relationship with creativity has also been shaped by harder experiences. Dana speaks candidly about the relationship between pain and making, while resisting the romantic idea that suffering is necessary for good art. Difficult seasons can open creative floodgates, she believes, but they can also demand rest. Not creating does not mean a person has stopped being creative. Sometimes stepping away is part of the work. The opposite can be true as well. When perfection becomes paralysing, she advocates making something simply because the impulse exists. Bad art has its own value. There is freedom in creating something without needing it to be impressive, useful or shareable. It returns creativity to something more instinctive and less performative. That is increasingly important in a digital culture where creative identity can become tangled with constant output. Dana has watched people turn to AI for concepts, captions and scripts, while others reproduce established creators’ ideas in the hope of getting ahead. At the same time, genuinely human work can be dismissed as artificial simply because it appears too polished. For her, the problem is larger than technology. It is the gradual erosion of personal perspective. AI and algorithms may intensify the difficulty of recognising authenticity, but Dana believes authenticity has always required work. It begins away from the screen, through experiences that cannot be outsourced: taking a pottery class, trying improv, spending time in nature, writing thoughts that nobody else will read. These experiences may never become content, and that is precisely why they matter. They allow a person to develop an inner life that does not depend on being observed. Her own creative process refuses to stay neatly divided between mediums. She does not see words and images as separate languages requiring a choice between them. Some days visuals lead; other days language arrives first. Sometimes both demand attention simultaneously. She accepts that uncertainty as part of the process rather than trying to impose a formula on it. There is a similar openness in the way she thinks about identity. Dana does not believe a person has to choose between being serious and silly, deeply thoughtful and playful, talented in one area and inexperienced in another. She is comfortable with having many interests, and equally comfortable with the possibility that someone may have only one. What matters is that the choice belongs to the individual. That philosophy extends beyond creativity. The slower, more intentional life she speaks about is not an aesthetic prescription. People seek it for different reasons: to rediscover what they enjoy, rest without guilt, experiment, make new connections or simply hear their own thoughts again. For Dana, presence is what makes any of those things possible. It is also what allows ambition to coexist with a life outside achievement. Her definition of ambition now has less to do with reaching a predetermined version of success and more to do with staying responsive to who she is becoming. Growth does not always announce itself as a breakthrough. Sometimes it looks like changing direction. Sometimes it looks like resting. Sometimes it is simply becoming more honest

Kristel Bechara, Beyond the Canvas By Paul Smith Kristel Bechara has built her career around a distinctive visual language, but what makes her work compelling is the thinking that continues to shape it. Her practice brings together her background in graphic design and painting, her fascination with identity and the human form, and an instinct to explore new technologies without allowing them to dictate the work. Across traditional painting, digital art, NFTs and immersive experiences, the medium has changed, but the perspective behind it has remained distinctly hers. Kristel describes the development of her artistic language as a process of repetition and intention. Patterns, colour and brushwork became part of a vocabulary that she could return to and reinterpret, often placing vivid, intricate patterns against monochromatic backgrounds. Yet she does not see a signature style as something that should keep an artist in one place. For her, it provides a framework within which experimentation becomes possible. The subjects can shift between the human form, nature, symbolism and mythology while the underlying visual language remains recognisable. That balance between consistency and exploration is central to the way Kristel approaches her career. She has never treated traditional and digital art as opposing worlds. Instead, she has allowed each new medium to become another way of expressing the same ideas. Her move into NFTs, for example, came from an interest in questions of digital authorship and scarcity, while immersive work allowed her to reconsider the physical relationship between an artwork and its audience. In an immersive environment, the viewer is no longer simply standing in front of a piece. They become part of the space around it. For Kristel, however, technology only has value when it contributes something meaningful to the artistic experience. She is willing to experiment with a new format when it solves a genuine creative problem or changes how people encounter the work. If technology only changes the packaging without adding anything to the idea, she has little reason to pursue it. That instinct has allowed her to engage with emerging forms without allowing novelty to become the centre of her practice. Her interest in the female form comes from a similarly layered understanding of identity. Kristel is drawn to the many versions of womanhood that can exist simultaneously. A woman can be strong and exhausted, celebrated and overlooked, composed and vulnerable. Her work does not attempt to reduce those contradictions into one definition. Instead, she makes space for strength, humour, softness and complexity to coexist. That perspective is also connected to her own evolution. Growing up with a father who was a surrealist artist and sculptor meant that questioning, making and looking at the world differently were familiar parts of her environment. But exposure to art did not automatically give her the confidence to become an artist herself. Her transition from a stable career in graphic design into full-time art required another kind of belief, particularly the encouragement of her husband, who pushed her to make that decision. Once she committed to art as a career, Kristel learned that sustaining a creative practice required considerably more than inspiration. Her studio operates with teams, systems and long-term goals, reflecting the business discipline required to build an international career. Motherhood brought another shift in how she approached time and decisions, making her more conscious of what deserved a yes and what could be left behind. It also made some of the themes already present in her work, particularly women’s strength and resilience, more personal and tangible. Her relationship with the audience has evolved alongside her career. Social media has transformed how artists can be discovered, and Kristel experienced that change firsthand when a Tokyo gallery discovered her through Instagram, eventually leading to her first international exhibition. Digital platforms can create remarkable visibility, but Kristel recognises that attention and engagement are not necessarily the same thing. Her paintings ask for slower looking, and she puts considerable thought into the stories surrounding each work so that an audience has a way into the ideas behind it. That relationship extends to collectors. Kristel sees today’s collectors as increasingly informed about an artist’s consistency, history and provenance, as well as the relationship they can establish directly with the artist. Her ambition reflects that personal approach. Rather than defining success only through institutional recognition, she wants her work to find its way into the homes and lives of collectors around the world, with a long-term goal of placing 10,000 artworks internationally. Commercial collaboration is another area where Kristel has developed a clear understanding of her boundaries. She does not believe working with brands automatically compromises an artist’s integrity. The important question, for her, is authorship. If a brand approaches because it genuinely connects with the work and gives her creative room, a collaboration can become an extension of her practice. If the brief requires her to simply adapt her identity to fit a campaign, she sees that differently. Some of the collaborations she values most have grown from subjects already close to her, including innovation, empowerment and individuality. The distinction is ultimately whether the finished work still feels like something she created. For Kristel, commercial success and artistic independence can coexist when the artist retains control of the creative voice. The UAE has played an important role in giving that voice room to develop. Having lived and worked in Dubai for nearly two decades, Kristel has built much of her career within a city that is inherently international. She entered the global conversation from a place where different cultures and creative disciplines were already intersecting. As the UAE’s galleries, institutions, fairs and collector communities have developed, so too have opportunities for artists working from the region. Kristel believes the region is entering another stage of that evolution: moving from being a destination that brings international culture inwards to becoming a place that sends its own creative voices outward. For artists like her, that means greater opportunity to be seen, collected and taken seriously internationally on

Emirati Women’s Day, A Legacy of Ambition, A Future of Possibility By Janhavi Gusani Emirati Women’s Day is more than a date on the national calendar. It is a reflection of a national journey shaped by vision, education, opportunity and an enduring belief in the contribution women can make to the UAE and its future. Observed annually on 28 August, the occasion honours the achievements of Emirati women and recognises their role in the country’s continued development. Established under the vision of Her Highness Sheikha Fatima bint Mubarak, the occasion has become an important national platform for recognising women across generations and fields. This year, with the celebration extending beyond the traditional date and continuing through 28 September under the directives of Her Highness, the occasion offers a wider space for recognition and reflection, not simply on what Emirati women have achieved, but on the many ways they are shaping the UAE today. At the heart of that journey is a distinctly Emirati understanding of progress: women can move forward without leaving their identity behind. A Legacy Built on Partnership The advancement of Emirati women cannot be separated from the development of the UAE itself. The establishment of the General Women’s Union in 1975 under the leadership of Her Highness Sheikha Fatima bint Mubarak created a foundation for women’s participation in national development. Decades later, the UAE continues to position women as essential partners in the country’s social, economic and cultural progress. The National Strategy for the Empowerment of Emirati Women 2023–2031 further reflects this long-term national direction. But empowerment in the Emirati context has never been limited to professional achievement. Family remains central to the social fabric of the UAE, and the role of women in nurturing generations is increasingly being recognised as a contribution to national development in its own right. This provides an important foundation for understanding the contemporary Emirati woman: her contribution cannot be measured through one role, one profession or one definition of success. From the Classroom to the Cosmos The breadth of that contribution is perhaps most visible in the fields Emirati women now occupy. Their achievements extend far beyond traditional professional sectors. Emirati women are contributing to the UAE’s ambitions in space science, artificial intelligence, engineering, healthcare, nuclear energy and other future-focused disciplines. Women account for around 50 per cent of the workforce in the UAE National Space Programme and nearly 80 per cent of the scientific team behind the Emirates Mars Mission, Hope Probe. These are not simply impressive statistics. They represent a profound change in what younger generations can imagine for themselves. The same ambition can be seen in sport. From jiu-jitsu and cycling to athletics, fencing, rowing, chess and other disciplines, Emirati women are competing at national, regional and international levels. Safiya Al Sayegh’s historic participation at the Paris 2024 Olympics, for example, marked an important milestone for Emirati women’s cycling, while athletes including Asma Al Hosani and Shaima Al Kalbani have achieved gold-medal success on the Asian stage. Women’s sport is also becoming an institutional force, supported by organisations and platforms dedicated to developing female talent and creating competitive opportunities. The UAE’s participation across all nine sports at the 2026 Arab Women Sports Tournament reflects the breadth of that ecosystem. Entering Every Arena The expansion does not stop with science and sport. The modern Emirati woman is increasingly visible across the creative industries, fashion and beauty, media, entrepreneurship and international cultural platforms. She is building businesses, creating brands, participating in cultural conversations and representing the UAE across increasingly global platforms. She is also present in the ecosystems surrounding major sporting spectacles, including the world of Formula 1, where Abu Dhabi has established itself as an international destination for motorsport and major events. Fashion and beauty have similarly become spaces through which women can express creativity, entrepreneurship and cultural identity. Emirati women are increasingly building businesses, representing the region internationally and participating in global conversations around beauty and style. Even within highly visible international spaces such as beauty competitions and pageantry, women from the UAE and wider region are increasingly finding platforms to represent themselves, their cultures and their perspectives. The significance is not that women are entering every possible field simply for the sake of representation. It is that the range of possibilities is expanding. Redefining the Measure of Contribution Perhaps one of the most meaningful developments in the UAE’s evolving conversation around women is the recognition that contribution cannot always be measured by a professional title. In March 2026, H.H. Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, Crown Prince of Dubai, directed the Community Development Authority to adopt the title “Generation Shaper” in place of “housewife” as part of a tribute to mothers. The initiative recognised a role whose influence extends far beyond the walls of a home. Sheikh Hamdan described mothers as the first school for their children — the place where belonging, responsibility and values are first learned. The significance lies in the language itself. A title can define how society sees a role. “Generation Shaper” places emphasis not on what a woman does not do professionally, but on what she actively contributes: raising individuals, transmitting values, building character and shaping the foundations of the next generation. It also reflects a distinct UAE understanding of progress. Women’s advancement does not require diminishing the importance of motherhood or family. Instead, professional achievement and family contribution can exist as equally meaningful forms of impact. From the home to the laboratory. From the classroom to the boardroom. From nurturing a family to building a company or contributing to a national space mission — these roles do not have to compete with one another. They can form part of the same national story. A Modern Emirati Identity Perhaps the most compelling aspect of the contemporary Emirati woman is her ability to navigate different worlds without having to choose between them. She can be internationally minded while remaining deeply connected to her culture. She can embrace technology while respecting tradition. She

The Strange Reality of Growing Up, Things Nobody Tells You About By Hifza Ehtisham When we were little, we always wanted to grow up. We would say things like, “When I grow up, I’m going to do this…” as if entering adulthood was a destination where everything would finally make sense. We pictured ourselves having our own careers, making our own decisions, and living our best life. Growing up sounded fun because we thought it meant freedom. But nobody actually tells you what really happens when you finally get there. For years, we followed a clear roadmap. School led to the next grade, then to university, and ultimately to graduation. We always had another step waiting ahead. We became so used to these steps that we rarely questioned what came next. Then the roadmap ends. For the first time, you’re free to choose what you want to do, where you want to go, and what kind of life you want to build. But why don’t you feel free? Why is there so much pressure when nobody is actually pressuring you? No teacher is reminding you about a deadline or a syllabus telling you what comes next, yet somehow the pressure feels louder than ever. And suddenly, we realize that growing up is not as simple as we imagined it as kids. Then comes the real challenge: the job search. You watch your friends get jobs while you send out application after application, hoping to land a job, but then you start questioning your own capabilities. Instead of scrolling Instagram Reels, you find yourself scrolling more on LinkedIn. Life gets so serious that checking your email becomes the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning. You get interviewed and then get ghosted by companies. You start wondering whether you’re simply unlucky or not good enough. Then you look around and see that people who are already working are struggling too. Someone is thriving, someone is unhappy with their job, one of your friends got married, and someone just started a new business. You start comparing your timeline with theirs. You want to find the work that you love, a workplace that you wake up happy in the morning for. But you realize that you sometimes have to do things you don’t love because you have to start somewhere, and life still has bills to pay. And somewhere in between all of this, you learn bitter truths you never wanted to know. Sometimes even your closest people may not understand you. Relationships become complicated, people change, you have to change yourself too, and you realize certain things have to be accepted rather than fixed. That is a different kind of maturity – the kind you never asked for. You get nostalgic, missing childhood, school, and university, when life felt lighter and understanding everything was not necessary, and perhaps that was the part of peace. Sometimes it is better to live in uncertainty than to know something that takes away your peace from you. It hits you hard when you realize there is no going back. You have entered this phase, and there’s no going back. You need to show up, work harder, make decisions, and keep moving. Eventually, you understand that growing up isn’t about figuring out everything at once. It is about getting to know your potential, stepping up, and heading towards your own direction. We were always told to “be successful,” but nobody really explained what success actually meant. Maybe it is not a fixed destination to reach. For one person, it might be a career; for another, financial stability, family, purpose, or simply peace of mind and being happy. And maybe that’s the strange reality of growing up. We wanted to grow up because we thought it meant freedom. Then we entered adulthood and discovered that the real freedom comes with uncertainty, responsibility, and choices. The roadmap doesn’t really disappear because you have lost your way. It disappears because, for the first time, the road is yours to create. Maturity is when you realize that the real luxuries in life aren’t things; they are peace of mind, time, slow mornings, good health, financial freedom, people you love, and meaningful conversations. “The roadmap doesn’t disappear because you’ve lost your way. It disappears because the road is yours to create.”

Abdullah Mohammed Al Maainah, A Flag Designed by a 19-Year-Old, How the Vision of One Young Emirati Became the Symbol of a Nation By Rizwan Zulfiqar Bhutta History is often shaped by remarkable leaders, groundbreaking decisions and defining moments. Yet sometimes, the most enduring symbols of a nation begin with something far simpler, a sketch on a piece of paper, an idea born in the imagination of a young person who has no idea that history is quietly waiting for them. In 1971, as the United Arab Emirates prepared to become a nation, a nationwide newspaper competition invited citizens to submit designs for what would become the country’s national flag. Hundreds of entries were received, each reflecting different interpretations of unity, identity and hope. Among them was a submission from a 19-year-old student named Abdullah Mohammed Al Maainah. Like every other participant, he simply entered the competition and returned to his daily life. He had no expectation that his design would become one of the most recognisable national symbols in the world. In fact, he did not know he had won until he witnessed the flag being raised for the very first time on the day the United Arab Emirates was officially declared a nation. Imagine that moment. To stand among thousands of people and realise that the flag rising into the sky—the flag that would represent generations to come, travel across continents and accompany every national achievement, was the one you had created. It is a moment few people in history have ever experienced, and one that reminds us that extraordinary contributions often come from the most unexpected places. Perhaps the most remarkable part of this story is not the competition itself, but the age of its winner. Nineteen. At an age when many young people are still searching for direction, questioning their future or discovering their talents, Abdullah Mohammed Al Maainah unknowingly created a symbol that would become the heart of an entire nation. His story is a powerful reminder that leadership is not always measured by age, experience or status. Sometimes, all it takes is vision, courage and the willingness to believe that your ideas matter. The colours of the UAE flag—red, green, white and black—carry profound meaning. Together, they reflect courage, peace, prosperity, generosity and unity. Every time the flag is raised above a government building, a school, an embassy or an international sporting event, it tells a story far greater than the fabric itself. It represents the values upon which the nation was founded and the aspirations that continue to guide its future. Yet the story behind the flag also reflects something deeply rooted in the UAE’s identity: trust in the potential of its people. From its earliest days, the nation recognised that great ideas could come from anyone. The decision to invite public participation in designing the national flag demonstrated a belief that every citizen had a role to play in shaping the country’s future. It was a remarkable expression of confidence in young minds, creative thinking and collective ownership of a nation’s identity. That spirit continues to define the UAE today. Across the Emirates, young innovators are developing technologies, launching businesses, advancing scientific research, creating works of art and contributing to sectors that are shaping the country’s next chapter. The nation consistently invests in youth, not simply because they represent the future, but because they are already helping to build it. The story of the flag reminds us that every generation has the opportunity to leave its own mark. Not every contribution will become a national symbol, but every meaningful idea has the potential to shape a community, inspire others or create lasting change. History rarely announces itself in advance. It often begins with someone quietly doing their best, unaware that their work may one day become part of something much greater. here is also a lesson here that extends far beyond the borders of the UAE. Too often, young people underestimate the value of their own ideas, believing that influence comes only with age or authority. Abdullah Mohammed Al Maainah’s journey tells a different story. It reminds us that talent knows no age, creativity has no hierarchy and the courage to participate can sometimes change the course of history. Today, the UAE flag flies proudly across the world. It waves above embassies, international summits, humanitarian missions, sporting arenas and space exploration programmes. It has witnessed remarkable milestones, celebrated national achievements and united millions of people under a shared identity. For Emiratis, it is a source of pride. For expatriates who have made the UAE their home, it symbolises opportunity, stability and hope. Yet behind this globally recognised emblem remains the quiet story of a teenager whose vision became timeless. Every National Day, every celebration and every moment of national pride is also a tribute to the belief that one idea can inspire an entire nation. It is proof that greatness does not always begin in boardrooms or parliaments. Sometimes, it begins in the imagination of a young student who simply dared to contribute. The story of the UAE flag is therefore more than a historical fact. It is a reminder that nations are built not only by governments and leaders, but also by ordinary people whose ideas, creativity and aspirations become part of a much larger story. And perhaps that is the most inspiring message of all. Every great nation is, in part, the sum of the dreams its people are encouraged to imagine.

The Revival of Gulf Pearl Harvesting By Sidra Asif One family’s determination is preserving the UAE’s most treasured maritime heritage, proving that the greatest wealth of a nation is not always found beneath the ground, but within its history. Long before the discovery of oil transformed the Arabian Gulf into one of the world’s most dynamic regions, another treasure sustained its people. It was not hidden beneath the desert, nor extracted from deep beneath the sea. It was created patiently by nature itself—one pearl at a time. For centuries, the Gulf’s economy revolved around the sea. Every summer, fleets of wooden dhows sailed into open waters carrying crews of pearl divers whose livelihoods depended on courage, endurance and faith. Their search for natural pearls built communities, supported families and connected the Arabian Peninsula to international markets stretching from India to Europe. Pearls from the Gulf were among the most prized in the world, admired for their exceptional lustre and natural beauty. Yet behind every precious pearl was a story of extraordinary sacrifice. Pearl diving was one of the most demanding professions imaginable. Divers plunged into the depths without modern equipment, carrying only a nose clip, a woven finger guard and a rope connecting them to the boat above. With every breath held, they descended into the unknown, searching the seabed before returning to the surface within minutes. The work was relentless, repeated dozens of times each day under the scorching Gulf sun. Sharks, strong currents, exhaustion and the constant risk of drowning were accepted as part of everyday life. These men were not simply searching for pearls. They were searching for survival. When the global pearl market changed during the twentieth century, particularly with the rise of cultured pearls and the emergence of new industries, the Gulf’s traditional pearl trade declined rapidly. As oil reshaped the region’s economy, pearl diving slowly disappeared from daily life. The songs sung aboard the dhows grew quieter, the diving boats became fewer and an ancient profession that had defined generations risked becoming nothing more than a chapter in history books. Yet some stories refuse to disappear. In the tranquil waters of Ras Al Khaimah, the legacy of Gulf pearl harvesting has found new life through the vision of Abdulla Al Suwaidi, grandson of one of the UAE’s last active pearl divers. Determined that future generations should experience this remarkable heritage rather than simply read about it, he established Suwaidi Pearls, the Arabian Gulf’s only traditional pearl farm, situated on a floating pontoon within a protected natural lagoon. His mission extends far beyond producing pearls. It is about preserving identity. Visitors arriving at the pearl farm do not merely witness a business in operation; they step into a living museum where history remains active rather than preserved behind glass. Traditional boats, authentic diving stories and centuries-old techniques bring the Gulf’s maritime culture vividly to life, allowing people to understand the extraordinary relationship between Emiratis and the sea long before modern prosperity arrived. What makes this revival especially meaningful is that it honours tradition while embracing sustainability. The pearl divers of the past relied entirely upon nature, often risking their lives for uncertain rewards. Today’s pearl farming follows a different path. Using carefully managed ecological practices, oysters are cultivated within their natural environment, allowing marine ecosystems to remain healthy while continuing a heritage that once seemed destined to disappear. The lagoon itself becomes more than a workplace—it becomes a sanctuary where conservation and culture exist side by side. This transformation reflects a broader philosophy that has become increasingly important throughout the UAE: preserving the past does not require living in it. Instead, heritage can evolve, finding new ways to remain relevant without losing its authenticity. The story of Suwaidi Pearls is therefore not one of nostalgia. It is one of renewal. Every pearl harvested today carries echoes of generations who once depended upon the sea for their survival. Every visitor who hears the stories of the divers gains a deeper appreciation for the resilience that shaped the Emirates long before the nation’s remarkable modern development. These experiences remind us that prosperity did not begin with oil; it was built upon centuries of perseverance, trade, craftsmanship and an intimate understanding of the natural world. Perhaps that is why pearls continue to hold such powerful symbolism in Emirati culture. Unlike gemstones mined from the earth, pearls are created slowly through patience and resilience. A tiny grain of irritation, surrounded layer by layer with care, eventually becomes something precious. In many ways, the story mirrors the journey of the UAE itself—a nation that transformed challenges into opportunity through vision, determination and unwavering belief in the future. For Abdulla Al Suwaidi, preserving pearl harvesting is also about honouring those who came before him. It is a tribute to his grandfather and to every diver whose courage sustained coastal communities through generations of hardship. Their legacy deserves more than remembrance; it deserves continuation. As the UAE continues to embrace innovation, space exploration and advanced technologies, projects like Suwaidi Pearls serve as an important reminder that progress is strongest when it remains connected to its roots. A nation’s future is enriched not only by what it builds, but also by what it chooses to protect. Today, the calm waters of Ras Al Khaimah tell a different story from those of the past. The danger has given way to education, sustainability has replaced uncertainty and cultural preservation has become as valuable as the pearls themselves. Yet the spirit remains unchanged—a deep respect for the sea, for heritage and for the generations whose sacrifices laid the foundations of modern Emirati society. The revival of Gulf pearl harvesting is therefore about far more than pearls. It is about memory. It is about resilience. It is about ensuring that one of the UAE’s oldest maritime traditions continues to inspire future generations, not as a forgotten relic of history, but as a living heritage carried forward with pride. For in every carefully cultivated pearl lies a timeless reminder that

Rewilding the Desert, The Remarkable Story of Sir Bani Yas Island By Paul Smith A visionary dream transformed a barren island into one of the Middle East’s greatest wildlife sanctuaries, where endangered species, ancient history & environmental stewardship exist in extraordinary harmony. When people picture the deserts of the United Arab Emirates, they often imagine endless dunes, dramatic landscapes and a climate where survival itself appears to be a daily challenge. Few would expect that, just off the coast of Abu Dhabi, an island has become home to thousands of free-roaming animals, flourishing ecosystems and one of the region’s most inspiring conservation stories. Yet that is precisely what Sir Bani Yas Island represents. Today, visitors may encounter Arabian oryx grazing across open plains, gazelles moving gracefully through natural habitats, giraffes browsing among acacia trees and even cheetahs roaming carefully managed reserves. The island has become one of the Middle East’s most successful examples of wildlife conservation, proving that vision, patience and determination can restore what once seemed permanently lost. But this remarkable transformation did not happen by chance. It began with a dream. Long before environmental conservation became a global priority, the UAE’s Founding Father, Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, recognised that the natural heritage of the Arabian Peninsula deserved protection. He believed that economic progress should never come at the expense of nature and that future generations had a responsibility to safeguard the wildlife that had longbeen part of the region’s identity. With that philosophy in mind, Sir Bani Yas Island was transformed into a dedicated wildlife reserve, a bold undertaking that challenged conventional thinking about what was possible in an arid environment. What had once been an isolated island gradually evolved into a carefully managed ecological sanctuary where native species could recover, habitats could be restored and biodiversity could once again flourish. Among its greatest conservation achievements is the return of the Arabian oryx. Once abundant across the Arabian Peninsula, the elegant white antelope was driven to the brink of extinction through excessive hunting and habitat loss. By the early 1970s, the species had disappeared from the wild entirely, becoming one of the world’s most poignant reminders of how fragile nature can be. Yet extinction did not become the end of its story. Through dedicated breeding programmes, habitat restoration and long-term conservation efforts championed by Sheikh Zayed, the Arabian oryx began an extraordinary comeback. Today, thousands roam freely across Sir Bani Yas Island and other protected reserves in the UAE, making the oryx one of the world’s most celebrated examples of successful species reintroduction. It stands not only as the national animal of the UAE but also as a symbol of resilience and hope, proof that thoughtful conservation can reverse even the gravest environmental losses. The island’s success extends well beyond a single species. Gazelles, mountain sheep, hyenas, giraffes and numerous bird species now inhabit landscapes that have been carefully nurtured to support healthy ecosystems. Even predators such as cheetahs play an important role within specialised conservation areas, reflecting a holistic approach that values the balance of entire ecological communities rather than focusing on individual animals alone. This is not a traditional zoo. It is an ecosystem. The philosophy behind Sir Bani Yas Island is rooted in rewilding, a conservation approach that seeks not simply to protect animals, but to restore the natural relationships between wildlife, habitats and the environment. Rather than creating artificial displays, conservationists work to recreate conditions that allow species to behave naturally, breed successfully and contribute to thriving ecosystems. It is an ambitious vision, especially in a region where water scarcity and harsh climatic conditions demand careful environmental management. Every tree planted, every habitat restored and every species protected reflects years of scientific research, ecological planning and unwavering commitment. Yet perhaps the island’s most fascinating secret lies not among its wildlife, but beneath its soil. During archaeological excavations, researchers uncovered the remains of a 6th-century Christian monastery, revealing that Sir Bani Yas Island has served as a place of human settlement and spiritual life for well over a thousand years. The discovery offered extraordinary insight into the cultural diversity that existed across the Arabian Peninsula long before the modern era, reminding us that this landscape has always been shaped by both nature and civilisation. The coexistence of ancient history and modern conservation creates something truly unique. On a single island, visitors can witness endangered wildlife roaming freely across protected landscapes while also exploring archaeological remains that speak of faith, trade and community from centuries past. Few destinations in the world offer such a compelling dialogue between environmental preservation and cultural heritage. In many ways, Sir Bani Yas Island reflects the broader philosophy that defines the United Arab Emirates today. It is a nation that embraces innovation without abandoning its roots. It invests confidently in the future while recognising that progress is strongest when built upon respect for history, culture and the natural world. Conservation here is not treated as a luxury—it is understood as a responsibility. As climate change and biodiversity loss continue to challenge ecosystems across the globe, Sir Bani Yas Island offers a powerful example of what long-term vision can achieve. It demonstrates that even landscapes once considered fragile or inhospitable can become thriving sanctuaries when guided by patience, scientific knowledge and genuine commitment. Perhaps the greatest lesson the island teaches is that restoration is always possible. Species once believed lost can return. Habitats can recover. History can be preserved. Nature, when given the opportunity, has an extraordinary capacity to heal. The story of Sir Bani Yas Island is therefore about far more than wildlife. It is about leadership with foresight, conservation with purpose and the belief that humanity’s relationship with nature should be defined not by exploitation, but by stewardship. From the graceful Arabian oryx reclaiming its ancestral home to the quiet stone walls of a sixth-century monastery standing as witnesses to centuries of history, Sir Bani Yas Island reminds us that the greatest legacies are those that protect

Abdulnasser Gharem, The Cultural Avant-Garde, Art, Identity & the Future of Change By Janhavi Gusani Abdulnasser Gharem is one of the defining voices in contemporary Saudi art, recognised not only for his conceptual practice but for his wider contribution to cultural dialogue, artistic development, and creative exchange. His work exists at the intersection of art, society, memory, and transformation, exploring how individuals navigate systems of authority, identity, and belonging. For Gharem, art has never been limited to the creation of objects. It is a platform for questioning, understanding, and creating awareness. Through his practice as an artist, founder, and cultural contributor, he has expanded the role of creativity beyond galleries and exhibitions, advocating for spaces where ideas can be challenged, conversations can evolve, and future generations can develop their own voices. His perspective has been shaped by a unique combination of experiences: nearly twenty-three years within the military, decades of artistic exploration, and an active role in the growth of Saudi Arabia’s contemporary cultural landscape. These experiences have informed a practice that examines the relationship between individuality and authority, discipline and freedom, tradition and transformation. At the heart of Gharem’s artistic philosophy is an interest in the structures that influence human behaviour. His work often moves beyond simple interpretations of East and West, instead exploring the complexity of hybrid identities and cultures. He believes that cultural exchange creates opportunities for new forms of knowledge, allowing societies to evolve through dialogue rather than isolation. This approach is reflected in his use of familiar objects and everyday materials. Concrete barriers, official stamps, road signs, and other ordinary elements become powerful artistic symbols when placed within new contexts. Gharem is drawn to these objects because they already carry collective memories and meanings. They are part of daily life, yet they often contain deeper social, political, and cultural narratives waiting to be examined. The stamp, for example, became an important symbol within his practice after his early experiences in the military environment. Traditionally, a stamp represents approval, certification, and authority. Yet Gharem questioned the power contained within that small mark: who grants legitimacy, and who decides what is accepted? By creating his own artistic stamps, he explored the possibility of establishing a different form of authority – one shaped through creativity, imagination, and critical thinking. Similarly, his use of concrete barriers reflects broader questions around borders, movement, and belonging. Objects designed to separate and restrict become opportunities to examine how societies define inclusion and exclusion. Through these transformations, Gharem demonstrates how art can reveal hidden meanings within the most familiar aspects of everyday life. His understanding of systems and authority is deeply connected to his own background. His military career introduced him to discipline, hierarchy, repetition, and structure – elements that later became central themes within his artistic language. Rather than viewing repetition only as a mechanism of control, Gharem examines its dual nature. Repetition can shape conformity, but it can also become a tool for reflection and liberation. Camouflage, another concept closely associated with his military experience, evolved into a broader metaphor within his work. Beyond its practical function, camouflage represents adaptation, survival, and the relationship between visibility and invisibility. It reflects the ways individuals navigate social structures while maintaining their own identities. His creative development was also influenced by access to global knowledge through the internet. The digital expansion of the late 1990s opened new pathways to philosophy, art history, museums, and international artistic movements. This access allowed Gharem to engage with wider conversations while developing an artistic language rooted in his own cultural experience. This belief in exchange and accessibility extended beyond his personal practice. Through initiatives such as Edge of Arabia and Gharem Studio, Gharem explored the artist’s role as a cultural facilitator. For him, an artist’s responsibility extends beyond producing artworks; it includes creating platforms where dialogue, education, and collaboration can take place. His contribution has been particularly significant during Saudi Arabia’s cultural transformation. Having witnessed the country’s creative landscape evolve over decades, Gharem understands both the challenges of the past and the possibilities of the present. Earlier in his career, artists often worked with limited institutional support and few independent spaces. Creative communities existed, but they were frequently developed away from public attention. Today, Saudi Arabia’s cultural environment has entered a new phase, with significant investment in museums, biennials, public art, cultural institutions, and creative programmes. Artists now have greater opportunities to participate in international conversations and present their work on a global stage. However, Gharem believes that cultural growth requires more than infrastructure. While institutions and investment are essential, a sustainable artistic ecosystem also depends on intellectual independence, diverse perspectives, and the freedom to explore complex ideas. For creativity to thrive, artists must have the ability to question as well as celebrate. His commitment to supporting future generations reflects this belief. Through initiatives that provide educational opportunities and international exposure for young Saudi artists. Gharem has consistently emphasised that cultural progress depends on empowering individuals. As Middle Eastern artists continue gaining recognition internationally, Gharem believes the region’s creative voice should not be understood through simplified narratives. The Middle East is not defined by a single identity, history, or perspective. Its artists represent diverse experiences and engage with universal themes including technology, memory, spirituality, ecology, social change, and human relationships. For Gharem, global recognition should not require artists to separate themselves from their origins. Instead, authentic local experiences can create works that resonate universally. The strongest cultural contributions emerge when artists remain connected to their own realities while engaging confidently with broader global conversations. Technology has become another important dimension of his evolving practice. Through works such as Alternative Loyalty, Gharem explores the relationship between art, data, artificial intelligence, and collective human experience. By using technology to collect and interpret information, he examines how abstract data can be transformed into emotional and physical artistic experiences. For him, data is not simply information – it has become a creative material. Technology provides artists with new possibilities to explore

Engineering Survival, The 3,000-Year-Old Falaj Systems By Paul Smith How an ancient network of underground waterways transformed the desert into thriving oases, proving that the greatest innovations are not always the newest—but the ones that endure. When people think of engineering marvels, they often picture soaring skyscrapers, towering bridges or cutting-edge technology powered by artificial intelligence. Innovation is frequently associated with the future, with machines becoming faster, smarter and more connected than ever before. Yet one of humanity’s most remarkable engineering achievements has quietly flowed beneath the sands of the Arabian Peninsula for more than three thousand years. Long before electricity, modern pipelines or digital infrastructure, communities in what is now the United Arab Emirates mastered one of civilisation’s greatest challenges: how to make water sustain life in one of the world’s harshest environments. At the heart of this remarkable achievement lies the Falaj—an intricate underground irrigation system that has nourished the fertile oases of Al Ain for millennia. Built with astonishing precision, these channels transport water from distant underground aquifers using nothing more than gravity. Without pumps, engines or mechanical devices, the Falaj delivers one of nature’s most precious resources across miles of desert, transforming arid landscapes into flourishing agricultural communities. It is a masterpiece of simplicity. And perhaps that is why it has survived for thousands of years. To modern eyes, the Falaj may appear to be little more than a series of narrow water channels. In reality, it represents an extraordinary understanding of geology, hydrology, mathematics and community planning. Every tunnel had to be carefully aligned to maintain a gentle gradient, allowing water to flow continuously without eroding the channels or exhausting the underground aquifers that sustained them. Centuries before engineering became an academic discipline, the people of this region had already mastered its principles through observation, experience and an intimate understanding of their environment. The result was more than an irrigation system. It was an entire civilisation built around water. The lush date palm oases of Al Ain stand today as living evidence of that achievement. In a landscape where survival depended upon every drop, the Falaj transformed barren ground into productive farmland capable of sustaining families, supporting trade and nurturing communities for generations. Palm trees provided shade for smaller crops, creating carefully balanced ecosystems where agriculture could thrive despite the unforgiving desert climate. Yet the true brilliance of the Falaj was not only found beneath the earth. It existed within the society above it. Water was never viewed as a limitless resource. It belonged to the community, and its distribution required fairness, precision and collective responsibility. Long before computer algorithms managed modern infrastructure, the people of Al Ain developed an equally sophisticated system of governance centred on one of the world’s oldest natural resources. At the heart of this system were respected community figures often known as water masters. Their role demanded remarkable knowledge and unwavering integrity. They were responsible for determining exactly how much water each family, farm and orchard would receive, ensuring that every member of the community had fair access while protecting the long-term sustainability of the aquifer itself. Without clocks or digital measuring devices, these water masters relied upon the movements of the sun, the positions of celestial bodies and the shifting shadows cast across specially designed markers to calculate irrigation schedules with astonishing accuracy. Time itself became an instrument of engineering. It was, in many ways, an ancient algorithm. Every decision followed carefully established rules. Every allocation reflected balance rather than abundance. Every generation understood that individual prosperity depended upon collective responsibility. This philosophy feels remarkably modern. As much of the world grapples with climate change, water scarcity and environmental sustainability, the Falaj offers lessons that remain profoundly relevant. Modern societies increasingly invest in sophisticated technologies to manage dwindling water supplies, yet the communities of ancient Arabia understood thousands of years ago that sustainable resource management begins not with machinery, but with wisdom. They recognised that nature cannot simply be controlled. It must be understood. The enduring success of the Falaj systems reflects an approach based on harmony rather than domination. Instead of forcing water through mechanical power, gravity was allowed to do the work. Instead of extracting every available resource, communities balanced present needs with future generations. Instead of competing for limited supplies, cooperation became the foundation of survival. These are principles that resonate far beyond the deserts of the UAE. They speak to global conversations about sustainability, resilience and responsible development. They remind us that innovation is not measured solely by technological complexity but by the ability of an idea to endure across centuries while continuing to solve real human challenges. The UAE has embraced this philosophy in remarkable ways. While the nation is recognised globally for its modern cities, renewable energy initiatives and ambitious technological achievements, it also continues to preserve and celebrate the knowledge that sustained its people long before the modern era. The Falaj systems remain protected not simply as historical landmarks, but as living symbols of Emirati ingenuity and environmental stewardship. Visitors walking through the shaded oases of Al Ain may hear nothing more than the gentle sound of flowing water. Yet beneath that quiet current lies one of humanity’s oldest engineering triumphs. Every drop tells a story of patience, precision and perseverance. Every channel reflects generations who understood that survival depended not on conquering nature, but on working alongside it. Every oasis stands as proof that even the harshest landscapes can flourish when guided by knowledge, cooperation and respect for the environment. The story of the Falaj is therefore about much more than irrigation. It is about civilisation. It is about community. It is about recognising that some of humanity’s greatest innovations are those that remain invisible, quietly sustaining life while asking for nothing in return. In an age increasingly defined by technological acceleration, the ancient waterways of Al Ain offer a powerful reminder that the future may still have much to learn from the past. For more than three thousand years, the