Living in Dubai has been one of the most incredible chapters of my life, packed with memories that still make me smile and moments I’d call some of the best I’ve ever had. I was born in India, but my early years unfolded in Dubai, a place that shaped me in ways I didn’t fully appreciate until later. It’s a city that blends cultures like nowhere else, and growing up there gave me a front row seat to that mix from the start. Looking back, I can’t help but grin at old photos—like one of me as a kid with my dad on Dubai Beach, all sandy and carefree. From dressing up as a spider for a costume party at three to soaking in the city’s vibrant life, my childhood was a whirlwind of school, play, and celebration. Even now, some of my favorite recent vacations have been about revisiting that past, and moving to Bahrain later added another layer to the story. Let’s walk through what it’s been like, from those early days to where I am now.
Dubai was my world growing up. We moved there when I was little, and it was this dazzling place—big buildings, busy streets, people from everywhere. I’ve got this photo from way back, me and my dad at the beach, probably Jumeirah, with the sun beating down and waves lapping at our feet. I was tiny, grinning like I owned the place, and it’s one of those snapshots that sums up how simple things felt then. School was a big part of life—textbooks, exams, the usual—but it wasn’t all work. I remember birthday parties with balloons and cake, and that time I went to a costume event dressed as a spider, all legs and webs, thinking I was the coolest kid around. Those days were about running around, laughing, and soaking in whatever Dubai threw at me.
The city itself was a playground. The malls were massive—Dubai Mall, Mall of the Emirates, places that felt like small cities. You’d walk in and see Gucci, Ralph Lauren, all these big names lined up, and it was a shopping experience like no other. I’d spend hours there, especially on vacations back as an adult, hunting for the perfect pair of shoes. I’ve always been picky—fit, style, color, it’s got to be just right—and finding designer ones that clicked was a mission. I caved once, snagging a pair I loved but kept the price tag quiet when I got home. The discounts helped, though—sales everywhere, racks of options—and time flew by browsing. It wasn’t just about buying; it was the vibe, the buzz of the place.
One vacation memory that stands out is parasailing. It was a few years back, on a trip to Dubai, and I’d never done it before. We were at the beach—Jumeirah again, I think—and I signed up on a whim. They strapped me into the harness, the boat took off, and suddenly I was up, floating high over the water. It was quiet up there, peaceful, with this unreal view of the coastline—clear blue stretching out, the skyline sharp in the distance. The wind tugged now and then, making my stomach flip, but it was thrilling. I could’ve stayed up forever, just drifting, and when I landed, I was already itching to go again. That feeling—weightless, free—stuck with me, a highlight of those trips.
Childhood in Dubai wasn’t just about fun and games; it was the mix of people that made it special. The city’s a melting pot—Indians, Arabs, Europeans, you name it—and I grew up around all of them. School was full of different accents, lunches swapped between desks, stories from places I’d never been. We’d play outside even when it was scorching, the heat shimmering off the pavement, and it felt normal back then. I’d run around with other kids, kicking a ball or chasing each other, and those bonds were simple but real. Even now, thinking about those days brings back that easy, active life we had, heat and all. Dubai taught me early on how to navigate a world full of differences, and I carried that with me.
Then came the move to Bahrain. It was a shift—another Gulf country, but with its own flavor. We settled in Manama, the capital, and it was plush—modern buildings, green patches, a slower pace than Dubai. The heat was still there, brutal in summer, but the evenings made up for it. Our neighborhood was mostly Indian families, and that sense of community was strong. People would gather outside, chatting over tea or watching kids play, and it felt warm, welcoming. Bahrain’s simpler than Dubai in some ways—less flashy, more grounded—and that grew on me. The people were kind, always ready with a smile or a helping hand, and it left a mark.
Life in Manama was vibrant despite the heat. I went to a school with a mix of students—Arabs, Americans, Indians—and it was another dose of diversity. We learned Arabic there, which was tough at first—those rolling sounds, the script—but I got the hang of it. Classrooms were a jumble of cultures, everyone bringing their own take, and it widened how I saw things. I’d watch the Arab girls, struck by their natural beauty—dark eyes, easy grace—and it was just one part of what made Bahrain feel alive. The markets, the food, the way people lived—it was different from Dubai but just as rich, and I soaked it in.
Not everything was perfect, though. The Middle East has its shadows—wars, unrest, conflicts that spill over. Bahrain wasn’t immune; protests flared up around 2011, and even before that, you’d hear about trouble nearby—Iraq, Yemen, places not so far off. It hit me hard sometimes, thinking about people caught up in it, kids especially. I’d see news clips—smoke, shouting, lives upended—and it weighed on me. Dubai felt insulated from a lot of that, but Bahrain brought it closer. Those moments made me value what I had—the safety, the chances—and pushed me to think about kindness, about doing what I could to spread some good, no matter where I was.
Reflecting on Dubai now, it’s wild to see how it’s grown. Back when I was a kid, it was already big—Burj Al Arab was new, the malls were expanding—but today, it’s a giant. Burj Khalifa towers over everything, the metro’s zipping people around, and the beaches are still there, calling me back. I’ve gone on vacations there recently, walking the same sands I did as a child, and it’s a mix of nostalgia and awe. That photo with my dad pops into my head every time, and I can almost feel the sun on my face again. The city’s changed, but the heart of it—the energy, the mix—feels the same, and I’m itching to return with my parents, relive those old days, and make new ones.
Those vacations have been about reconnecting. I’ll hit the malls again, eyeing shoes or just wandering, lost in the scale of it all. Parasailing’s on the list—another go at that rush, maybe with a better grip on the nerves this time. The beaches are a must—Jumeirah’s still a favorite, but I’d try Kite Beach too, see what’s new. Dubai’s got this pull, a place that raised me and keeps drawing me back. I’ll walk where I used to play, snap pictures to match that old one with my dad, and let the memories flood in. It’s not just a trip; it’s a tie to who I was and who I’ve become.
Bahrain’s part of that too. Manama’s quieter, but it’s got its own charm—tree lined streets, the souq’s bustle, the sea nearby. I’d go back there as well, maybe visit the school, see if the old classrooms still hum with that mix of voices. The Arabic I learned sticks with me—I’ll catch myself saying “shukran” for thanks—and it’s a thread to those years. The people, the warmth, the way they made me feel at home—it’s a contrast to Dubai’s flash, but just as deep. Both places shaped me, each in their way, and I carry them wherever I go.
Dubai’s childhood days were pure joy—spider costumes, beach runs, mall trips with my parents. The heat didn’t faze me then; it was just part of the deal. School was a grind, but the fun balanced it—parties, games, that sense of freedom. Vacations now are different but tied to that past. I’ll shop, sure, but it’s the feel of the place—the hum of voices, the sprawl—that pulls me. Parasailing was a thrill I didn’t expect, a moment of quiet above the noise, and it’s a story I’ll tell for years. Bahrain brought its own lessons—community, culture, a brush with the world’s harder edges—and it rounded out what Dubai started.
I’ve learned to appreciate it all—the diversity, the chances, the simple stuff. Dubai’s growth amazes me—skyscrapers everywhere, a city that never stops—and Bahrain’s steady heartbeat keeps me grounded. I want to go back to both, not just for the sights but for what they mean. Dubai’s where I began, Bahrain’s where I grew, and together, they’ve taught me to see the world bigger, to spread kindness where I can. That photo with my dad, the wind off the Gulf, the Arabic words I still know—they’re pieces of a life I’m thankful for, and I can’t wait to see them again.
