Moving to Dubai was like stepping into a city constantly reinventing itself, yet somehow holding on to fragments of its past. On weekends, I found myself drawn to the quiet corners of Al Fahidi, where the sun cast golden light on weathered walls and wooden lattices. The city’s history seemed to breathe there — in the rhythm of footsteps on the narrow streets, the low hum of conversations spilling from hidden courtyards, and the scent of spices and oud lingering in the air.
As an expat, it was humbling to realize how much of Dubai’s identity lies beneath its glossy skyscrapers. The old city whispers stories of resilience, creativity, and a culture that refuses to be forgotten. Walking through it, I began to understand the subtle poetry of place — how memory and modernity can coexist, shaping the way people move, dress, and live.
