'When can I go home?': A UAE expat’s story of crisis and community from 8,000 miles away

It was 4 am and there was no reason for me to wake up and check my phone, but I did.

 I was visiting the US for the first time in my life. I had never done so before, partly because financial reasons aside, the thought of always being halfway across the world made me slightly anxious. A 14-hour flight away.

What if I needed to come home and couldn’t, I had asked my husband as we were leaving the UAE for our vacation.

We laughed, then, on February 20. Silly, silly.

I had just about recovered from my jet lag and wasn't waking up at 4 am anymore. But between the hours of February 27 and 28, I did. There were over 500 messages on my office group, a few more hundreds on different groups and some friends and acquaintances messaging if I was ‘okay’.  

I waded through the news slowly, trying to process new numbing lexicon, and all I could see was, ‘Explosions. Bangs. Booms. That was loud. That sounded near. That’s so close to us. My windows shook.'

'Okay' now meant not hearing explosions above your home.

 I kept scrolling though those messages, and a few things were finally seared into my mind. Airspace closed. Flights cancelled. Different groups were messaging at the same time, because fear and panic doesn’t wait for anyone.  But in all the anxiety that was rippling across my screen, there were also those trying to desperately calm the furore, providing updates and reassurances, debunking fake AI videos that were circulating too.  I have never toggled between so many group chats  and social media platforms in my life. That night, I learned how.

We've all lived many lives since that day.

One day, I’m reading about the street cats and TNR’s on my community group, checking for updates on BTS. The next, I’m reading about missiles, and checking if everyone back home is safe from debris. Sometimes I don’t know which time zone I’m living in. I exist on updates that have none.

How quickly our language changes.

But as always, it’s times of crisis that show the best and worst in people, and I’m fortunate to say I’ve seen the former.  I panicked about my dog alone at home, hearing blasts. I asked for a few reliable souls to do check on her when they could. The response was immediate and swift. I got a few videos of her being overjoyed and playing around in the backyard. My former dogsitter drove 45 minutes to be with her too. She was taken out for a walk.

Gratitude has a new meaning.

The tension in my stomach still feels like knots, as I keep trying to read on all the tips to stay calm. But the videos of my dog are a little balm. The determined cheer of my colleagues and friends in a crisis like this, is a slight breath of fresh air.

You only realise how anchored you are to a place when the sky above it closes.

Our flight to UAE was scheduled for March 8, and I, like thousands of others, am constantly checking to see, too when I can get home. There’s reassurance from friends and colleagues that I will. I may have to accept delays or detours. But I will get home, and that's the hope that I clutch in my fist.

For now, I replay the videos of my dog running in the yard, proof that some small things are still ordinary.