It was 6:00 a.m. in Dubai.
I had just finished my last online course for the day and my mind was filled with thoughts of how much better my life would be if I was to go back to Vancouver. I kept thinking what an absolute relief it would be to finally have my schedule aligned with my course load. How my days would no longer start at 3:00 p.m. and end at 6:00 a.m.
It was stressful, to say the least, having to accommodate both Vancouver and Dubai schedules. I had to balance Vancouver meetings at 9:00 p.m. while trying to have a semblance of a social life in Dubai. So then, one fateful day, a UBC Instagram post finally ended the uncertainty that pervaded my life. No longer was I going to have to cancel seeing my childhood friends because I had class or a meeting. My life would make sense and the stars (as well as the time zone) would align. Yet, oddly enough, instead of a feeling of happiness or excitement, I was struck with a profound sense of loss.
What was it that made me so unhappy to go back? Surely being an international student going across the globe to explore new opportunities should be exciting. I remember distinctly how, in my first year, my parents kept going on and on about how this is an opportunity of a lifetime. That this education is miles ahead of anything that they had access to when they were my age and, on top of that, how this would be a golden opportunity to make memories as well as mature into adulthood. To quote my dad, I’m supposed to “go kick ass.”
The thing is that they’re right. On paper, this should be an amazing time. I have all the opportunities in the world at my fingertips (thankfully I’m a Canadian citizen and tuition is somewhat affordable), but this had nothing to do with UBC, or even Vancouver. This feeling transcended transcripts, grades, career aspirations and our obsession with constantly ‘working’ — that ever-so oppressive grind culture that ensures that you have to be taking five courses, creating a side business, interning at a major company, waking up early every day to work out and just being as efficient as possible. There is nothing wrong with a lifestyle like that and hard work is always valuable. However, at university you can feel as if there is no break from all of that.
With that said, I realized what it was that I’d be missing from Dubai: simplicity and stability.
It must sound strange to say that Dubai is the pinnacle of ‘simplicity’ but having grown up in Dubai, it’s where all my closest and deepest connections are. My wonderful family is there: the very people who are funding me and sending me abroad. My dearest friends who I grew up with and who are responsible for shaping my character are also there. There’s also something to be said of being in the environment, going through streets which you feel like belong to you. I’m not an outsider, I don’t feel like I’m just visiting.
Finally, the most dramatic thing about leaving Dubai: love. I think most people would agree that long-distance is not sustainable and having gone through it multiple times, it’s a pain I’m not willing to go through again. The consequence of that however, is that it puts an expiration date on whatever relationships that I have in Dubai. To quote one of my friends, “You can have all the love in the world, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t have time.” Dubai is that city with all that love, but I unfortunately can’t be there to experience it.
To further complicate things, the aforementioned loss I have described was also felt when I left Vancouver earlier this year. For all the uncertainty and busy-ness of university life, the connections that you make have their own special worth. I think of my roommates, all my friends in my degree and all the other lovely people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. How, for this limited time in my life, these people were there for me. Who knows how long these people that I know in Vancouver will stay in my life, but the thing is, when I’m in Vancouver my life revolves around these people. I’m somebody else.
That’s at the core of this reflection — dealing with being multiple people at once. Having two different ongoing lives which are separated by the Atlantic. Being between Here and There.