By Dr. Zareena Moorkan/ Special to Gulf Daily Mail
SHARJAH, United Arab Emirates — The message arrived quietly on a festive morning, like many others do on Eid. A brief buzz. A notification. A line of text.
But this one was different.
It carried the name of His Highness Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan.
For a moment, I paused—not out of disbelief, but out of something harder to describe. In a country of millions, in a place where I have lived for more than 33 years—happily, peacefully, building a life far from where I began—the idea of receiving an Eid greeting from the President felt unexpectedly personal.
“Eid Mubarak to all who call the UAE home.”
The words were simple. Measured. Familiar in tone. Yet they carried a weight that went beyond formality.
For expatriates like me—one among nearly nine million residents who have come here from elsewhere—the phrase “who call the UAE home” is not just ceremonial language. It reflects a lived reality, one shaped over years, even decades.
This is a country often described through its scale—its skyline, its growth, its global reach. But those who have spent time here know that its true character reveals itself in quieter ways. In everyday stability. In the rhythm of work and community. In the sense of safety that becomes so normal, it is rarely spoken about.
The President’s message continued:
“In this blessed time, we stand united as one community.
Our nation remains resilient and strong through the dedication of those who protect us and the solidarity of our people.”
It is easy to read such lines as part of official communication. But context matters. In a nation where citizens and expatriates live side by side—often sharing workplaces, neighborhoods, and daily life—the idea of one community is not abstract. It is visible.
Over three decades, I have watched this country grow, adapt, and steady itself through change. I have seen moments of challenge, but also long stretches of calm. For many expatriates, the UAE becomes more than a place of employment. It becomes a place of continuity—a second home that quietly anchors life.
That is why a message like this resonates.
It does not alter the structure of life here. It does not change the known realities of being an expatriate. But it acknowledges something important: presence, contribution, and belonging.
For those of us who have spent decades here, that acknowledgment carries meaning.
Eid, especially in the Gulf, often comes with a dual feeling. There is celebration, certainly—but also distance. Families are remembered across time zones. Traditions are observed in adapted forms. Homes exist in more than one place.
In that space, even a brief message can feel like a bridge.
“May God bless the UAE and fill your homes with strength and reassurance.”
Strength and reassurance—two words that reflect what many residents quietly seek, and often find, in this country.
For me, after 33 years, the UAE is no longer just a destination. It is a place layered with memory—of work, friendships, routines, and the steady passing of time. It is where life unfolded, not in dramatic moments, but in the accumulation of ordinary days lived without disruption—indeed, I have now spent more years here than in my native India.
To receive a message from the President in such a setting—on a day that already carries emotional weight—is difficult to define in precise terms.
Honoured, certainly.
Grateful, without question.
But beyond that, there is something less tangible. A recognition that in a nation built by many hands, even the smallest gesture can carry a sense of inclusion.
Perhaps that is what stayed with me the most.
Not the message itself, but the feeling it left behind.
In a country of millions, it managed to feel personal.
And sometimes, that is enough to say more than words ever can.