A dash of Tash

This is something I wrote a few years ago during one of my summer breaks spent visiting Abu Dhabi while in medical school.

When 8pm strikes, I roll out of bed and throw on some walking clothes.

I catch my reflection and smile – not too shabby. 

I grab my headphones and keys and head out.

As I push the door of my building open, the cool of the air-conditioned lobby is replaced by humid and stagnant air.

My glasses fog up. 

I walk slowly at first due to the poor clarity, and pick up the pace once my lenses clear up. 

I turn up the volume of my music and walk in step with the beat.

I turn the volume down, halt to a stop, and look both ways before crossing the road. It’s funny how when one of your senses is subdued, the others seem to heighten. 

Turning my music back up, I wait patiently at the pedestrian crossing for the green man to light up the sign. 

Confidently, I cross the road, placing my trust in safe drivers, and properly-functioning green man signs. 

I reach the corniche and sigh a breath of relief – now the walk actually begins. 

I walk on a ground laid with bricks, and pass by benches situated on the right every 50 metres or so. On the left are lights – two kinds: There are spherical bulbs which can be perceived as an illusion. At some angles, they appear like they come in clusters of two, till you approach them and find three bulbs springing out of the posts. The other kind are fairy lights, draped over the whole left side of the corniche, forming a lovely canopy by the beach. 

These fairy lights – although pretty to look at, do more than just twinkle – they spray out a light and intermittent mist to refresh any passer byers who may tread beneath them, offering some much-needed respite from the heat.  

I am forced to slow the pace of my steps when the sea sends over a cool breeze in my direction. I inhale deeply, while the corners of my mouth lift up. 

While I walk, I people-watch. I see the family of six who have split themselves up in two tricycles, racing each other – their joyful screams and laughter fill the air. I watch on as people in pairs pass me by – some are couples, others are friends. There are cyclists, and skaters, and rollerbladers. There are beach-goers wrapped in towels heading toward the public changing rooms. In the distance, on the seashore, I see a group of friends dancing nonchalantly to music that is blasting on their speaker. Some days, the noise would bother me. Today, it makes me smile. 

I keep walking. The fourth song on my shuffle starts playing. I don’t like it, so I skip to the next one – I don’t like that one either, and like that, I go through three more songs till I land on one that aligns with my mood. I land on ‘To build a home’ by the cinematic orchestra – it feels fitting for the type of walk I’m on today. One that is streaked by optimism and romanticism. It is a walk where my worries are momentarily forgotten and my only concern is soaking in my surroundings with my God-given senses. 

And just like that, I’ve reached my favourite part of the walk. The part where the only separation between myself and the sea is a blue horizontal pole (and a bit of wire). No sand, or rocks, or people. Just crystal clear blue, ebbing and flowing and foaming before me. Above the water, the sun is setting, streaking the sky with shades of yellow and pink. The pink I’ve learned, comes from clouds high up in the sky catching and reflecting the longer red wavelengths of sunlight as they mix with the residual shorter blue wavelengths of light. 

I come out of my trance as my ears tune to the footsteps of people passing behind me and the conversations they are having between themselves. English, Arabic, Hindi, Tagalog – I am keeping tally of the languages I hear as they come in and out of earshot.

This city which has been my home for the last four years is ever-changing. I’ve moved houses within it four times, friends have moved away, and I have now moved away for university myself.

Only one thing remains unchanged, my corniche walks by the sea – where my worries are momentarily forgotten, and soaked up by the water and blown away by the wind.