It’s quite unconventional for one to start a paper with a question, one that hasn’t been received well by many and is often a topic that stirs prolonging doubts. Raphael Rubinstein, a New York-based poet, art critic, and critical studies professor at the University of Houston, takes it upon himself to tackle the issue full on in his piece “Where Is The Audience for Art Criticism”.
It would take an unfathomable amount of effort to neglect how I’ve guiltlessly taken pieces of your fragmented grounds to construct myself. It would also take an unfathomable amount of effort to turn a blind eye to the defects of those pieces. Most of all, it would take an unfathomable amount of effort not to thank you.
It’s almost always around the same hour, sitting on the same orange wooden stool where I get a good scope of Cherry St., sipping on the same honey matcha drink, that contains not regular milk, but almond milk. It’s right at that bittersweet moment where I think of what could’ve been, and what should’ve been, but didn’t.
One too many delayed flights, emotional breakdowns at the airport, emails to the international student center, but I finally made it to Missouri. Out of all the ways I imagined to be welcomed, dragging myself, and my overweight luggage through 5 inches of snow wasn’t the way I particularly anticipated.
There’s always one particular table you’ll see me in at Grind, and it’s the one that holds the most memories; so here I am on it yet again. Why? Well, it’s the one that sparked conversations, ideas, and emotional trains that went far too quick to process. It’s the one that involved morning coffees, and afternoon banter. It’s the one that involved one Friday afternoon where I met family, not particularly mine, nor yours, or anyone else’s.
I’m quite aware of how far overdue this post is, I was hesitant about writing it, and to be honest I more or less tried to delay working on it. Addressing how this was going to be my closing article to my one month stay at the United Arab Emirates, my emotions were surely heightened (but that’s just me being a drama queen).
They weren’t lying when they said that the city of Dubai has it’s own pace, one that’s unlike any other. You could be living your Italian bella donna dream in a moment, just like Julia Roberts in “Eat, Pray, Love” at an Italian cooking class, and then be spiritually enriched at the Sheikh Zayed Mosque in the next (Yes, I’ve been one to experience these two particular moments).
Setting foot into the ground of this metropolis we know as Dubai, one is often abruptly ushered or more or less forced into its impromptu system. To an outsider or a GCC national that isn’t accustomed to it, it may seem floundering. However, once within the system, it would only seem natural to show cavalier disregard about how life once was, and will perhaps no longer be.
Whether you’re driving back home, chilling by pool, or just sat at a coffee shop killing time, there’s something about the last few hours before the sun sets during summer that feels a bit heartwarming, and simultaneously bittersweet – Call it the 5:00PM shadow cast, the sepia faded tone over your roses colored glasses, or simply, longing.
It differs from one individual to the other, and it may or may not move at the same pace – it means one thing to you, and an abundant to me, be it personal, emotional, mental, or all at once; Growth.