Note From The Founder: The Strange Mathematics of This Week

Something strange happens when the world tilts slightly off its axis: life continues.

Work still runs. WhatsApp messages still arrive about mundane things. The city still functions. Whilst somewhere in the background there is the knowledge that forces far larger than any of us are moving pieces around a board we never agreed to play on.

It produces a very specific kind of rage when you realise that people on the other side of the world - in countries you have nothing to do with - can make decisions that ripple outward with such little regard for human life.

And alongside that rage sits guilt. Because what right do any of us have to feel distressed when others in neighbouring countries are living through destruction that makes our situation look almost peaceful by comparison?

Last night at dinner, someone said something that has lodged itself in my brain. They pointed out that because so many people have temporarily left the city, the reduction in road traffic alone has statistically prevented more deaths this week than have been caused so far by the conflict itself.

What do you even do with a statistic like that?

It’s not meant to trivialise loss. But it exposes something uncomfortable about how life and risk actually function. We live inside probabilities we rarely think about. Every day thousands of small dangers orbit us, traffic, illness, accidents, and we accept them because they are ordinary. But the moment something geopolitical enters the atmosphere, everything becomes morally magnified. 

Which brings me to something else I’ve found unexpectedly difficult to watch over the past few days: the tone deafness.

I want to be clear here - it's not people leaving, that part I understand completely. Everyone’s nervous system responds differently to uncertainty, and stepping away for a few days may be exactly what some people need. We are planning to travel for spring break as originally intended, God willing.

What has felt strange, though, is watching some UAE-based creators leave and immediately flood their feeds with beach clubs and endless reels of holiday life as if nothing else exists. And to be clear, I am not saying don’t travel or don’t enjoy your life. If anything, this week has reminded me how essential it is to find joy in ordinary moments. I’m saying: read the room.

Because many people here cannot leave. Many families are staying, working, parenting, trying to maintain stability while the atmosphere around them shifts. Privilege itself is not the problem. But pretending it isn’t there or broadcasting it loudly while others are still inside the moment, lands differently.

Which leaves people like me sitting in the middle of a strange emotional equation.

On one side there is gratitude. I feel safe here. I feel protected by the systems and people in place, and acutely aware that living under leadership that prioritises safety and stability is a rare privilege. On the other side there is anger - at the scale of geopolitical puppeteering that can destabilise entire regions in hours while most people are simply trying to get through the day.

Another realisation for me this week has been how anchored I have become to this city through my business. When everything first started unfolding, I noticed how quickly some people simply picked up and left. It made me realise that leaving is no longer a simple decision for me. My team is here. Their families are here. More than twenty employees depend on this company continuing to function for their livelihoods.

And that creates its own tension. As a business owner you don’t want to appear tone deaf, pushing sales while the atmosphere around you has shifted. But at the same time, pausing everything doesn’t just pause a brand, it pauses the income of real people whose lives depend on it. Which is how you end up in a place where the city still functions, restaurants still fill, businesses still open their doors, and yet there is an invisible tension humming just beneath the surface of everything.

A city carrying on with its routines while history rearranges itself somewhere beyond the skyline. It’s just another layer of the strange mathematics of a week like this.

I’m just living inside it, like everyone else.

The small moments of this week have meant more than usual. Leaving work early to take my kids to The Lost Chambers aquarium at Atlantis (which by the way is dropping daily free tickets every morning until 22 March - check beforehand what time the mermaid show is). Dinner at the arcade restaurant Wavehouse, which I never knew existed and my kids were obsessed, we had our first family bowling game with a side of pizza. A Natura Tribe class deep in the forest which was just what my soul needed. A children's art therapy and sound healing session hosted for free by a generous teacher in the Marina. Date night at Smoki Moto, quite possibly the best Korean bbq I've tried in the city. And a ludicrous number of brownies baked at home.

When the world feels heavy, those small pockets of joy feel even more essential.

With love,
Roshni