Latest news with #stillness
Al Bawaba
3 days ago
- Al Bawaba
Explore Your Story, Rediscover Your City
In a city built on ambition and awe, it is easy to forget how stillness feels. We rush through weeks, commute along the same roads, pass the same buildings, without noticing how much wonder is quietly waiting for us to look up, to look sometimes, wonder does not come from distance. It comes from Deira and the Gold District, long known for trade, tradition, and the daily rhythm of the city, may not be the first places that come to mind for a break. But that is exactly what makes them perfect for a staycation. They do not promise escape; they offer something gentler: a pause, a shift in perspective, a chance to see the city not as a resident rushing through it, but as a curious the Accor properties across the Dubai Gold District stand ready to welcome guests looking to reconnect with the city in a new way. With rooms starting from AED 130, curated dining experiences from AED 100, and themed nights at Novotel Dubai Gold District from just AED 79, it's the perfect invitation to slow down, settle in, and explore a different side of begins simply. With a check-in, not a departure. A bag packed light, or not at all. A decision to pause without leaving. To see the familiar through unfamiliar inside any one of Accor's thoughtfully placed hotels at Dubai Gold District, Novotel, Mercure, ibis Styles, and the shift is almost immediate. The noise of the city fades into the background. The room greets you like a deep breath. Spacious. Quiet. A world away from everything, yet right where you hotel brings its own Novotel Dubai Gold District, the skyline stretches beyond the windows. There is a stillness on the rooftop, where the Aqua Pool Bar becomes a place to float, both above the city and away from its Dubai Gold District offers an experience steeped in quiet elegance. From its curated interiors to the inviting calm of Metro Café, it is a place where even a mid-morning coffee feels like a ritual. And come evening, the view from Esperia Bistro & Rooftop Lounge is worth lingering over, a spread of Mediterranean dishes paired with golden-hour Styles adds a pop of playfulness. Perfect for travellers who want function without fuss yet still appreciate colour and character. At Table 3, you will find a menu that travels across borders; Asian fusion, Indian classics, Arabic comfort food, all without leaving your is no itinerary here. No pressure to do or see everything. The day unfolds on your terms. It starts with artisan coffee and a quiet journal session at Wynd Café. Or breakfast in bed, curtains still drawn, as the sun seeps softly into the the city begins to call. The Gold Souk, the Spice Souk, Abra rides that glide across the Creek like echoes from another time. Boats hum against water that has witnessed centuries. The scent of spices wafts through the breeze, pulling you forward. The past and present meet in quiet corners and narrow yet, no matter how far you wander, it is comforting to know what is waiting when you unfolds slowly. No rush. At The Spicery, nestled inside Novotel, the view competes with the flavour. Grilled spices, slow-cooked mains, international favourites with bold accents, the kind of dishes that feel comforting, even when they are new. A perfectly lit table, conversation flowing as softly as the music. This is not just a meal. It is a memory being next day unfolds gently, inviting you to slow down and embrace some much-needed wellness. Begin with Novotel Dubai Gold District's newly launched Rooftop Yoga Activity at the rooftop Aqua Pool Bar, held every Sunday, where the sunrise bathes the skyline in soft hues. Or simply start your morning by soaking in the scenic city view and the sunlight warms your soul, brightening your day. Afterwards, head to Farmstead at Mercure Dubai Deira for an organic, garden-fresh breakfast, prepared with ingredients sourced straight from the property's own your day's exploration of the city with a cup of rich, locally roasted, aroma-filled coffee from the souk market, right at the property, then hop on a ride to Deira City Centre or take a spontaneous detour through the vibrant streets of Karama. Each stop offers a new perspective, and every return to the hotel feels like stepping back into late afternoon, you find yourself back at the pool, watching the skyline change colour. The city moves beneath you. You do not have to. From this rooftop perch, everything seems to breathe a little slower. You if the weekend lingers, there is more to discover, the heritage waterfront of Al Seef, the architectural poetry of the Mohammed Bin Rashid Library, the artistic quiet of Jaddaf Waterfront. Places that feel far yet sit just minutes makes a staycation like this special is not what you check off a list. It is what you allow yourself to feel- the calm, the curiosity, the reconnection. Not just with the city, but with start from AED 130. But the value? That is felt in moments, not receipts. In the way you exhale without thinking. In how the city begins to look different. In how you begin to feel a little more like sometimes, the most meaningful journeys do not take you far. They bring you home to your city, your rhythm, your story. This is the magic of a staycation.
UAE Moments
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- UAE Moments
Daily Affirmation for August 12, 2025 to Kickstart Your Vibe
✨ Today's Affirmation: 'I trust the quiet moments — they're shaping something powerful within me.' Vibe Check: You know that weird in-between feeling where nothing's happening, but everything kinda is? Like your life's loading screen is frozen at 99%? That's the vibe. And today's affirmation is here to remind you that the pause isn't empty — it's preparing you. You're not stuck. You're just simmering. Let the stillness do its thing. Why This Works: This affirmation is a reality check for your inner overachiever. In a world obsessed with momentum, stillness can feel like failure — but it's not. It's compost. It's where roots grow deep and ideas take shape before they bloom. When you lean into the quiet, you create space for something more intentional, more you. Your Mini Mission: Light a candle or pour a cup of tea — something slow. Then, write down three things you've learned during a time when it felt like 'nothing' was happening. Spoiler: you were transforming the whole time. Affirmation Vibes Playlist: Songs to vibe with while you chill, reflect, or just stare dramatically out the window: 'Motion Sickness' – Phoebe Bridgers 'Celeste' – Ezra Vine 'August' – Taylor Swift
UAE Moments
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- UAE Moments
Daily Affirmation for July 12, 2025 to Kickstart Your Vibe
✨ Today's Affirmation: 'I trust the quiet moments — they're shaping something powerful within me.' 💫 Vibe Check: You know that weird in-between feeling where nothing's happening, but everything kinda is? Like your life's loading screen is frozen at 99%? That's the vibe. And today's affirmation is here to remind you that the pause isn't empty — it's preparing you. You're not stuck. You're just simmering. Let the stillness do its thing. 🧘♀️ Why This Works: This affirmation is a reality check for your inner overachiever. In a world obsessed with momentum, stillness can feel like failure — but it's not. It's compost. It's where roots grow deep and ideas take shape before they bloom. When you lean into the quiet, you create space for something more intentional, more you. 🌿 Your Mini Mission: Light a candle or pour a cup of tea — something slow. Then, write down three things you've learned during a time when it felt like 'nothing' was happening. Spoiler: you were transforming the whole time. 'Motion Sickness' – Phoebe Bridgers 'Celeste' – Ezra Vine 'August' – Taylor Swift
The Guardian
29-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Notes from a nursing home: ‘We don't speak of sadness here'
I sit in my room in this nursing home near Sydney, a box of four walls that holds all I now call my own. Two suitcases could carry it: a few clothes, some worn books, a scattering of trinkets. The thought strikes me as both stark and oddly freeing. Not long ago my world was vast, a house with rooms I rarely entered, a garden that sprawled beyond need, two cars idling in the driveway, one barely driven. Now it's gone. The house, the cars, the cartons overflowing in the garage, all sold, given away or abandoned. A heart attack and dwindling funds brought me here two and a half years ago. Family ties, thin as they are, keep me from moving anywhere away from here. I don't resent it. I've seen the world, jungles, deserts, cities that glittered under foreign skies. That hunger is sated. This is a different journey, one of stillness, of finding meaning in what remains. The nursing home is no idyll, no glossy promise of golden years. It's a place of routine, of quiet necessity. Mornings begin with carers, gentle, hurried women who tidy my bed, adjust pillows, offer a smile before moving on. Tea and toast settle as I sit by the window. The air carries the clean sting of antiseptic, mingling with the chatter of birds outside. There's peace in these moments, before the home stirs fully awake. The staff do their work well, though they're stretched thin. They check on us, ask after our aches, offer kind words that linger like a faint warmth. Activities fill the day, card games, a singalong. I join when I feel like it, which is less often than I might. The choice is mine, and that's enough. The front doors creak as relatives arrive, their faces a mix of cheer and strain. Some hide tears, we all pretend not to see. We don't speak of sadness here. It's a silent agreement, a way to keep the days bearable. Sign up for a weekly email featuring our best reads The residents are a varied lot. Some are old, their bodies bent by years. Others are younger, broken by minds that betray them. A woman down the hall clutches a photograph, her son a rare visitor, his life too crowded for her. She speaks of him with no anger, only a flat resignation. A man, his eyes dim with addiction's toll, mutters of a sister who never calls. I listen, nod, share a story of my own. We understand each other here, bound by the shared weight of being left behind. This place is a mirror, reflecting a truth we'd rather not face. Families, once close, find it easier to place their own in these clean, quiet rooms. It's not cruelty, not always. Caring for the old, the broken, the lost-it, demands time, patience, a surrender most cannot afford. So they sign papers, appoint guardians and let the system take over. The nursing home becomes a vault, sealing away what disrupts the orderly march of life. Out of sight, out of mind. Yet I wonder if, in the quiet of their nights, those families feel the shadow of what they've set aside. Sign up to Five Great Reads Each week our editors select five of the most interesting, entertaining and thoughtful reads published by Guardian Australia and our international colleagues. Sign up to receive it in your inbox every Saturday morning after newsletter promotion I walk the corridors, dim and smelling of antiseptic and something less tangible – forgotten promises, perhaps. Residents sit, staring at walls or televisions that drone with voices no one heeds. Many wrestle with dementia, their thoughts scattering like ash. Others bear scars of choices or chance, their lives eroded to this point. A few, changed by illness or time, became strangers to those who loved them. To care for such people is hard, unglamorous work. Easier to let them fade into these walls. Yet there's life here too. I find it in small things: a book that holds my attention, sunlight warming my room, a laugh shared over a memory. The community binds us. We talk of old days, of children grown distant, of the world beyond these walls. There's comfort in that, a kind of strength. The local shops are my horizon now but I don't mind. I've seen enough of the world to know its pleasures are fleeting. Here I have my memories, these people, this quiet. The day stretches before me, simple and unhurried, the sun climbing higher, the air still fresh. There's no need to rush, no call to chase what's gone. This is my life now, pared to its bones, and it's enough. The light shifts on the wall, and I breathe it in. It's a good day. Better than most. Andrew McKean is a writer and a resident of an aged care facility in New South Wales, Australia
The Guardian
29-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Notes from a nursing home: ‘We don't speak of sadness here'
I sit in my room in this nursing home near Sydney, a box of four walls that holds all I now call my own. Two suitcases could carry it: a few clothes, some worn books, a scattering of trinkets. The thought strikes me as both stark and oddly freeing. Not long ago my world was vast, a house with rooms I rarely entered, a garden that sprawled beyond need, two cars idling in the driveway, one barely driven. Now it's gone. The house, the cars, the cartons overflowing in the garage, all sold, given away or abandoned. A heart attack and dwindling funds brought me here two and a half years ago. Family ties, thin as they are, keep me from moving anywhere away from here. I don't resent it. I've seen the world, jungles, deserts, cities that glittered under foreign skies. That hunger is sated. This is a different journey, one of stillness, of finding meaning in what remains. The nursing home is no idyll, no glossy promise of golden years. It's a place of routine, of quiet necessity. Mornings begin with carers, gentle, hurried women who tidy my bed, adjust pillows, offer a smile before moving on. Tea and toast settle as I sit by the window. The air carries the clean sting of antiseptic, mingling with the chatter of birds outside. There's peace in these moments, before the home stirs fully awake. The staff do their work well, though they're stretched thin. They check on us, ask after our aches, offer kind words that linger like a faint warmth. Activities fill the day, card games, a singalong. I join when I feel like it, which is less often than I might. The choice is mine, and that's enough. The front doors creak as relatives arrive, their faces a mix of cheer and strain. Some hide tears, we all pretend not to see. We don't speak of sadness here. It's a silent agreement, a way to keep the days bearable. Sign up for a weekly email featuring our best reads The residents are a varied lot. Some are old, their bodies bent by years. Others are younger, broken by minds that betray them. A woman down the hall clutches a photograph, her son a rare visitor, his life too crowded for her. She speaks of him with no anger, only a flat resignation. A man, his eyes dim with addiction's toll, mutters of a sister who never calls. I listen, nod, share a story of my own. We understand each other here, bound by the shared weight of being left behind. This place is a mirror, reflecting a truth we'd rather not face. Families, once close, find it easier to place their own in these clean, quiet rooms. It's not cruelty, not always. Caring for the old, the broken, the lost-it, demands time, patience, a surrender most cannot afford. So they sign papers, appoint guardians and let the system take over. The nursing home becomes a vault, sealing away what disrupts the orderly march of life. Out of sight, out of mind. Yet I wonder if, in the quiet of their nights, those families feel the shadow of what they've set aside. I walk the corridors, dim and smelling of antiseptic and something less tangible – forgotten promises perhaps. Residents sit, staring at walls or televisions that drone with voices no one heeds. Many wrestle with dementia, their thoughts scattering like ash. Others bear scars of choices or chance, their lives eroded to this point. A few, changed by illness or time, became strangers to those who loved them. To care for such people is hard, unglamorous work. Easier to let them fade into these walls. Sign up to Five Great Reads Each week our editors select five of the most interesting, entertaining and thoughtful reads published by Guardian Australia and our international colleagues. Sign up to receive it in your inbox every Saturday morning after newsletter promotion Yet there's life here too. I find it in small things: a book that holds my attention, sunlight warming my room, a laugh shared over a memory. The community binds us. We talk of old days, of children grown distant, of the world beyond these walls. There's comfort in that, a kind of strength. The local shops are my horizon now, but I don't mind. I've seen enough of the world to know its pleasures are fleeting. Here I have my memories, these people, this quiet. The day stretches before me, simple and unhurried, the sun climbing higher, the air still fresh. There's no need to rush, no call to chase what's gone. This is my life now, pared to its bones, and it's enough. The light shifts on the wall, and I breathe it in. It's a good day. Better than most. Andrew McKean is a writer and a resident of an aged care facility in New South Wales, Australia.
