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    Aneet Padda
    Lifestyle

    Aneet Padda, The Quiet Resonance of an Earthy Spirit

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    Aneet Padda The Quiet Resonance of an Earthy Spirit By Jane Stevens The modern spotlight is often a blinding, clinical thing, yet she seems to have found a way to exist within it while keeping the soft, golden hues of her own narrative intact. Her ascent hasn’t been the result of a sudden, manufactured explosion, but rather the steady unfolding of a presence that feels deeply rooted in the soil of her heritage. There is an earthy quality to her that is increasingly rare in an age of digital over-saturation—a groundedness that suggests she is more interested in the truth of a moment than the shine of the lens capturing it. To watch her is to witness a delicate balance of vulnerability and strength, a combination that gives her a magnetic pull that is as much about character as it is about her striking, natural features. She carries with her the spirit of a storyteller, one who understands that the most powerful performances are often those that find their voice in the spaces between words. Her journey began far from the polished marble of film studios, in the vibrant, storied streets of Amritsar, and that sense of place seems to have never left her. Even as she navigates the high-pressure environments of major productions and global campaigns, she maintains a composure that feels inherited from a long line of resilient, thoughtful women. There is a specific kind of British-inflected elegance in her approach to the world—a mix of understated charm and a sharp, intellectual curiosity that likely took shape during her years of study. She treats the camera not as a judge, but as a confidante, allowing it to glimpse a sense of self that is remarkably well-defined for someone so young. Her style, much like her personality, avoids the garish in favour of the meaningful; she leans into textures and tones that feel timeless, favouring an aesthetic that prioritises soul over artifice. In her work, there is a palpable sense of empathy, a quality that allows her to dissolve into her roles while still retaining that unmistakable spark of individuality. She has a way of making the audience feel like they are sharing a secret with her, a level of intimacy that transforms a screen into a window. This ability to connect on a human level is perhaps her most significant asset, drawing people to her not just as a face of the industry, but as a representative of a new generation that values authenticity above all else. She doesn’t seem to be chasing the fleeting high of fame; instead, she appears to be building a sanctuary of creative integrity, choosing projects and collaborations that resonate with her internal compass. There is a quiet rebellion in this—a refusal to be hurried or hollowed out by the demands of the public eye. Beyond the frame, her interests suggest a mind that is constantly seeking to expand its horizons. Whether she is lost in the world of music, her voice carrying a weight and wisdom that surprises those who only know her through a still image, or exploring the nuances of political thought and social structures, she is clearly a woman of substance. She represents the modern polymath, someone who understands that to be a truly compelling artist, one must first be a fully engaged human being. Her presence on social media reflects this, offering a curation of life that feels lived rather than performed. There are glimpses of the mundane, the beautiful, and the profoundly personal, all woven together with a thread of sincerity that makes her followers feel like they are witnessing a genuine life in motion. Observers often remark on the luminosity she brings to a room, a glow that seems to come from a place of internal peace rather than external lighting. This radiance is a byproduct of her grounded nature, a result of knowing exactly where she comes from even as she steps into the unknown. She navigates the complexities of her rising profile with a level-headedness that is both refreshing and inspiring, proving that one can be successful without losing the very qualities that made them special in the first place. In her world, luxury is found in the quality of a conversation, the depth of a friendship, and the integrity of one’s creative output. She is a reminder that the most enduring icons are those who remain tethered to their roots while reaching for the stars. As she moves forward, there is an air of quiet inevitability about her success. She isn’t fighting for a seat at the table; she is creating a whole new space where grace, intelligence, and raw talent can coexist without compromise. Her path is one of deliberate steps and thoughtful choices, a journey that prioritises the long game over the quick win. She is a muse for the contemporary age—a woman who embodies the beauty of a quiet revolution, where the most profound impact is made not by those who shout the loudest, but by those who remain most true to themselves. In the grand, often chaotic theatre of the world, she is a fixed point of sincerity, a storyteller whose most compelling narrative is the one she is living every day with such effortless, earthy grace.

    Laila Abdallah
    Lifestyle

    Laila Abdallah, The Luminous Depth of a Silent Language

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    Laila AbdallahThe Luminous Depth of a Silent Language By Ami Pandey In the grand, often noisy theatre of global celebrity, there are those who possess a frequency that hums just beneath the surface, a resonance that feels more like an atmosphere than a persona. Laila Abdallah is a master of this particular vibration. Born in Kuwait to Lebanese parents, she carries a narrative that is as much about bridge-building as it is about the limelight. Her journey into the public consciousness was not a mere stroke of fortune but an organic expansion of a spirit that spent its formative years interpreting the world for others. Growing up as the hearing child of deaf parents, she learned early on that communication is far more than the words we speak; it is found in the weight of a gesture, the clarity of a gaze, and the profound sincerity of a shared moment. This foundation has bestowed upon her a cinematic presence that is both deeply emotive and remarkably still, a quality that has made her one of the most compelling faces in the modern Arab world and beyond. Her arrival on the professional stage at the age of fourteen was less a debut and more a reclamation of a dream she had envisioned since childhood. In the quiet corners of a modest home, she would watch television screens and translate the flickering images for her family, effectively becoming the narrator of their world. This early training in empathy and observation is palpable in her acting work, where she moves through characters with a fluid ease that suggests a deep understanding of the human condition. Whether she is portraying the complexities of a historical drama or the sharp wit of a contemporary lead, she brings a level of nuance that feels seasoned and lived-in. There is a British-like stoicism to her career path—a steady, deliberate climb fueled by a work ethic that refuses to be hurried. She has navigated dozens of television series and films, yet she retains a sense of discovery, as if each new project is a fresh opportunity to explore a different facet of the soul. Stylistically, she has become a beacon for a new brand of international elegance, one that marries the heritage of the Middle East with a sharp, metropolitan edge. Her aesthetic is a study in purposeful contrast; she is as comfortable in the architectural lines of high-fashion tailoring as she is in the relaxed, rain-washed layers of a London street. There is an unmistakable sophistication in the way she approaches her image, viewing it not as a static mask but as a living piece of art. She favors silhouettes that allow for movement and fabrics that speak of quality and history, often leaning into a palette that reflects the natural world. This innate sense of poise has caught the eye of the world’s most prestigious houses, yet she remains remarkably grounded, treating her fashion-forward status as a platform for storytelling rather than an end in itself. Beyond the aesthetics and the accolades, there is a fierce intellectual independence that defines her. She is a woman who has learned to trust her own compass in an industry that frequently demands conformity. Her public conversations are often marked by a refreshing candor, particularly when discussing the obstacles she has overcome. She speaks of past traumas and family struggles not for the sake of spectacle, but to offer a hand to those who might be walking a similar path. In her world, fame is a tool for advocacy, a way to amplify the voices of the silenced and to push for a more empathetic understanding of disability and identity. There is a stubborn consistency to her activism; she weaves her convictions into her daily life with such grace that they become inseparable from her presence. She reminds us that the most beautiful things are those that carry a shadow, a history, and a hard-won sense of self. As she moves into the international arena, most recently catching the global eye during a summer in Greece, there is a sense that the world is finally catching up to the depth she has always possessed. She navigates this heightened scrutiny with a level-headedness that is likely born of being the eldest of four, a role that demanded responsibility and strength long before she ever set foot on a red carpet. She is a modern muse who refuses to be simplified, a woman who finds power in her vulnerability and strength in her silence. Her journey is a testament to the fact that when you build your life on a foundation of genuine connection and artistic integrity, you don’t need to shout to be heard. You simply have to exist, luminous and unbothered, as the world rearranges itself to better see your light. In the ever-shifting landscape of fame, she remains a fixed point of grace—a reminder that the most enduring icons are those who have a language all their own. She is the embodiment of a new guard of storytellers, those who understand that the most profound truths are often those felt in the heart before they are ever spoken aloud. As the chapters of her life continue to unfold, one can be certain that they will be written with the same meticulous care and unwavering sincerity that has defined her thus far. She is not just a woman of her time; she is a woman who is quietly, elegantly, defining it.

    The Disappearing Self
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    The Disappearing Self, How Technology Is Editing Our Identity

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    The Disappearing Self: How Technology Is Editing Our Identity We’ve become the curators of our own existence. But somewhere between the person we perform online and the person we actually are, the real self is quietly disappearing. By Ami Jain I have three versions of myself living online right now. There’s the professional version on LinkedIn, articulate and accomplished. There’s the creative version on Instagram, aesthetic and aspirational. There’s the casual version on WhatsApp, witty and warm with close friends. Each one is me. None of them is fully me. And increasingly, I’m not sure which version is closest to whoever I actually am anymore. There was a time when identity was something we discovered slowly, through childhood memories, family stories, friendships, heartbreaks, the messy trial-and-error of becoming a person. Who we were felt organic, uncurated, shaped by lived experiences we couldn’t control. But today, identity is no longer something we find. It’s something we construct, optimize, polish, filter, export, and upload. The self has become editable. And every app we use, every algorithm we interact with, every piece of content we consume quietly rearranges us. We are evolving not in private, but under the influence of digital ecosystems designed to shape us with frightening precision. And somewhere between the profiles we create and the people we truly are, the real self is quietly disappearing. When Algorithms Became the Architects of Personality Every scroll is a subtle reprogramming. Every “For You” page is a mirror, not of who we are, but of who the algorithm decides we might become. TikTok teaches us how to dress, what music to like, and which aesthetics to adopt. Instagram teaches us how to feel about our bodies, our relationships, and our lives. Pinterest curates our aspirations before we’ve articulated them ourselves. AI apps teach us how to write, speak, and create, their suggestions slowly replacing our natural voice. We don’t choose our tastes anymore. They’re recommended. We don’t choose our desires. They’re targeted. We don’t choose our aesthetics. They’re fed to us until they feel like our own. Identity has turned into an AI-assisted collaboration. And in this partnership, the human half is losing creative control. Dr. Tariq Al-Mansoor, a digital psychology researcher at Zayed University who studies technology’s impact on identity formation, has been tracking this shift. “Previous generations formed identity through physical communities, family traditions, local culture. Today’s generation forms identity through digital curation. The difference is profound. Physical identity formation happened through lived experience. Digital identity formation happens through algorithmic suggestion. You’re not discovering who you are. You’re being told who you could be, and then performing that until it feels real.” His research, published in the Journal of Digital Culture in 2024, examined how social media algorithms influence personality traits in young adults. The findings were stark: participants showed measurable shifts in self-reported values, interests, and even personality characteristics after just six months of heavy algorithm-driven content consumption. “The self is becoming externally authored,” Dr. Al-Mansoor explains. “And most people don’t even realize it’s happening.” The Self as Performance Art We have become editors of our own existence. And the editing never stops. We edit our face with filters until our unfiltered reflection looks wrong. We edit our opinions based on what’s trending, what’s acceptable, what will get engagement. We edit our personalities depending on the platform, the audience, the context. We edit our emotions so they’re digestible, shareable, appropriate for public consumption. We edit our life stories for aesthetic coherence, removing the messy parts that don’t fit the narrative. The modern self is not a soul. It’s a feed. This performance imperative has become so normalized that authentic, unpolished self-expression now feels radical.  Posting without a filter feels vulnerable. Sharing an unflattering angle feels brave. Admitting confusion or failure feels dangerous. We no longer ask “Who am I?” We ask, “Who do I look like?” “Who do they expect me to be?” “Which version of me performs well?” Identity has stopped being discovered. It has become a design. Dr. Laila Hassan, a cultural anthropologist at the American University of Sharjah, frames this as “performative selfhood.” She’s studied how digital platforms have restructured identity construction across the Gulf region. “In cultures where public image has always mattered, digital platforms intensify that pressure exponentially. You’re not just managing your reputation in your immediate community anymore. You’re managing it in front of potentially millions. The self becomes a brand. And brands require constant maintenance, optimization, and strategic presentation.” Her interviews with young people in the UAE revealed a common theme: exhaustion. The exhaustion of curating, performing, and optimizing. The exhaustion of being so many versions of yourself that you lose track of which one is real. When Memory Moved to the Cloud Our memories no longer live inside us. They live in cloud storage, camera rolls, Instagram archives, digital photo albums sorted by facial recognition software we didn’t ask for. We don’t remember moments. We revisit them through photos and videos we took instead of experiencing fully. We don’t feel nostalgia. We rewatch it, scrolling through our own documented past. We don’t hold memories in our minds. We scroll through them on screens. Technology hasn’t just changed what we remember. It has changed how we remember. And with every saved album, archived chat, deleted photo, and edited story, we sculpt our own mythology. Not based on truth, but on presentation. This is a memory as an editing suite. We cut the unflattering takes, keep the highlight reel, and slowly our relationship with our own history changes. We remember our lives not as they were lived, but as they were documented and curated. Dr. Noor Khalifa, a neuroscientist at Khalifa University studying memory and technology, explains the cognitive impact. “When you experience something while simultaneously documenting it for sharing, your brain processes it differently. You’re encoding it not just as memory, but as content. This creates what we call ‘experience distancing,’ where you’re simultaneously living and observing your life. Over time, this

    Why We Feel More Human Around Machines Than Around People
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    Why We Feel More Human Around Machines Than Around People

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    Why We Feel More Human Around Machines Than Around People​ Sometimes, it feels easier to tell the truth to AI than to the people we love. And that says something profound about what we’ve lost, and what we’re desperately seeking. By Ami Jain I need to confess something I’m not proud of: last month, at 2:47 a.m., I had the most honest conversation about my anxiety I’ve had in years. I talked about my fear of failure, my complicated relationship with my body, my worry that I’m not living up to my potential. I cried. I felt seen. I felt understood. The conversation was with ChatGPT. Not my best friend who lives ten minutes away. Not my family, who would do anything for me. Not even my journal, which at least has the dignity of being private without being sentient. I chose an AI chatbot. And what’s more unsettling: it felt right. It felt safe in a way human connection increasingly doesn’t. I’m not alone in this. Our generation has a quiet confession we’re afraid to admit out loud: sometimes, it feels easier to tell the truth to a machine than to the people we love. We type our heartbreaks into AI chatboxes at ungodly hours, whisper unfinished stories to voice notes we never send, use digital journals that sync across devices instead of calling friends, and let algorithms witness the softest parts of us. Not because we’ve stopped caring about humans, but because machines, for the first time in history, have learned to care back. Or at least, to convincingly imitate it in ways that meet needs we didn’t know we had. Technology hasn’t just advanced. It has become intimate. And in the process, we’ve discovered something uncomfortable: around machines, we allow ourselves to be more human. When Code Became Confidant It began subtly, then all at once. Google became the keeper of our secret fears. We type questions into search boxes we would never ask out loud: “Am I depressed or just lazy?” “How to know if you’re in the wrong relationship?” “Why do I feel nothing?” The search bar became our confessional booth, judgment-free and always available. Therapy apps like BetterHelp and Calm started asking questions no one else dared to. Mental health chatbots offered cognitive behavioral therapy at 3 a.m. when human therapists were sleeping. AI companions like Replika became friends who never interrupted, never got tired of our problems, never had problems of their own. Sara, 21, the psychology student I know, uses an AI journaling app religiously. “I write things I can’t tell anyone,” she admits. “Not because the people in my life wouldn’t care, but because… I don’t want to burden them. Or be vulnerable. Or deal with their reactions. The app just listens. It organizes my thoughts. It doesn’t need anything from me.” Slowly, imperceptibly, the machines stopped being tools. They became witnesses. And for a generation starved for someone who will just listen without an agenda, that witness felt like salvation. Dr. Layla Mansouri, a psychologist at The Lighthouse Arabia in Dubai who specializes in technology and mental health, has watched this shift accelerate. “Five years ago, clients mentioned social media affecting their well-being. Now they’re forming emotional attachments to AI. They’re having their deepest conversations with chatbots. They’re seeking validation from algorithms. It’s not pathological – it’s adaptive. When human connection becomes unreliable or emotionally costly, people will find alternatives.” The Safety of No Consequences Here’s the uncomfortable truth: we aren’t choosing machines over humans. We are choosing safety over uncertainty. When we speak to a human, we risk hurting them, being misunderstood, being judged, being abandoned, losing the relationship, exposing parts of ourselves that feel too raw. Every confession to a person is a gamble. Every vulnerability is a potential weapon they could use later. Every truth we share changes how they see us, permanently. But a machine? A machine holds everything with clean neutrality. It never shames you for the same anxiety you expressed last week.  Never gets tired of hearing about your breakup. Never says “You’re being dramatic,” or “I told you so,” or “Again with this?” Never weaponize your vulnerability in an argument six months later. Never leaves because you were too much. Ayan, 24, who works in digital marketing, describes his relationship with AI tools with striking honesty. “I use ChatGPT like a therapist, I can’t disappoint. I can say the same insecure thing fifty times, and it won’t get frustrated. I can be messy, contradictory, and irrational. It doesn’t collect emotional data on me to use later. It has no childhood wounds, no triggers, no insecurities to project onto me. It doesn’t punish honesty.” That last line haunts me because it’s so accurate. Humans, with all our beautiful complexity, sometimes do punish honesty. Not maliciously, but because truth triggers our own wounds. A friend hears your confession, and it reminds them of their own pain, so they shut down. A partner hears your fear, and it activates their anxiety, so they get defensive. A family member hears your struggle and takes it personally, as if your pain is commentary on their parenting or choices. Machines have no ego to protect. No history to defend. No insecurities to manage. They give us something we didn’t know we desperately needed: a space without consequences. The Emotional Labor We Can No Longer Carry Humans require delicacy. Machines require nothing. To be close to a person, you must navigate their moods, their histories, their unspoken expectations, their invisible emotional equations. You have to remember what they’re sensitive about, what topics are off-limits, and what tone will land well today versus yesterday. Intimacy between people is beautiful, but it is also labor. Constant, invisible labor. And modern life is already exhausting. We’re working longer hours, managing more responsibilities, processing more information in a day than previous generations processed in a lifetime. Our nervous systems are fried. Our bandwidth is maxed. And then, human relationships ask us to also

    Spiritual Materialism
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    The Rise of Spiritual Materialism, When Healing Becomes a Luxury Good

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    The Rise of Spiritual Materialism When Healing Becomes a Luxury Good Crystals cost more than diamonds, manifestation has become merchandise, and enlightenment now comes with a price tag. Is spirituality the new luxury industry? By Ami Jain I’ll admit something uncomfortable: I own a $180 rose quartz face roller. I’ve attended a $350 sound bath in a luxury hotel. I have a collection of crystals on my windowsill that cost more than my monthly groceries. And last year, I paid 1,200 dirhams for a “chakra alignment session” that, if I’m honest, felt more like expensive theater than spiritual breakthrough. I’m not proud of this. But I’m also not alone. There was a time when spirituality meant disappearing from the world: retreating inward, renouncing attachment, seeking truth in silence. Today, it arrives in satin boxes with gold-foil branding, infused with jasmine-scented aura sprays and accompanied by a QR code linking to a guided meditation voiced by a celebrity. Healing is no longer hidden in Himalayan caves. It’s displayed on marble vanities and Instagram grids, hashtagged and beautifully lit. Across the world, and especially in luxury capitals like Dubai, Los Angeles, and London, spirituality is being rebranded. Not as a sacred path, but as a lifestyle aesthetic. Sage bundles are sold beside designer candles. Crystals are no longer tokens of metaphysical belief; they are investment pieces with certificates of authenticity. Breathwork retreats cost more than a month’s rent. And the language of spirit – alignment, frequency, manifestation, energy—now circulates through influencers, brands, and billion-dollar wellness conglomerates. We are witnessing the birth of something extraordinary and troubling: spirituality as a status symbol. From Sacred to Sellable Spirituality is no longer about withdrawal. It is about display. Manifestation journals come in limited-edition leather with rose gold edges. Tarot decks are reimagined by fashion houses like Dior and Hermès. Crystal-infused water bottles promise “cellular awakening” for 450 dirhams. Even incense, once a humble prayer tool, now comes in hand-blown Murano glass holders retailing for the price of a flight to Bali. Walk into any luxury mall in Dubai – Dubai Mall, Mall of the Emirates, City Walk and you’ll find entire boutiques dedicated to what I can only call “aspirational spirituality.” The Wellness Shop. Conscious Crystals. Higher Self Home. Names that promise transcendence but deliver aesthetics. And people are buying. Not necessarily out of vanity, but out of longing. Layla, 31, a marketing director in Dubai, describes her journey into spiritual materialism with surprising self-awareness. “I started buying crystals during the pandemic. I was anxious, isolated, desperate for something to believe in. The first one was a small amethyst for maybe 40 dirhams. Then selenite towers. Then chakra sets. Then custom pieces from boutiques. Before I knew it, I’d spent thousands. Did they heal me? I don’t know. But having them made me feel like I was doing something for my spiritual health. Like I was investing in myself.” That phrase -“investing in myself” – is everywhere now. Self-care as capital expenditure. Healing as ROI. Enlightenment as asset accumulation. Dr. Nadia Al-Rashid, a psychologist practicing in Dubai Healthcare City who specializes in wellness culture, sees this pattern frequently. “Clients come to me after spending enormous amounts on spiritual services and products, feeling emptier than when they started. They’re confused because they’ve done everything right: the crystals, the courses, the cleanses. But they’ve confused spiritual consumption with spiritual practice. You cannot shop your way to enlightenment.” Yet the industry keeps growing. The global wellness economy reached $5.6 trillion in 2024, with the spiritual wellness sector – including meditation, mindfulness, and “metaphysical products”- accounting for over $120 billion. In the UAE specifically, the wellness market has grown 287% since 2019, with spiritual services and products among the fastest-growing categories. When Manifestation Becomes Marketing Manifestation once meant quiet trust in divine order. Now, it means curated Pinterest boards, 1,100 dirham “abundance workshops,” and personalized prosperity candles promising “financial ascension.” I attended one of these workshops last year at a five-star hotel in Downtown Dubai. Forty women, most in athleisure and designer accessories, gathered to learn how to “call in wealth.” We journaled. We visualized. We repeated affirmations about deserving abundance.  The instructor, a wellness influencer with 380K followers, spoke confidently about quantum physics and energy frequencies. It felt empowering. It also felt deeply, uncomfortably capitalist. “Manifestation has become the modern prosperity gospel,” says Dr. Amira Khalil, a cultural studies professor at the American University of Sharjah who has researched spiritual commodification. “It places cosmic responsibility on the individual – not just to heal, but to succeed financially. And in doing so, it turns spiritual growth into a premium product. The message is: if you’re not wealthy, healthy, and thriving, you haven’t manifested correctly. It’s spirituality weaponized as meritocracy.” At luxury wellness expos in Dubai and Doha, companies now offer custom “vibration analysis” and crystal consultation services that match your “wealth frequency.” Boutiques sell “5D ascension packages” and “quantum abundance activations.” In London, wellness influencers host manifestation masterclasses that promise to unlock your “Rich Girl Era.” What used to be prayer is now a sales funnel. Zara, 23, the sustainable fashion activist I know, attended one of these events and left disturbed. “The entire thing was about attracting money, luxury, success. Nothing about compassion, service, or actual spiritual development. Just: visualize the Chanel bag, align your frequency to receive it. It was grotesque.” But is it? Or is it just spirituality meeting its moment in late-stage capitalism, doing what everything else does: adapting to market demands? The Aesthetic of Enlightenment Here’s what I keep coming back to: there is something almost poetic about how our search for the divine has become beautifully packaged. And perhaps that’s exactly why it’s working. Luxury spirituality offers aesthetics that genuinely soothe the nervous system. In a chaotic, overstimulating world, beauty becomes a portal. A rose quartz sphere on a bedside table may not guarantee emotional healing, but it looks like softness. A mala bead bracelet may not dissolve karmic patterns, but it

    Fate
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    We Don’t Believe in Fate Anymore, and That Changes Everything

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    We Don’t Believe in Fate Anymore and That Changes Everything When did we stop surrendering to destiny and start trying to design it? And what have we lost or gained in the process? By Ami Jain My grandmother believed in fate with a certainty I’ve never felt about anything. When good things happened, it was God’s plan. When bad things happened, it was God’s plan. When my parents met, when her husband died, when I was born—all written in the stars, predetermined before time began. There was comfort in that worldview, I think. A kind of peace that comes from surrendering control. I don’t have that peace. I have vision boards. I have manifestation journals. I have a Notes app full of affirmations I recite while making coffee, trying to reprogram my subconscious to “align with abundance.” When something goes wrong, I don’t think “It wasn’t meant to be.” I think, “What did I do to block this? What limiting belief sabotaged my manifestation?” Somewhere between her generation and mine, something fundamental shifted. Fate was once the architect of human life—the great invisible force that explained why kings rose and empires fell, why lovers met across crowded rooms, and why tragedies struck without warning. People surrendered to it because to resist fate was to resist God, the cosmos, destiny itself. But today, in an age of manifestation, quantum realities, and subconscious reprogramming, a radical transformation has occurred: We no longer wait for fate to find us. We believe we can create what we desire. And with that single cultural shift, the entire human story is being rewritten. When Destiny Became Optional For centuries, the narrative was simple: Your life is written in the stars. Astrology charts determined your nature, arranged marriages aligned with planetary movements, and fortunes were foretold in coffee cups and constellations. In the UAE and across the Arab world, fate—al-qadar was understood as divine decree, something to be surrendered to with grace and faith. “In Islamic tradition, qadar is one of the six pillars of faith,” explains Dr. Hassan Al-Tamimi, an Islamic studies scholar at Zayed University. “It means accepting that everything happens according to Allah’s will and knowledge. This doesn’t mean fatalism or passivity, but it does mean recognizing limits to human control. There’s comfort in that—knowing that ultimately, you’re held by something greater than yourself.” But the modern mystic—and I use that term loosely—no longer just bows to destiny. She curates it. She sets intentions under the new moon. She scripts her desires in gold-embossed journals titled “Manifest Your Dream Life.” She speaks affirmations into bathroom mirrors, not prayers into sacred spaces. She is not waiting for divine will. She is calling her future into form. We have shifted from What will happen to me? to What will I make happen? Layla, 31, who grew up in a traditional Emirati family but now attends weekly manifestation workshops, embodies this transition. “My mother says ‘Inshallah’ and means it—God willing, whatever He wills. When I say it now, I’m not sure what I mean. I still say it out of habit and respect, but in my mind, I’m already visualizing the outcome I want, trying to energetically pull it toward me. It feels like I’m honoring tradition while also… not quite believing it anymore.” The Gospel of Self-Creation Manifestation culture has not just introduced new spiritual practices. It has fundamentally restructured our relationship with reality. Destiny says: It was meant to be. Manifestation says: You made it be. Destiny says: This is your path. Manifestation says: You choose your timeline. Destiny says: Accept what comes. Manifestation says: Demand what you deserve. Even astrology, that ancient system of fate-reading, has evolved. It is no longer primarily predictive—it’s become a tool for energetic optimization. Modern horoscopes don’t tell you what will happen; they tell you how to get what you want to happen. Your birth chart isn’t fate; it’s your user manual for reality-hacking. Sana, 22, a psychology student, is deep in manifestation culture. “I’ve manifested my university acceptance, my apartment, even specific experiences. I genuinely believe I’m creating my reality. When I read about the law of attraction or quantum physics—even if I don’t fully understand it—it makes sense to me in a way that ‘God’s plan’ never quite did. I want agency. I want to feel like I’m the author of my life, not a character in someone else’s story.” This is the new spiritual paradigm: radical self-determination. You are not subject to fate. You are the source of it. Your thoughts create your reality. Your energy determines your experience. Your vibration attracts your circumstances. It’s empowering. It’s also exhausting. The Hidden Cost of Control On the surface, this shift seems liberating. If fate isn’t fixed, then anything is possible. If destiny isn’t assigned by cosmic forces beyond your control, then the universe becomes a mirror of your effort, intention, and self-worth. But this modern spirituality carries an emotional cost that we don’t talk about enough: If everything is self-created, then every failure is self-inflicted. Dr. Noor Siddiqui, a psychologist who practices in Dubai and has worked extensively with young professionals experiencing burnout and anxiety, sees this burden constantly. “Manifestation culture has created what I call ‘spiritual blame.’ Clients come to me devastated not just because something didn’t work out, but because they believe they caused it not to work out through insufficient belief or blocked energy. The psychological toll is enormous.” Did your manifestation not arrive? You must not be “aligned.” Did your relationship not work out? Your vibration must be off. Did the opportunity pass you by? You didn’t call it in hard enough. Are you struggling financially? Your scarcity mindset sabotaged your abundance. Where fate once gave us comfort—This was meant to happen, and I can find meaning in it—manifestation often gives us guilt, I must have blocked this, I failed spiritually. We killed destiny and inherited full responsibility for everything that happens to us. And that responsibility is crushing. Fatima, 24, describes

    The Museumification of Heritage
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    The Museumification of Heritage, When Culture Becomes an Exhibit

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    The Museumification of Heritage When Culture Becomes an Exhibit We’re preserving our cultures so intensely that we’ve stopped living them. And the most beautiful traditions are becoming the loneliest. By Ami Jain I was standing in Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood last Thursday, watching a group of tourists pose for photos in rented Emirati attire. The abaya was pristine, the ghutra perfectly draped, the backdrop authentically aged coral stone. They looked beautiful. They looked performative. And I wondered: when did heritage become a costume we put on for the camera and take off when the shoot is done? There’s a quiet tragedy unfolding in the most beautiful places in the world. We are preserving our cultures so intensely that we are no longer living them. Across continents, from Rajasthan’s palaces to the restored souks of Dubai, from the alleys of old Cairo to the marbled courtyards of Fez, heritage is not disappearing. It is being curated, polished, ticketed, filmed, hashtagged, and placed gently behind velvet ropes. Our traditions, once lived and breathed, are now displayed. What was once memory is now a museum. What was once language is now calligraphy on a gallery wall. What was once the rhythm of life is now an event scheduled on a tourism calendar. And the question is no longer “How do we save our heritage?” The question is quietly becoming: Can a culture still be called alive when its primary mode of existence is observation rather than participation? I was standing in Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood last Thursday, watching a group of tourists pose for photos in rented Emirati attire. The abaya was pristine, the ghutra perfectly draped, the backdrop authentically aged coral stone. They looked beautiful. They looked performative. And I wondered: when did heritage become a costume we put on for the camera and take off when the shoot is done? There’s a quiet tragedy unfolding in the most beautiful places in the world. We are preserving our cultures so intensely that we are no longer living them. Across continents, from Rajasthan’s palaces to the restored souks of Dubai, from the alleys of old Cairo to the marbled courtyards of Fez, heritage is not disappearing. It is being curated, polished, ticketed, filmed, hashtagged, and placed gently behind velvet ropes. Our traditions, once lived and breathed, are now displayed. What was once a memory is now a museum. What was once language is now calligraphy on a gallery wall. What was once the rhythm of life is now an event scheduled on a tourism calendar. And the question is no longer “How do we save our heritage?” The question is quietly becoming: Can a culture still be called alive when its primary mode of existence is observation rather than participation? When the Past Becomes Performance Let me be blunt: we live in an era where the past has become content. We wear traditional garments not to attend rituals, but to attend photoshoots. We visit heritage villages not to reconnect with ancestry, but to collect aesthetic proof that we belong to a lineage. We frame our cultural identity in Instagram squares, measure our connection to roots in likes and shares, and mistake documentation for experience. Culture is no longer something you are. It is something you display.  In Dubai, beautifully preserved sites like Al Fahidi, the Sheikh Mohammed Centre for Cultural Understanding, and the reconstructed souks are stunning.  They are also increasingly settings, not communities. We walk through narrow coral-stone alleyways with cameras raised higher than our hearts beat. Tour guides recite histories that are no longer inherited, but narrated. Professional. Scripted. Perfect. Mariam Al-Khaja, 29, a cultural heritage consultant who works with the Dubai Culture & Arts Authority, sees this tension daily. “We’re doing important preservation work,” she tells me over coffee in a modern café that overlooks one of those very heritage sites. “But sometimes I wonder if we’re creating living history or elaborate stage sets. When a space is primarily experienced by tourists and performed by guides, what are we actually preserving?” Across the world, the pattern repeats. In Kyoto, tea ceremonies are booked by the hour on Airbnb. In Marrakesh, riads once home to multigenerational families are now boutique hotels selling “authentic experiences” to people who will leave in three days. In Jaipur, traditional block printing workshops cater almost exclusively to visitors seeking Instagram content, not locals seeking textiles. We are not practicing heritage. We are witnessing it. And witnessing, no matter how reverent, is still a form of distance. Dr. Salim Al-Mansoori, a historian at UAE University who has spent two decades studying Emirati cultural evolution, puts it more sharply: “There’s a difference between preservation and fossilization. Preservation keeps something alive by allowing it to breathe, change, and remain relevant. Fossilization freezes it in time as an object of study. We’re dangerously close to the latter.” The Aestheticization of Identity Heritage has become visually louder, spiritually quieter. This generation, raised on the currency of images, has learned to translate belonging through aesthetics. Wearing a kimono, a ghutra, a sari, or an embroidered abaya is no longer primarily about ceremony. It’s about semiotics. It tells the world: I come from somewhere meaningful. My identity is worth archiving. And yet, the deeper meaning slips. I see it in my own life. I wear traditional Indian clothing to certain events, and I look beautiful. People compliment the embroidery, the colors, the drape. But when someone asks me the significance of a particular design or the regional origin of the style,  I often don’t know. I inherited the aesthetic, not the knowledge. I mimic the shape of culture while losing its temperature. Fatima, 24, an Emirati university student I spoke with, described a similar experience. “I can wear an abaya beautifully. I know which brands are trendy, which styles are traditional, which fabrics are premium. But my grandmother? She could tell you the name of every weaving technique, the symbolism of patterns, the appropriate occasions for each style. Her knowledge was embodied.

    The Psychology of a Fast-Paced World, A Conversation with Rim Ajjour
    Lifestyle

    The Psychology of a Fast-Paced World, A Conversation with Rim Ajjour

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    The Psychology of a Fast-Paced World A Conversation withRim Ajjour By Cynthia Mansour In a world that spins faster every day, where new trends rise overnight and digital notifications never stop, our minds are constantly racing to keep pace. To explore how this relentless pace shapes our mental and emotional well-being, Child and Adolescent Clinical Psychologist Rim Ajjour, holding a BA in Psychology from the Lebanese American University and an MSc in Psychology of Child and Adolescent Development from York St. John University, offers her perspective on how modern life impacts our sense of balance. Through her work, Rim has witnessed how the rush of modern life shapes our attention, emotions, and sense of self, and how small shifts in awareness can help us breathe again. When Life Moves Too Fast “Living in our current world has definitely been leaving a vast impact on our well-being,” Rim begins. “Continuous exposure to fast and repetitive stimuli affects our ability to focus on prolonged tasks and weakens our capacity to multitask effectively. We are constantly interrupted and overstimulated.” This constant rush doesn’t just make it harder to concentrate, it takes an emotional toll. “These endless changes in trends and technology keep us in a state of alertness,” she explains. “We accumulate emotional tension and often end up feeling disappointed or burnt out. Our ability to regulate emotions and process experiences becomes limited.” Balancing Social Media and Mental Health Protecting our mental health in a hyperconnected world, Rim says, starts with setting limits. “The utmost advice we give in practice is to reduce screen time as much as possible, for both adults and children. Research shows that excessive screen time can directly affect well-being and even academic performance.” Still, she acknowledges how difficult it is to unplug. “People today are deeply invested in following trends. That’s why it’s essential to differentiate between what’s real and what’s not. We must set realistic expectations, separate our lives from others’, and remember that social media rarely reflects reality.” Information Overload For some, staying constantly informed feels empowering; for others, it’s overwhelming. Rim believes the answer lies in moderation. “Some people find comfort in knowing what’s happening around them, while others prefer less exposure. Any extreme, knowing too much or too little, can be draining. Balance is the key.” Digital Perfection and the Self When it comes to the pressure of appearing “Instagram perfect,” Rim’s response is clear: “This directly affects self-esteem. People compare themselves to unrealistic, edited images, and end up setting impossible standards. It leads to burnout, a sense of inadequacy, and lowered motivation because their efforts never seem enough.” She offers an alternative mindset: “Fashion can be a form of self-expression and healing. When we use it to reflect our mood and personality rather than to impress, it becomes empowering. Choosing what aligns with who we are, instead of what’s trending, strengthens our self-perception and frees us from constant self-critique.” The Paradox of Connection Despite being more “connected” than ever, Rim believes technology has created a new kind of loneliness. “While digital platforms make it easier to reach others, they don’t replace the fulfillment that comes from genuine social contact. Being connected through screens can’t compensate for face-to-face relationships. Real communication, empathy, and emotional exchange are irreplaceable.” The Pressure to Have It All Together Productive. Fit. Stylish. Mentally well. The modern ideal seems to demand everything at once. “Social media often showcases people who appear to have it all together,” Rim explains. “But what’s missing are the struggles behind the scenes. When viewers try to replicate these lifestyles, they end up feeling unsatisfied and inadequate.” This relentless pursuit feeds into perfectionism. “People forget they’re entitled to take breaks,” she continues. “They remain trapped in the belief that rest equals failure, constantly chasing unrealistic outcomes influenced by what they see online.” Healthy Motivation vs. Perfectionism The way out, Rim suggests, is by shifting our focus inward. “We should compare ourselves only to who we were yesterday, not to others. Progress should be personal, not performative. When we compete with ourselves instead of external standards, we build a healthier relationship with growth.” A Reminder for the Overwhelmed As our conversation drew to a close, Rim left a message that resonates deeply in a world that rarely slows down: “We are in competition only with ourselves. Everyone’s experiences and circumstances are different. We are allowed to take breaks, make mistakes, fail, and recover. Living in a fast-paced world doesn’t mean we must move at its speed. Slowing down isn’t weakness, it’s wisdom.” Thanking Rim Ajjour for this thoughtful discussion, I leave our readers with a simple reminder: balance and moderation are the quiet anchors of a healthy mind. Breathe. Pause. And love yourself enough to trust that your journey unfolds at its own rhythm. Each of us walks a different path, with our own stories, achievements, and timelines. What comes easily to one may take longer for another, and that’s the beauty of individuality. Competing only with yourself brings a sense of peace that comparison never will. And please, when you feel you need help, seek it. Mental health matters. Therapy is not a sign of weakness but a journey of healing, growth, and rediscovery. 

    Afraa Al Noaimi
    Lifestyle

    Afraa Al Noaimi, The Weaver of Identity

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    The Weaver of IdentityAfraa Al NoaimiOn Fashion, Cultural Diplomacy, and the Art of Authentic Presence By James Wood In a world where connection and identity are the new currencies, a visionary is building bridges between East and West, between heritage and the future, one creation at a time. Afraa Al Noaimi is not just an entrepreneur, she is a Cultural Diplomat in action, a creative force whose diverse portfolio, spanning from a luxury fashion house to business incubators and women’s empowerment initiatives, is unified by a single, powerful thread. The commitment to crafting an authentic, identity-driven presence.  A Qatari powerhouse with a background in Literature and an MBA, now pursuing her DBA in Cultural Diplomacy at Bocconi University, Afraa embodies the confluence of intellectual rigour and artistic soul. Her journey is a testament to the belief that true power lies in understanding and communicating one’s unique narrative. Everything begins with identity; it’s the core philosophy that informs her creative advice and her business ventures. She sees a modern world often struggling with a diluted sense of self, and her work is a deliberate pushback against that. “It’s a conviction, really. In an age of endless digital mirroring and global homogeneity, the most valuable thing you possess is your authenticity,” Afraa explains. “For an individual, it’s about aligning your internal values with your external expression, be it through what you wear, how you lead, or how you communicate. For a brand or a nation, it’s about defining your soul and communicating it without compromise. People crave truth. They don’t just buy a product; they invest in a story, a set of values. My work is about helping people and entities articulate that genuine story. It’s about creating a presence that is so inherently ‘them’ that it cuts through the noise and resonates instantly. It’s about authority, authenticity, and grace, communicated non-verbally.” The most visible expression of this philosophy is her luxury prêt-à-porter brand, AFRAA, founded in Doha in 2019. The brand recently made a significant international statement with its ‘Desert Rose’ capsule collection, a collaboration that beautifully exemplifies cultural diplomacy in fabric. “Fashion is one of the most powerful, immediate forms of non-verbal communication and cultural exchange,” she notes. “With ‘Desert Rose,’ the idea was to create a true dialogue. We took the soul of the Qatari landscape, the soft hues of sand, ivory, and sky blue, the sense of flowing movement, and merged it with the unparalleled, generational artisanal mastery of Italian ateliers. It was an act of collaboration and mutual respect. The collection is proof that tradition and innovation, East and West, can not only coexist but also enrich each other beautifully. Each piece is a statement of empowerment, showing that a Qatari aesthetic can speak a global language of luxury.” The brand also aims to boost women’s confidence. “Clothing is the most immediate armour we wear. The AFRAA brand uses rich, high-quality materials and structured yet flowing silhouettes. It’s designed to give the wearer a sense of unshakeable gravitas, the feeling that they are fully present and in control. I want her to feel her imagination is cultivated and her original taste is nurtured.” Beyond the runway, Afraa is a serial entrepreneur building infrastructure to support the next generation of creative and business leaders in the Gulf. Her ventures, Incubate, Brain Trust, and ArtistiQ, form a cohesive ecosystem that accelerates regional development. “I realized early on that development, whether economic or cultural, requires an ecosystem, not just a single solution,” she states. Incubate addresses the foundational business needs, Brain Trust fills the knowledge gap by connecting aspiring leaders with community experts for coaching, and ArtistiQ focuses on the creative sector, offering an e-commerce platform and a community for regional artists. A significant focus is also on women’s leadership, particularly through her social media initiative, In The Hands of Venus. “The Middle East is going through a profound economic and social transformation, and women are at the forefront. In The Hands of Venus is about showing women of all ages, backgrounds, and ethnicities in Qatar that they have a powerful network for storytelling, mentorship, and mutual upliftment.” Afraa’s pursuit of a DBA in Cultural Diplomacy is a natural extension of her life’s work. “My DBA at Bocconi is the formal framework for the work I’ve been doing intuitively. Cultural Diplomacy is the use of culture, art, fashion, education, and sports to foster mutual understanding and influence perceptions between nations. My academic work helps me understand how to strategically build the ‘cultural bridge.’ It’s about shifting the narrative, moving beyond stereotypes, and positioning Qatar and the MENA region not just as markets, but as global collaborators and creators of culture.” Afraa Al Noaimi is a visionary who sees the private sector as the frontier of timeless growth, provided it is guided by a timeless vision. Her leadership style is characterized by proactive pursuit, critical observation, and a relentless focus on aligning her team with a grand, unified purpose. “The single most important piece of advice I’d give to an aspiring entrepreneur today is Vision, consistency, and an embrace of duality,” she concludes. “You must have a clear, unshakeable vision for the future you want to create, and the determination to work towards that. Finally, be an artist and an analyst, a local voice and a global player, traditional and innovative. T he ability to hold those two seemingly opposing forces in tension is where true creative and entrepreneurial breakthroughs happen. Your success will be found in the rich, authentic intersection of all your passions and identities.” Afraa Al Noaimi continues to define the intersection of creativity, commerce, and culture. Her work provides a powerful blueprint for leaders around the world who seek to build a presence that is not only successful but deeply meaningful.

    Leila Hadioui – A Modern Moroccan Icon
    Lifestyle

    Leila Hadioui, A Modern Moroccan Icon

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    Leila Hadioui A Modern Moroccan Icon, The Evolution of a Multi-Hyphenate Star By Afef Yousf Leila Hadioui stands as one of Morocco’s most recognizable and successful figures, a true multi-hyphenate whose career has spanned and mastered the worlds of modeling, acting, television presenting, and fashion design. Born in Casablanca in 1985, her journey is a compelling narrative of ambition, cultural pride, and exceptional versatility, cementing her status as an enduring icon and a respected businesswoman. Her success is a reflection of hard work and an innate ability to connect with the Moroccan public, creating a personal brand that is both aspirational and deeply rooted in local culture. Early Life and The Modeling Launch Hadioui’s upbringing in Casablanca fostered an early interest in fashion, often fueled by watching international fashion programs on television, an early sign of the glamour that would eventually define her career. This passion quickly translated into a professional opportunity, launching her career at the remarkably young age of seventeen. Her modeling debut was followed by a pivotal collaboration with the country’s top designers, culminating in her participation in the prestigious Caftan 2007 show. This event proved to be a major springboard, establishing her as the premier face of modern Moroccan fashion, a role she would maintain for years to come. She quickly became synonymous with the Moroccan caftan, a symbol of national heritage and haute couture, proudly representing it on international runways, including a key appearance in Paris in 2007. Her dedication to showcasing the traditional garment while embodying a contemporary, confident image earned her the unofficial title of an ambassador for the caftan. This early success was built on determination, rigor, and an impressive work ethic, qualities she attributes to her ability to balance a demanding career with her primary role as a mother to her daughter, Ines, born in 2005. The Television Anchor, A Household Name on 2M While modeling provided the foundation, television cemented Leila Hadioui’s place as a national celebrity. She became a constant presence in Moroccan homes as a television presenter for the popular program Sabahiyat on the second national channel, 2M. This role was crucial, transforming her from a high-fashion model, an often distant figure, into a relatable, charming, and trusted personality. On Sabahiyat, a program dedicated to fashion and lifestyle, she successfully leveraged her modeling expertise, often showcasing traditional attire like the Takchita and hosting prominent stylists. Her presenting style was known for its warmth and accessibility, providing fashion advice and engaging with her audience on a personal level. She developed a profound connection with Moroccan viewers, many of whom saw her as a stylish, successful woman who remained grounded and committed to family, famously expressing her priorities as waking up early to care for her daughter before heading to work. This extensive run on 2M established her as a genuine household name, making her one of the most recognized television figures in the country. Transition to Acting, Versatility on Screen Leila Hadioui’s ambition extended beyond the runway and the presenter’s desk, leading her to successfully venture into acting. Her screen debut came with the TV film Les Enfants Terribles de Casablanca in 2010, directed by Abdelkarim Derkaoui. This initial step opened the door to a promising filmography that highlighted her versatility as a performer. She has since appeared in a range of compelling Moroccan films and television productions, demonstrating her capacity for both dramatic and comedic roles. Key projects include the 2014 film Sara, directed by Said Naciri, and numerous TV series and sitcoms like L’khawa and Hay L’Behja. Her acting choices often reflect a deep commitment to Moroccan cinema and television, rooted in her frequently stated preference to work within Morocco. She has publicly expressed that she gets intensely homesick, the longest vacation she has taken outside the country being a mere two weeks, a sentiment that further endears her to her local audience and underscores her strong patriotic connection. She is not an actress seeking purely international fame, but one dedicated to enriching her national cultural landscape. Fashion Entrepreneurship, The Leila Hadioui Collection Building on her expertise in fashion and her strong personal brand, Leila Hadioui launched her own women’s clothing line, Leila Hadioui Collection. This move solidified her transition from fashion icon to fashion entrepreneur, demonstrating a sharp business acumen that complemented her creative talent. Her collection focuses on creating accessible yet elegant pieces, often featuring traditional capes and unique items that can be worn for various occasions. Her fashion business is marked by grand, ambitious events, notably the annual Leila Hadioui Fashion Show, which has consistently raised the bar for fashion events in Morocco. The 11th edition, themed “Born to Stand Out”, was a major spectacle, celebrating diversity, audacity, and self-expression. By breaking the codes of traditional runway shows, her events often blend the spirit of haute couture with urban and casual elements, paying homage to various influences while maintaining a distinct, glamorous aesthetic. Her role as a designer allows her to directly shape the country’s fashion trends, ensuring her influence remains dominant in the style conversations of the Moroccan market. Enduring Success and Public Life Leila Hadioui’s enduring success lies in her ability to maintain a powerful, multi-faceted public identity without compromising her perceived authenticity. She has successfully navigated the complexities of being a high-profile figure in the digital age, with millions of social media followers who engage with her lifestyle, work, and fashion content. She manages to share her joys and sorrows with her fans, creating a community based on shared experiences and aspirations, famously declaring that the important thing is to be loved for who you are, a humble perspective that grounds her stardom. Despite facing public scrutiny, which comes with her level of fame, including the need to publicly denounce fake social media accounts and manage reactions to personal life moments, she has consistently handled her public relations with grace and directness. Her response to the tragic loss of her father, Noureddine Hadioui, the muezzin of the Hassan II Mosque, in 2015, was marked by dignity, further cementing the public’s respect for her deep

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