I started this blog as a way to write about cities from within the Gulf. Much of my writing begins from Qatar and Doha, but the questions are wider: How do Khaleeji cities grow without erasing themselves? How do we build modern cities without treating memory as an obstacle? How do we plan for heat, movement, worship, family life, and everyday routines? How do we make sense of cities that are constantly being remade?

I write from two positions at once: as a resident shaped by these cities, and as a practitioner involved in planning them. I am interested in the space between the city as planned and the city as lived; between the masterplan and the street, the regulation and the home, the public project and the memory people carry with them.

A city is never only a skyline, a road network, or a collection of buildings. It is also the shaded route to a mosque, the neighborhood grocery, the family house that no longer exists, the majlis, the souq, the coastline, the villa, the planning office, the parking lot, the public square, and the small daily habits that make a place feel familiar.

I write about planning practice: how cities are shaped through policies, regulations, institutions, approvals, compromises, and decisions that are often invisible to the public.

I write about heritage and memory: not only how buildings are preserved, but how places remain socially alive, and how cities remember or forget their own pasts.

I write about climate, shade, and public space: because in the Gulf, heat is not background context. It determines who can walk, gather, wait, rest, and participate in urban life.

I write about housing and everyday urbanism: the villas, streets, local centers, parking lots, sidewalks, and ordinary spaces where most of the city is actually experienced.

And I write about Gulf urban futures: how Khaleeji cities can develop planning ideas rooted in their own climate, culture, histories, and social life, rather than simply importing models from elsewhere.