Introduction

My dear reader, In the beginning was the word and it was as if nothing had ever existed till the words were spoken: “Let there be light” …and so there it is, a universe shimmering in a geometric spectrum of divinity. It seems inevitable, we cannot escape having a world without having words to describe it. When I came to be, my parents said: “Let him be Timothy Liam Smith” and so I was.

In the beginning was the name and the name was Timothy Smith. Born in England, a British citizen, I lived in the south coast of Dorset Bournemouth with my brothers, mom and dad.  Bournemouth is a coastal city, lying as near as possible to the sun and warmth of the south. There my house was big, the beach stretched even bigger with great waves during stormy nights, I could see for miles from up top on my father’s shoulders, as tall as a giant we were there standing near high cliffs overlooking the horizon boundless with width, the wind whistling over my ears, the world so very, very grand. 

Sweden has always been a point of contention in my life, a splitting of reality, a course change, perhaps preordained or as random as any evolutionary spurge. Schooling there has been a wild ride with many ups and downs all the way through to my now present university years. None the less, the rest must best be left unsaid. I cannot spill my entire soul on you my dear reader, it would be far too messy. 

So let us get to the ending of my life story and the beginning of my tale in Arabia. I quite like the sound of that.

Timothy of Arabia

The call to a land in the middle-east started one year prior to me stepping on its soil. A country with expansive deserts and sharp chains of cosmic big mountains. A 50-degree sun, a land that’s grown so big that its towers scrape the sky with rims of gold.

It was a year ago, my last few weeks of my summer break. My private pilot license would finally be in my grasp. Only a few more solo flights and then the big test would be due, then I would be christened into the prestigious and exclusive club of the aviators. Long nights on the track at Volvo had financed this. It was James my cousin and newfound mentor who had insisted on me going to university and leaving the Volvo line. Lessons from instructors and family had pushed and cheered me on, helping me over the finish line, finally a small step towards grand ambitions. I was ready for a new term at liberal arts.  A year that would set me up with the right tools and knowledge to fully adapt to any work environment and culture.

In a land build on pearls my dad had 40 years prior lived, working on an oil rig near the shores of Abu Dhabi. In a time when a man could make a fortune working away from home and then leave the country with no more requirements asked of you. No debt to pay.  It is like a poetic rhyme that I should then be here, trying to return a favor that was never asked for. The cities aren’t the same as back then though, he wouldn’t recognize anything here anymore.