Issam Al-Kaabi

The sun was setting over the serene beaches of Lombok, Indonesia, casting long shadows on the sand as I walked along the shore. The sound of waves gently lapping against the shore was soothing, a stark contrast to the noise that had filled my life back in Qatar. I’ve been here for two months now, peeling away layers of the life I thought I had to live.

Coming from a wealthy family in Doha, my life had always been mapped out for me. At 33 years old, I knew no financial hardship; my every whim was catered to. But those expectations came with obligations—marrying into another influential family, securing the right alliances, upholding the family name. When I married Amal, it felt right at first. But as the months went by, the cracks started to show. We argued more, the frustration of her not getting pregnant hanging over us like a cloud. We sought help from the best fertility specialists money could buy, but nothing worked. It wasn’t just the childlessness that weighed on us; it was the realization that we were too different, that our marriage was more an arrangement than a partnership.

I knew I had options. Under Qatari law, I could take another wife, or exert control over Amal’s movements, but that’s not who I am. I believe in respect, in allowing her the freedom to make her own choices, even if it means we need time apart. So, we decided to take a break, to figure out what we really want.

Lombok has been a revelation. The simplicity of life here, the kindness of the people, the beauty of the untouched landscapes—it’s all so different from the life I knew. Here, there are no expectations, no obligations. The distance from home has given me clarity, though I’m not sure yet what to do with it.

I could stay here forever, away from the pressures and demands of Doha. But I know that eventually, I’ll have to go back, and decisions will have to be made. For now, though, I’m content to watch the sun set over the Indian Ocean, feeling the sand between my toes, and just breathe.