Dubai is one of those names that comes up when you think of sparkling cities of the world, full of excitement and high stakes, big deals and fancy happenings.

I don’t recall that this was such a phenomenal city when I visited as a teenager, but I do know it was on the verge of such modernization and expansion. After living and working in Riyadh for over a decade, and after my mom, my brother and I moved back to Manila, my father transferred to Dubai. He told us of spectacular festivals and exciting business deals, and it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of this city.

One summer we got on a plane and spent our vacation with Daddy. I remember a blistering hot city. I remember the confusion of being surrounded by a clearly Middle Eastern culture, yet my movements were not hampered by an abaya, my vision unobscured by a veil. I remember it seemed to be a glittering life, the creek in the city bringing welcome humidity. I remember a museum that showed us how the city grew, first with fishermen and traders and later with investments and multinational companies.

It is here that I find myself now. Only in transit, and only for a few hours, but it’s fascinating to see the myriad, shimmering ways in which the idea of Dubai has grown. I’m stuck in the airport, a stopover of a few hours, but already I’ve been blinded the glittering clothes and jewels, awed by brands and foods I’ve never heard of, lost amid the dozens of gates. There are so many people, so many sounds, so many smells, that for about half an hour, all I could do was wander, unable to decide if I needed to eat or drink, or if all my body wanted was some silence, and a place where I could seek refuge in my writing.

It feels like a terribly unfair judgment, this feeling I now have about this city. I haven’t seen any wonders Dubai has to offer, enjoyed the hospitality of which its citizens boast, sampled the flavors that I’m sure will overwhelm. I arrive with little sleep and anxiety, alone with my aching back. Frankly, I am not happy. I suppose I am in no condition for a reunion.

But it also begs the question: what do we really mean when we talk about change, progress, development? On the plane I watched a video about Dubai being a melting pot of culture, where everyone is welcome, a city that is open, that invites all. But I’ve also seen stories of the high cost of living, the man-made wonders, the labor that makes this city possible.

Perhaps someday I will experience this city’s excitements again, see the creek, visit the museum. Perhaps I will see the city where my father lived, where many have chosen to make a life. Perhaps I will stop wondering why so many think this city so special.