Mariyam Mohamed

  I live in Malé City, one of the most densely populated cities in the world, nestled on a small islet in the Maldives. As the capital, it attracts people from across the islands who come here in search of better opportunities. I work as a corporate trainer, and one of my techniques to build rapport with participants is to engage in conversations about their personal lives. These conversations are more than icebreakers—they offer a window into the hopes, struggles, and silent sacrifices people make each day. Over the years, I have met many brilliant individuals—talented minds with entrepreneurial energy and potential far beyond the confines of a 9-to-5 job. Yet, many of them hold down full-time employment despite running their own businesses. When asked why, the answers are often similar: “We need a stable income.” Business can be unpredictable, especially in a fragile economy, and the cost of living in Malé is relentlessly high. A stable salary provides a sense of security—a way...

Over the past four years, I have had the opportunity to conduct training sessions for a diverse range of professionals, from entry-level employees to business owners managing teams of over 100. One thing I have noticed consistently is the preference for indoor, classroom-style training. It is structured, familiar, and feels like the “proper” way to learn. Outdoor training? That is a different story. Very few have requested Outdoor Management Development (OMD), and I have not yet had the chance to design or deliver one myself. However, I have spoken to participants who have attended such programmes, and their feedback has been a mix of curiosity, confusion, and caution. Some said they could not truly understand the purpose of the session. It felt more like a day of games than a learning experience. Others mentioned that personal boundaries were not always respected, especially during physical or high-pressure tasks. While a few admitted they did learn something, like how they respond un...

It was almost 10:45 PM when I arrived at the island of Huraa. At the jetty, I was greeted by a smiling woman, the principal of Huraa School, who had come personally to receive me. This small gesture spoke volumes about her leadership. She could have easily delegated the task to someone from her team, yet she chose to come herself. As we drove to the hotel and later sat down for a discussion in preparation for the next day's training, she shared that her team had been busy all week. That was why she told them to rest while she came to meet me. In that moment, I saw a true leader—empathetic, thoughtful, and genuinely concerned about the well-being of her team. In my four-year career, I have met many leaders, but people like her are rare gems. She reminded me that before titles and responsibilities, we are human beings. That simple yet powerful truth stayed with me. The following day, I met the school staff who participated in the training on Stress Management . The participants wer...

  My recent visit to Kaafu Maafushi for a training session was intended as a professional engagement — an opportunity to share knowledge and help build competence among the Council team. However, it evolved into something far more meaningful. It became a personal journey of reflection and reconnection, not only with the island itself but with a part of life that often gets buried under the noise of the city. After the training, one of the participants kindly offered a brief tour of the island. I had been to Maafushi before, more than four times in fact, but this visit came after a 24-year gap. The island I remembered had changed — visibly and significantly. Once a modest tourist destination, Maafushi now stands with newly built guesthouses, vibrant cafés, and recreational spaces that bring both locals and visitors together. Yet, what struck me most wasn’t just the transformation in infrastructure. It was the spirit of the island — familiar, warm, and unchanged in the best possible...

  “What is wrong remains wrong, even if you try to justify it as right. A rational person needs no explanation—they recognize the truth.” Recently, a story came to light about a woman living under the same roof as her ex-husband—forced to witness the emotional agony of him living with another woman in the shared home, all while her child is present. While the details of her current situation remain unknown, one can only hope she is in a better place now—physically, emotionally, and mentally. This is more than just one woman’s story. It is a painful mirror reflecting the silent struggles many women in the Maldives endure. The Reality Behind Closed Doors In our society, where conservative values often meet modern dilemmas, many women find themselves caught in situations where dignity and survival are in constant conflict. A decent, independent living space—a basic human necessity—is not available to all. Financial dependence, low-paying jobs, and social stigma leave women with fe...

Photo Credit to Maldives Immigration Fame can be a powerful motivator or a silent fear, shaped by early life experiences and societal narratives. For many, it comes with applause and admiration. For others, it carries the weight of expectations, judgment, and self-doubt. My journey with the fear of fame began in childhood—long before I ever considered writing a book, starting a business, or inspiring others. Growing up, I believed fame belonged to a select few—those with wealth, titles, or beauty that aligned with societal ideals. As a ten-year-old, I watched how children from well-off families were chosen to perform in school events while I, noticeably taller and less privileged, was overlooked. I remember that sting of rejection. Yet just weeks later, I was chosen to lead a dance in the school's anniversary celebration. That moment taught me an early but powerful truth: rejection isn't the end—sometimes, it's redirection. Despite this lesson, the fear of being seen ling...

Picture: Enosa, Barcelo’ hotels and resorts As I sit and sip my cup of coffee, I gaze at the ocean—vast, mighty, and ever-moving. Living in the Maldives, the ocean is more than just a view; it is a presence that surrounds and shapes our daily lives. When it roars, we know what it means. It serves as a warning—a signal to pause, delay travel, and stay safe. Despite the clear signs, some individuals still venture into dangerous waters. The need to prove resilience or control often outweighs the voice of caution. Many are not proving anything to others, but rather battling their own sense of worth or identity. This pattern mirrors how we often live. Warning signs appear in our lives through stress, fatigue, emotional strain, or even a quiet sense of unease. These signs ask us to stop, rest, or reconsider. Yet, many choose to ignore them, driven by ego, ambition, or fear of appearing weak. Psychologically, this tendency can be explained through the influence of ego and cognitive dissonance...

For centuries, the heart has been more than just a physical organ. It has long been seen as a symbol of love, emotion, wisdom, and connection. Across cultures and traditions, people speak about listening to the heart, following it, or trusting its guidance—often without realizing that modern science would one day validate these instincts. This piece comes from a place of personal experience. After going through several heartbreaks, I found myself wondering why the pain felt so real, not just emotionally, but physically. The heaviness was not only in the mind; it rested deep in the chest. That curiosity led me to explore the possibility that perhaps the heart knows more than we think. Maybe it holds memory, intelligence, and its own form of communication. Scientific research confirms this. The heart contains approximately 40,000 neurons—forming what’s known as the intrinsic cardiac nervous system. This network functions like a small brain inside the heart, capable of sensing, learning...

There was a time when Eid wasn’t just a day—it was a feeling, a rhythm that wrapped around the heart and filled the home. The memories come alive with the first sound of the   azan   echoing through the morning air, marking not just the time of prayer, but the beginning of a day soaked in joy, love, and meaning. The smell of food would already be dancing through the house before sunrise. Spices, sweetened milk, and ghee filled the air, each aroma telling its own story. Laughter from the kitchen—especially from our mother—was the soundtrack of those early hours, a melody that gave life to the walls around us. Family members, even the most distant ones, would arrive, and in that moment, no one felt like a stranger. It was a reunion of hearts. One of the most cherished parts of Eid was the sweets.  Bondibaiy ,  pirini ,  haluvidha , and  aveli  weren’t just food—they were a celebration in themselves. These delicacies were offered with love and savored wit...