Malta

June was one salty sea breeze away, meaning I had been abroad for nearly six months. When I stepped off that plane back in January I had entered into a whole new world. There were surprises around every corner: new lifestyles, new normalities, new terms and conditions of which to consider abiding by. Some surprises caused my shoulders to tense, but most left an air of awakening that would continue to circulate throughout me. Although I know that air is always circulating, it ebbs and flows like a tide. Sometimes a blustery breeze of brilliance, other times as subtle as the hints of sea salt that saturated the small Mediterranean island I lived on. 

The air got denser with sensation as my time spent in Malta raced by. With the cusp of summer in reach, it finally hit me. Malta was home. 

Like a faint tingling sensation I began to feel that realization manifesting within me. It took on many forms and extended into many realms of my existence, spreading too thin to recognize. For example: morning routines. I am a morning person, however I realize many are not. Therefore, it was not uncommon for me to be the first one in the kitchen, granola and tea in hand, before anyone else emerged. Camilla, whose distinctive Italian voice I had probably fallen asleep to just hours earlier, would be one of the first to saunter down the stairs; her hair frazzled and eyes not quite adjusted to the light.  At any other point in the day she was a fiery female, outgoing and proud to be peculiar. I grew to love her for being her obstreperous self. But, within an hour of her awakening she was like an empty engine, drained of all her fervor. 

At first I engaged her as I normally would, greeting her with a smile and a ‘bon jour no’. But like trying to run a tank on low she sputtered out confusing words and ran into appliances due to her deteriorated motility. It was hard not to laugh as I watched her fumble through the fridge, but fear of her fierce glance stopped me from giggling. Thankfully, after one hour, two cups of Italian espresso and a couple biscuits doused in Nutella, her wacky vitality was refueled. Back in January I sat awkwardly and drank my tea silently; by June I had her espresso ready by the time she arose and no fear of commenting on her frazzled hair. 

Call it ironic, call it fate, call it Karma or just call it life. Whatever the frame of reference, my new found sense of home surfaced just shy of my departure, just as my time to appreciate Malta seemed more finite with each passing day. I had journeyed to Malta with an ideal concept of comfort, with expectations. I knew what worked for me and I knew how to utilize my resources in a manner which best suited my taste. However, all of a sudden I was surrounded by new resources, new ideas of taste. I was sure of discovering new forms of music and instead I encountered more American pop than I had heard in America. I tried hiking, but the only mountain in sight was actually a landfill. Things that I would consider representative of quality in life were of no apparent concern to my counterparts in Malta. Academics even threw me off balance. Since a young child I had been submerged within the American standard of school. However, diving into the University of Malta was like learning how to swim all over again. I felt lost in a sea of questions. What is acceptable? What is expected of me? Where do I go to get this figured out? However, the more I inquired, the deeper I sunk. It seemed as if no one really knew the answers to my questions. I became tired of trying to find my way to the surface of knowing what was going on. Then I realized: no one knows what is going on. Not even those that pretend to know. They're all coming up with their own answers. So, I came up with my own answers too. I stopped struggling for the surface. As the compression released, I felt lighter, I began to drift upward towards the surface where I could casually wade in query with my counterparts. 

Like learning how to swim in the sea of school-related confusion, all the stifling aspects of Malta slowly became less frustrating. Time had allowed them to settle in my mind. Each observation, whether disturbing or sensational blended together in a culmination of unity. They had become life. Although it took more than a couple deep breaths, I once again felt natural. Composed of new resources and reinforced with my acceptance of them, I found home in a foreign land. 

While acknowledgements of Malta as my home will never dissipate, the time I had to indulge in it was unfortunately limited. Knowing they would soon be just a memory, I was more present in my lectures than ever before. I began not to despise the disorganized academic system, but value it for the independence it gave me. I boarded the rickety buses with confidence, thankful for the sometimes terrifying public transport they provided. Never again would 1960’s British school buses decked in fringe and religious murals be a common sight. Just like the booming voices of my Italian roommates would never seep through the crack of my bedroom door as I drifted off to sleep. All the aspects of Malta that I had once been reluctant to embrace were now at the heart of my love for it.   

It is acceptance and appreciations, whether they were marked on Malta or became apparent in other parts of the world, that have synchronized into the air that now circulates my presence today. It started as an agile air of awakening, gaining momentum with each new milieu I entered. At times it brought blustery storms of unease, sometimes it threw me into a cyclone of confusion, and still I found that it blew me away into bliss. Now it resonates as an air of being. Camilla's frazzled stares, sinking in a sea of school, trusting each step I took up bus stairs… it is all now part of me. While sometimes I can barely sense it, like wind rolling off nonexistent mountains, it is still guiding my direction. And every time I catch a hint of that Mediterranean salty breeze, with no apparent body of water in sight, I realize how far it has taken me.