Just over a year ago, we decided to leave Kensington and venture off west to Ealing, just a few minutes away from Ealing Broadway station. The plan was simple: I finish off my Ph.D. and, come early 2013, we head back to Malta, while living away from Zone 1 would pay off in terms of rent savings. Fast forward a year on and things had changed drastically: we were both at Imperial again and, what more, we were 'stuck' there for at least another 2 years. Only one option made sense: move back close to Imperial.
Initially, I had thought that living like a true Londoner - commuting daily, reading the paper on the way, working in the city centre but living away from it - would work out handsomely. Alas, I was wrong: being used to living on a rock where anything in excess of 20 minutes' worth of travel time is considered "too far away", the 50 minute door-to-door commute proved to be too much. Ealing had its pluses: lots of very good restaurants - particularly Persian - and a self-contained shopping centre which meant not needing to visit the dreaded Oxford Street at all. But getting the 207/427/83 bus every morning to the station, then the Central Line to Notting Hill and then 52/70/452 to Uni (and all the way back in the evening) meant that I was wasting more than 8 hours a week just travelling. Life is too short for that.
And then another blessing crossed our way: my wife was offered a position of subwarden in one of the Imperial halls, literally across the road from the campus meant that we were to start living in very close proximity to Uni...and for free...in exchange for organising activities for hall residents, taking care of students and being on-call once a week or so. Not bad, at all.
Moving is always a bit of a nightmare, especially if you have more than 200kg worth of stuff, but somehow it was all done in 7 trips to and fro from Ealing to Gloucester Road, with relative ease and with no hiccups. Except that that particular Saturday was the first day of London 2012. Ah yes, that event going on in Stratford.
And now? I write this post whilst facing the peaceful Evelyn Gardens from our living room in Fisher Hall, enjoying a sunny afternoon and a nice cup of tea.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Venetian clichés and more
I daresay that ECCM15 was the last conference I shall attend during my Ph.D. I am fast approaching the final months of this long journey, with all its ups and downs, but conferences certainly were positive outcomes of it all. This latest one was held in Venice and it was quite a memorable one, for so many reasons.
It was not my first time in Venice; 1990 was my first and 2002 was my second, but whilst I was too young (though fully capable of independent navigation, as my parents well know) and still an architectural student in the latter visit, this time round I was almost a totally different person: a fully-fledged architect/structural engineer in my late 20s, with a keener eye for observation, with a (digital) camera in hand and, of course, with the acquired capability of reflecting on "alien" cultures outside my native Maltese one. And, naturally, I was there primarily for 'business'...
I was lodged on the Lido rather than on Venice proper, which was already a novelty. The commute was by boat (I did not have much of a choice really) and once docked, I headed to the hotel and then for a quick tour of the Lido. It did not feel much like Venice: cars adorned the streets, and there were actually streets rather than canals! But the unmistakable Italian (even Venetian) qualities were so distinctive from what I am accustomed to in London and yet so much closer to what I find in the Maltese homeland. Perhaps the best illustration is that first evening.
The Euro 2012 was at quarter final stage and, that evening, Italy had to face England. I could not miss that game and after a quick (yet tasty) pizza for dinner, I found a bar with a big screen and settled there for the night. Customers downed Spritz (not beer); the barmen did not refrain anyone from smoking but they themselves smoked behind the counter; no drink measures were used but all was simply done "by eye"; euphoric shouts at all the attempts of Pirlo and/or Balotelli and colourful offensive tags to Rooney's and Gerard's counterparts. Strangers engaging in conversation without any prejudice or discomfort. And all with the added pleasure of a sea-induced breeze and live music being played from a nearby open-air concert. The Mediterranean lifestyle. Or rather the Adriatic one in this case...P.S. Italy won 4-2, with penalties after a 0-0 result even after the 120th minute; Italy-Germany was the next match in the semi final.
Monday to Thursday were the conference days in the fascist-style Casino and equally scary Palazzo del Cinema, though still marked by extra-curricular activities: the daily lunches (a manifestation of organised chaos, with typical southern disorganisation in the handling of the 1500 strong crowd) with generous helpings of tasty pasta, carpaccio, mozzarrella and Italian cold meats; the dinners at a local restaurant (spaghetti with lobster on the first occassion and a feast of seafood on the second, i.e., baby octopus as an antipasto, spaghetti con vongole as a 1st course and mixed grilled fish as a main course, all washed down with wine and topped off with a tiramisu, an espresso lungo and, of course, a limoncello); the conference dinner (yet again a massive logistical miscalculation which prolonged the feasting till almost midnight! And, by the way, my 2 presentations on the Tuesday were all delivered smoothly, to my great relief.
On Thursday afternoon, I headed to Venice proper (I was about to say "the mainland" but there is no mainland in Venice!) and began the cultural activities. Being accustomed to the generally accepted view that London's tube is very expensive (£4 for a single cash fare), I found the traghetto fares appalling: €7 for a single trip! But I had no choice, unless I had decided to swim across the lagoon. Once berthed off San Marco, I started my venture in 30 something degrees, with 2 litre water bottle in one hand and camera in the other. Once the obvious sights were done, I headed off the tourist-beaten track and into the hidden Venice, the unknown maze of calle this and ria that and fondamente so-and-so. The uniqueness of its character and the fascination it entails are too overwhelming and I almost confidently can say that Venice is my favourite place in the world. After an exhaustive tour of the sestieri of San Marco and Dorsoduro, I headed back to the Lido for Italy-Germany, yet another magnificent display of football, which took the Italians to the final against Spain.
Friday morning was an early start: I took the boat to the train station and headed to the real mainland, to the city of Padova. The irony was that a return ticket cost as much as a single ferry fare! Once at the (fascist) station, I met my 'Paduan' colleague from uni and he showed me around a city so familiar to him that for a minute I thought he was not really a biomechanical engineer but rather a tourist guide! Only one problem: it was boiling and we had to catch up on the fluid loss thanks to a Spritz and plenty of water (I ended up drinking some 4 litres that day and only a cupful came out the normal way, just to give an idea of the heat level; sorry for the detail). Padova is much a student city: an endless parade of students, posters glued to facades, concerts, coffee shops for philosophical debates; not sights you would encounter in London, unfortunately. Padova was equally enchanting: the (much-appreciated) shaded arched loggias, the cobbled streets, the ad hoc urban fabric which developed organically rather than strictly planned and laid out, the omnipresent Catholic spirit and the endless references to St. Anthony, whose presence and dominance was escalating as one approached to the basilica.
The basilica: what an eclectic place! A unique superposition of all architectural styles known to me: Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque. Every single corner has its own story, its own conceptual creation, material, colour. It was like visiting a 100 places in 1. And of course the quasi superstitious qualities associated with strong Catholic tradition: petitions, photos, candles, figures, relics and all the rest. I probably found this basilica much more splendid than Venice's own San Marco, but this is subjective.
By mid afternoon, my guide had ventured back to his home town of Este and I wandered again through the now-deserted Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza della Frutta and the precincts of the Palazzo Bo' and the centre. It was then time to return to Venice and conclude my tour there: Cannarreggio awaited me. I lingered there till well after dinner (in the Rialto's shadow) and sunset and then back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted yet satisfied.
Saturday was my final day there, which meant I was soon to return back to London, from the scorching sun and mid-high 30s to mid 20s and the constant grey (as I write this, it is pouring out there and it almost a re-enactment of the Great Flood). After such a long time in London, I cannot help but note such differences between 'us and them'. I think I am more convinced than ever that I ought to return back to the homeland. But before then, I have got a thesis to finish!
It was not my first time in Venice; 1990 was my first and 2002 was my second, but whilst I was too young (though fully capable of independent navigation, as my parents well know) and still an architectural student in the latter visit, this time round I was almost a totally different person: a fully-fledged architect/structural engineer in my late 20s, with a keener eye for observation, with a (digital) camera in hand and, of course, with the acquired capability of reflecting on "alien" cultures outside my native Maltese one. And, naturally, I was there primarily for 'business'...
I was lodged on the Lido rather than on Venice proper, which was already a novelty. The commute was by boat (I did not have much of a choice really) and once docked, I headed to the hotel and then for a quick tour of the Lido. It did not feel much like Venice: cars adorned the streets, and there were actually streets rather than canals! But the unmistakable Italian (even Venetian) qualities were so distinctive from what I am accustomed to in London and yet so much closer to what I find in the Maltese homeland. Perhaps the best illustration is that first evening.
The Euro 2012 was at quarter final stage and, that evening, Italy had to face England. I could not miss that game and after a quick (yet tasty) pizza for dinner, I found a bar with a big screen and settled there for the night. Customers downed Spritz (not beer); the barmen did not refrain anyone from smoking but they themselves smoked behind the counter; no drink measures were used but all was simply done "by eye"; euphoric shouts at all the attempts of Pirlo and/or Balotelli and colourful offensive tags to Rooney's and Gerard's counterparts. Strangers engaging in conversation without any prejudice or discomfort. And all with the added pleasure of a sea-induced breeze and live music being played from a nearby open-air concert. The Mediterranean lifestyle. Or rather the Adriatic one in this case...P.S. Italy won 4-2, with penalties after a 0-0 result even after the 120th minute; Italy-Germany was the next match in the semi final.
Monday to Thursday were the conference days in the fascist-style Casino and equally scary Palazzo del Cinema, though still marked by extra-curricular activities: the daily lunches (a manifestation of organised chaos, with typical southern disorganisation in the handling of the 1500 strong crowd) with generous helpings of tasty pasta, carpaccio, mozzarrella and Italian cold meats; the dinners at a local restaurant (spaghetti with lobster on the first occassion and a feast of seafood on the second, i.e., baby octopus as an antipasto, spaghetti con vongole as a 1st course and mixed grilled fish as a main course, all washed down with wine and topped off with a tiramisu, an espresso lungo and, of course, a limoncello); the conference dinner (yet again a massive logistical miscalculation which prolonged the feasting till almost midnight! And, by the way, my 2 presentations on the Tuesday were all delivered smoothly, to my great relief.
Friday morning was an early start: I took the boat to the train station and headed to the real mainland, to the city of Padova. The irony was that a return ticket cost as much as a single ferry fare! Once at the (fascist) station, I met my 'Paduan' colleague from uni and he showed me around a city so familiar to him that for a minute I thought he was not really a biomechanical engineer but rather a tourist guide! Only one problem: it was boiling and we had to catch up on the fluid loss thanks to a Spritz and plenty of water (I ended up drinking some 4 litres that day and only a cupful came out the normal way, just to give an idea of the heat level; sorry for the detail). Padova is much a student city: an endless parade of students, posters glued to facades, concerts, coffee shops for philosophical debates; not sights you would encounter in London, unfortunately. Padova was equally enchanting: the (much-appreciated) shaded arched loggias, the cobbled streets, the ad hoc urban fabric which developed organically rather than strictly planned and laid out, the omnipresent Catholic spirit and the endless references to St. Anthony, whose presence and dominance was escalating as one approached to the basilica.
The basilica: what an eclectic place! A unique superposition of all architectural styles known to me: Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque. Every single corner has its own story, its own conceptual creation, material, colour. It was like visiting a 100 places in 1. And of course the quasi superstitious qualities associated with strong Catholic tradition: petitions, photos, candles, figures, relics and all the rest. I probably found this basilica much more splendid than Venice's own San Marco, but this is subjective.
By mid afternoon, my guide had ventured back to his home town of Este and I wandered again through the now-deserted Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza della Frutta and the precincts of the Palazzo Bo' and the centre. It was then time to return to Venice and conclude my tour there: Cannarreggio awaited me. I lingered there till well after dinner (in the Rialto's shadow) and sunset and then back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted yet satisfied.
Saturday was my final day there, which meant I was soon to return back to London, from the scorching sun and mid-high 30s to mid 20s and the constant grey (as I write this, it is pouring out there and it almost a re-enactment of the Great Flood). After such a long time in London, I cannot help but note such differences between 'us and them'. I think I am more convinced than ever that I ought to return back to the homeland. But before then, I have got a thesis to finish!
Monday, 4 June 2012
Jubil(ee)ation
Although London has 33% of its inhabitants who are pure British citizens, I have managed to make quite a few British friends during my time here. Of these, I would say half are either royalists or do not really care much about the Royals and the other half are sheer republicans. In my case, I do not have much of an opinion, since Malta ceased being part of the Empire a long time ago, although I must say my host country has generally been quite kind to me and, as a sign of respect, I do respect HM and her entire entourage.
This weekend, I would daresay that the entire U.K. is suddenly enthusiastic about the Queen, in the light of her 60th Jubilee celebrations and, even more so, because of the 4 day weekend we are enjoying...
It is surprising to note that, while back home all public buildings and schools would invariably sport a huge photo of the President in the building's foyer, I have not yet encountered this practice here. However, in London, wherever you go, you can see the Queen's presence in one way or another: my own workplace is called Imperial College, the Royal Albert Hall, so-and-so Palace, Queen's Gate or Palace Gate, Kew Royal Botanic Gardens, Royal this and that, Jubilee Line, Royal Mail, Royal Opera House, Royal Academy, Royal Festival Hall, Royal College of Music...the list is endless. Deep down, they all love the Royals. And, Queen or no Queen, the Brits do love their pomp and ceremony and the Jubilee was no exception trying to make the best of this once in a life time event.
My interest in the British monarchy was rather limited to the Tudor period until a few months ago, but I kicked off my personal tribute to the Windsor house last week when I read "The King's Speech", entirely devoted to HM's father. I managed to start it and finish it in the same day. Not that I am suddenly such a big fan of the Queen or her family, but (a) it is a good book and (b) I travelled some 300km on the train that day (up to Coventry and back) and, naturally, had plenty of time to kill. But the big thing happened this weekend, precisely coinciding with the early summer bank holiday...
Summer 2012, which had supposedly started last week with temperatures surpassing those back home, is now suspended but the Diamond Jubilee festivities proceeded nonetheless. From our experience of the NYE events in Central London, we decided to head off to the River 3 or 4 hours earlier than the scheduled time, to ensuire getting a good spot. Our efforts were rewarded, at the cost of standing in the same location from 11.30 till 4.30, but we did get a (distant) glimpse of HM...more on that later.
The weather did not disappoint us: it was London at its best with grey clouds, mist and the light drizzle. Of course, had it been sunny and bright, people would have thought the pictures are a forgery. From our vintage point beside the Millennium Bridge on the North Bank and facing the Globe and Tate on the right and the cloud-covered Shard on the Right, we waited and waited for the 1000 piece flotilla escorting the Royal Barge. It was a sight simply seeing the Brits, most of them having come a long way from the North, dressed up in white, red and blue, wearing such coloured wigs, Union Jack outfits, waving flags and, of course, eating. People had been there since 8am or even camped overnight, though they only were ahead of us by 50cm.
Thanks to the joys of smartphones, we knew exactly when the Queen left Battersea via BBC live and waited and waited till the first boats appeared. And then they reached us: colours and energetic rowers, bells and flags and then sea cadets and scores of Commonwealth flags (Malta included) and finally the Queen and the Royal Family.
It was impressive to see that the 86 year old monarch was still waving incessantly and had not sat down yet (and indeed did not sit till the very end). From our enviable viewpoint, we only saw the Queen having the size of my thumb - I had always thought the Thames was quite narrow but I was wrong - but it was worth the wait. It was one of those "I was there" moments.
And the organisation? Impeccable, British style event handling: some 1,000,000 turned out along the Thames' banks on the day and there was not even one moment of confusion. Amazing people. No wonder these guys had 25% of the whole world's territory and population in their control.
Of course, the pageant was not all: a huge concert is scheduled tonight featuring Sir Macca, Sir Elton, Sir Cliff, Kylie, Steve Wonder and much more. I can't wait for it to start, though unfortunately my name was not amongst the lucky 10000 randomly picked ones. Nonetheless, I will join the Brits and shout, "God save the Queen!"
This weekend, I would daresay that the entire U.K. is suddenly enthusiastic about the Queen, in the light of her 60th Jubilee celebrations and, even more so, because of the 4 day weekend we are enjoying...
It is surprising to note that, while back home all public buildings and schools would invariably sport a huge photo of the President in the building's foyer, I have not yet encountered this practice here. However, in London, wherever you go, you can see the Queen's presence in one way or another: my own workplace is called Imperial College, the Royal Albert Hall, so-and-so Palace, Queen's Gate or Palace Gate, Kew Royal Botanic Gardens, Royal this and that, Jubilee Line, Royal Mail, Royal Opera House, Royal Academy, Royal Festival Hall, Royal College of Music...the list is endless. Deep down, they all love the Royals. And, Queen or no Queen, the Brits do love their pomp and ceremony and the Jubilee was no exception trying to make the best of this once in a life time event.
My interest in the British monarchy was rather limited to the Tudor period until a few months ago, but I kicked off my personal tribute to the Windsor house last week when I read "The King's Speech", entirely devoted to HM's father. I managed to start it and finish it in the same day. Not that I am suddenly such a big fan of the Queen or her family, but (a) it is a good book and (b) I travelled some 300km on the train that day (up to Coventry and back) and, naturally, had plenty of time to kill. But the big thing happened this weekend, precisely coinciding with the early summer bank holiday...
Summer 2012, which had supposedly started last week with temperatures surpassing those back home, is now suspended but the Diamond Jubilee festivities proceeded nonetheless. From our experience of the NYE events in Central London, we decided to head off to the River 3 or 4 hours earlier than the scheduled time, to ensuire getting a good spot. Our efforts were rewarded, at the cost of standing in the same location from 11.30 till 4.30, but we did get a (distant) glimpse of HM...more on that later.
The weather did not disappoint us: it was London at its best with grey clouds, mist and the light drizzle. Of course, had it been sunny and bright, people would have thought the pictures are a forgery. From our vintage point beside the Millennium Bridge on the North Bank and facing the Globe and Tate on the right and the cloud-covered Shard on the Right, we waited and waited for the 1000 piece flotilla escorting the Royal Barge. It was a sight simply seeing the Brits, most of them having come a long way from the North, dressed up in white, red and blue, wearing such coloured wigs, Union Jack outfits, waving flags and, of course, eating. People had been there since 8am or even camped overnight, though they only were ahead of us by 50cm.
Thanks to the joys of smartphones, we knew exactly when the Queen left Battersea via BBC live and waited and waited till the first boats appeared. And then they reached us: colours and energetic rowers, bells and flags and then sea cadets and scores of Commonwealth flags (Malta included) and finally the Queen and the Royal Family.
Of course, the pageant was not all: a huge concert is scheduled tonight featuring Sir Macca, Sir Elton, Sir Cliff, Kylie, Steve Wonder and much more. I can't wait for it to start, though unfortunately my name was not amongst the lucky 10000 randomly picked ones. Nonetheless, I will join the Brits and shout, "God save the Queen!"
Monday, 7 May 2012
Vic-Tory
I have been here since September 2007, save for a 5 month interruption, and every time there is an election here, I am amazed at the way the Brits handle politics. This week rekindled my amazement, on the occasion of the Mayoral elections in London.
I am not quite sure whether my qualification to vote in British elections (local and national) are due to Malta being part of the E.U. or the Commonwealth, but every time there is some sort of electoral activity, I always get the vote in the post. This time, it was time to elect a new Mayor. I recall the last Mayoral election, in which I had voted. This time round, I did get the chance to vote, but of all days, I left the office at 9pm on the ballot day and got home too late to pick up my ballot card and head off to the polling station and cast my vote. In any case, Boris was re-elected on the Tory ticket, but it was only by a whisker, at least by British standards. And Labour gained massive votes throughout the rest of the country, apparently; I still have to adjourn myself with what was happening over the past 3 days...
What is extraordinary, particularly for someone who comes from Malta, where partisan politics are almost as important (if not in equal measures) to religion, that the Brits do not really care much on politics. Not that they are not voting or anything, but there is none of the month-long drama which unfolds back home, with bill boards, tons of leaflets in the mail, hotly debated issues, controversies and what not. The country (or the city in this case) proceeds as usual; there is no unnecessary tension in the air. So much so, that I had almost completely forgotten about the election, until I was on the Tube en route home and there was one result forecast on the front page of the Evening Standard.
Well, I suppose life for all Londoners will go on, be it with Boris or with Ken, though the latter had the much-appealing promise of cutting down the Tube fares, though it seems that the Left and Right are in a delicate state of balance in Europe and beyond: a new Conservative Greek prime minister (though alarming Greek voters preferred to give their preferences to Neo Nazi candidates), Putin is back in power in Russia, French premiere Sarkozy who is now replaced by Socialist Hollande and Merkel's coalition in Germany is hanging off a thin string. And Malta? Maybe an election is due much sooner than we thought...
I am not quite sure whether my qualification to vote in British elections (local and national) are due to Malta being part of the E.U. or the Commonwealth, but every time there is some sort of electoral activity, I always get the vote in the post. This time, it was time to elect a new Mayor. I recall the last Mayoral election, in which I had voted. This time round, I did get the chance to vote, but of all days, I left the office at 9pm on the ballot day and got home too late to pick up my ballot card and head off to the polling station and cast my vote. In any case, Boris was re-elected on the Tory ticket, but it was only by a whisker, at least by British standards. And Labour gained massive votes throughout the rest of the country, apparently; I still have to adjourn myself with what was happening over the past 3 days...
What is extraordinary, particularly for someone who comes from Malta, where partisan politics are almost as important (if not in equal measures) to religion, that the Brits do not really care much on politics. Not that they are not voting or anything, but there is none of the month-long drama which unfolds back home, with bill boards, tons of leaflets in the mail, hotly debated issues, controversies and what not. The country (or the city in this case) proceeds as usual; there is no unnecessary tension in the air. So much so, that I had almost completely forgotten about the election, until I was on the Tube en route home and there was one result forecast on the front page of the Evening Standard.
Well, I suppose life for all Londoners will go on, be it with Boris or with Ken, though the latter had the much-appealing promise of cutting down the Tube fares, though it seems that the Left and Right are in a delicate state of balance in Europe and beyond: a new Conservative Greek prime minister (though alarming Greek voters preferred to give their preferences to Neo Nazi candidates), Putin is back in power in Russia, French premiere Sarkozy who is now replaced by Socialist Hollande and Merkel's coalition in Germany is hanging off a thin string. And Malta? Maybe an election is due much sooner than we thought...
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
A meeting with a master
Amidst the unpleasant circumstances of the Malta visit, one particular hour stood out as a noteworthy (positive) event: a meeting with Professor Richard England.
A few weeks back, I managed to purchase one of the monographs which celebrate his contribution to the Maltese architectural scene. It occurred to me to attempt contacting England with the hope of getting an appointment and get it signed in some hasty meeting amidst his busy schedule. I did send an email to the usual "Contact us" address off the website and, to my great surprise, I received an email from his personal email account a few days later, inviting me to call him on his mobile phone and arrange to meet him during my Malta visit.
Once on the island, I did call him and he asked me to visit him at home on the Monday evening. And so we did, drove up to that familiar street off Paceville where I sometimes used to park during busy weekends. As soon as I opened the gate, Richard himself opened the door and ushered us into his home and to his studio.
Wow, is the unavoidable cliché that one will say upon setting eyes on the immense, ordered collection of books, figures, drawings and CDs. Richard broke the ice by asking our opinion on the current architectural status in the world and I urged him to stick to tiny Malta for the time being. With a sense of nostalgia, he confessed that there is no longer a Maltese architecture to talk about, only a "building industry".
It was a relief to hear that England still believes there are a "handful" of good architects in their early or late 30s, the foremost of which is, in his opinion, my own cousin Chris. We discussed Valletta, Piano's proposal, the prospect of highrises in Malta, our Ph.D. research in London, his view of the superstar architects and of sustainability and structural engineering. And of course, signed my book. Not only that, but he presented us with a marvellous collection of his architectural-artistic sketches and drawings. Also with a dedication and signed, of course.
A good one hour later, Richard warmly wished us well in our research and asked us to keep in touch and pay him other visits whenever we are in Malta. On the way out, he showed us a pencil drawing on tracing paper from Basil Spence's hand - one of the original proposals for Coventry Cathedral. England re-iterated the importance of architects using the pencil (or, in his case, the pen) and not the computer, for the latter "does not think" and only the hand can transfer ideas from the mind to paper.
A meeting which I initially envisaged as being intimidating, hurried and impersonal turned out to be warm, leisurely and of a kind which would almost be even beyond one between two acquaintances. Meeting Richard England, who is (almost) definitely the best living Maltese architect and (most) probably a very significant architect of the Mediterranean region, truly exceeded all expectations.
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Farewell, nanna
There are few things in life which, despite all possible levels of education, I know I will always fail to understand; some things might be beyond my personal interest, say astrophysics or quantum mechanics, but when it comes to the metaphysical world, one issue stands out: death.
Until a few days ago, I have had the misfortune of enduring 4 family deaths and, sadly enough, this number has now risen to 5 with the passing away of my last remaining grandparent, Nanna Connie.
I was very eager to flying back to Malta for the Maltese long weekend; we had booked tickets way back in December probably and by Wednesday, I guess I already was in holiday-mode. Alas, on Thursday morning, my wife greeted me with a sad SMS from mum, which informed me that nanna had moved on to a better life in the early hours of the day.
I am not a man who easily expresses emotion, which is probably not a good thing, and will not do much of an effort to do so here, but as the last of my roots is now gone, I cannot not put paper to pen (so to speak) and share a few words.
Despite the 6 decade age difference, I can very much relate to nanna and trace some elements in me which make up the 25% I inherited from her: I am a man of few words, soft-spoken most of the times, love food and photos, probably will have high cholesterol levels in the future, and, of course, sport the omnipresent red cheeks channelled over to me via dad.
The trip to Malta which was supposedly a break turned out to be a sort of Micallef family re union (albeit in the most unfavourable of circumstances) and, in the most beautiful weather conditions, we all gathered for (probably) the last time at Marsa church - nanna's 2nd home for so many years - to pay our last respects.
Farewell, nanna. Give my best to nannu, and if you see any of the Grechs too, give them a hug on my behalf. I am doing my best to make you all proud, as you have always been of me.
Two years...
...since our wedding!
Almost unbelievable!
731* days!
Happy anniversary, Marianna!
* 2012 is a leap year
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