We all do it, don’t we?
Bashing Malta and all it stands for, I mean. We criticize, we moan, we complain and we nitpick at every thing we don’t like. We roll our eyes and huff in annoyance at the kind of people we can’t stand, the customs and traditions which seem so provincial and embarrassing, those quirks which are just so, well, Maltese that make us cringe.
Depending on our mood, we rant and rave with emotions which range from mild exasperation to sheer fury. The Internet has made Malta-bashing even easier as people register their anguish about how terrible it is to live here “What a crap country!” “What a hellhole!” “Get me out of here!”
Of course we do this because in our mind’s eye, we’re different – we’re Maltese but we’re not that kind of Maltese, if you know what I mean. We’ve travelled, lived in other countries, opened our minds and our hearts to other cultures and other ways, so we’re in a position to feel that the not-always-attractive traits which make this nation what it us, don’t touch us completely.
Yet, it is also true that nothing can make us feel quite as Maltese as when we are with a group of people from other countries. Just let them dare breathe one word against Malta and its countrymen and we react like a lioness whose cubs are being threatened, bared fangs and all. Yes, our roads have a ridiculous amount of potholes, but they are our potholes – and only we have the right to grumble about them. (Go back where you came from, interfering foreigner). There’s nothing like a little foreign criticism to make us close patriotic ranks and bring out the Dun Karm in all of us.
Among ourselves, however, we reluctantly admit that they’re right. Obviously, living here would be much more pleasant if we could only just get rid of the various countless irritants in day-to-day life, most of which are due to lack of discipline. But even as I get stuck behind a bus billowing black smoke because the driver stops to talk to his buddy who is driving his bus in the other direction, and even as they make me late for an appointment because they are holding a shouting conversation and munching pastizzi while the tourists look on in bemusement – even then, I think: this is what makes Malta what it is. Too much discipline and adherence to rules and we would probably not even recognise ourselves. What? Pollution-free buses with polite drivers which run on a timetable correct to the last nanosecond…where do you think this is, Switzerland?
And even as I wince at the sight of a shirtless, hairy, caveman-like character who strolls casually to his parked truck, with his shorts worn low just below his protruding beer belly and his plumber’s crack in full view (my eyes! my eyes!), even then I think it’s typically Maltese how no Balluta matron is screaming at him to cover himself up as she did to a young girl wearing a bikini.
Incidentally, this sudden fear of too much flesh on display and this sudden obsession with hauling skinny dippers to court, jars completely with the mounds of flesh I see which really should not be seen on our streets – men of a certain age without T-shirts who strut around proudly with their impressive sweaty stomachs jutting out in front of them.
This is a nation which, in many ways, is no different to other nations, except that the cluster of stereotypes you would see spread over thousands of miles in say, Germany, are visible within minutes of each other. A few minutes after I saw Mr Hairy Caveman, I was in downtown Sliema where stylish, upmarket young women were shopping and flashing their credit cards. For this, too, is Malta – the young, urban generation with discerning tastes, which breezes in and out of the country for weekend breaks with the same ease as a ferry ride to Gozo.
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And as I continue to read and listen to those who are in constant griping mode, I wonder why it is they are still here.
Seriously, if living in Malta is so detrimental to your mental and emotional wellbeing that you spend every waking hour cursing the moment you were born on this island, shouldn’t you just leave? Some say that they have too many commitments and responsibilities to consider such upheaval, but I suspect this is just an excuse. Come on, if you were constantly unhappy, wouldn’t you do anything you could to change things? Sure, you may have to struggle at first if you go live in another country and the disruption in children’s schooling would be difficult, and it would take you a while to build up the career and way of life you have here, but that is, exactly, my whole point. You cannot slam the door on Malta and emigrate, and expect that in any other country it will be all peaches and cream. (Likewise, it’s pretty futile to come back to Malta after years of living away and spend your waking hours complaining how it’s not like “over there”. No, it’s not like “over there” because otherwise “over there” would be “here”).
Sometimes I think people want to leave Malta, but take their Maltese lifestyle with them (and possibly their Mummy too, to iron their shirts). Ask anyone who’s left how delusional these kinds of expectations are. They want to go to another country because they want something different, and yet seem astonished to find just how different it really is. The lack of family and old friendships is the most obvious shock to the system, especially as we take it for granted that everyone we know is only a phone call and a few miles away.
I’m often conscious of this homesickness when I read comments by those who are living and working abroad. They yearn to know what’s going on, they are in constant touch with everyone here, and some of them seem to be counting the days until their next holiday on the Rock. But life’s all about choices and balancing the pros and cons of the country you have chosen as your home. So you may have opted for a mind-blowing salary but have to contend with grey, soul-destroying weather and having to drive for miles for a good night out. Or you might have great weather, a great paycheque and a wonderful lifestyle, but you are completely on the other side of the world, so every trip home is a long haul expedition which needs to be planned well in advance.
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I could write whole lists of what bugs me about living in Malta, but I could easily draw up lists of why I choose to live here. It’s one of those inexplicable contradictions which is hard to put into words.
When I think about it, it’s that feeling I get driving home after a day at the beach in that magical summery twilight.
It’s seeing two women pushing a pram as they go for a walk at midnight in the full knowledge that they are (relatively) safe.
It was the quick succession of phone calls to my extended family after those terrible explosions on Friday, when we still did not know what happened and the relief that everyone was safe, and knowing that I could get to their homes in 10 minutes if I needed to.
It’s that powerful feeling of community and shared history after the death of someone like Guido de Marco which draws us together despite our often volatile politics.
It’s reading about people from all over the world who have uprooted their lives to settle here because (how’s this for irony?) they feel Malta is the perfect place to live.
Most of all it’s seeing Malta through the eyes of Maltese ex-pats on their annual summer pilgrimage who upload their photos on Facebook for all to see. There I see the Malta which tourists must see, with its beaches and boat rides and Gozo and concerts and summer nights in Paceville and BBQs on the rocks.
The photos don’t show the side of Malta we are unhappy with: the litter and construction, the noise and the cranes, the chaos and the lawlessness. But it does serve to remind me why (despite needing to get away once in a while to escape the downside of things) I’m still happy to call this island my home.
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