When I was a child, listening to stories was one of the things I enjoyed most. Quite often, during the summer holidays I used to knock on the doors of the  many children from my street to get them  to form a little storytelling group while we crocheted away at our colourful creations in the  cool quiet landing of the two bedroom  flat block where I grew up.

Of course at that time, there were no mobile phones, computers or Facebook. Even household telephones were rare, so getting  people together at the same place at the same time wasn't easy, unless planned from meeting to meeting. Any spontaneous rendesvous had to be made to happen after an equally spontaneous burst of energy, skipping from door to door, getting the other urchins out, and ending up like the child version of the Pied Piper of Hamlyn.

However, it was always worth the effort. 

We would start by relating a famous fable or two, always spicing it up a bit according to the mood of the little group, and then move to the next challenge of inventing our own story.

One child would start with anything straight out of the imagination and the next child continued  with her own creation.  Thus, the story would glide around the circle of beaming faces while nimble fingers pulled away at the colourful rukkell tal-lazz, the crocheting hook or knitting needles.  And just as the   bright coloured woollen balls were transformed into beautiful intricate products, our story would end  up being equally catching and original.  Its only flaw was always the ending,  because no one would want it to end  cause no one would want the fun to finish so, all our stories remained open ended, each child left free and unencumbered to make its own  imaginary conclusions....

The last few days, being the closing  days of the Summer holidays, since many children start school today all over Europe, reminded me more than usual of the many untold stories that so many  millions of people have to tell and will never be able to tell.

From the Indian six year old child beaten with a stick and buried alive in a shallow grave, only to be saved by neighbours just in time, to each and every person making up the millions displaced by war, atrocities  and famine, to the Ebola infested multitudes in Liberia, to the gang raped Yitzaki and Christian women put up for sale like cattle by ISIL terrorists, to the young East Ukrainian boy from Luhansk who managed to make it to Malta  while his friend was forced to train to fight against his Ukrainian brothers, or die.

They are all individual human tragedies that either survived to tell the tale or were at least reported by other humans. I dread to think what stories lie buried in the depths of our seas and continents never to be known, acknowledged and learnt from. 

The world at the moment reminds me of the massive witch's cauldron bubbling and boiling on  a large bonfire of  leaping flames, making hissing sounds and sending all sorts of ominous venomous vapours in the air.

Occasionally a hideous witch would toss more magic powder in, break into hysterical laughter and tell the empty room that it will decide when the pot over boils, and over boils so much that the poisonous liquid will reach the four corners of the room and choke anything and anyone which dares to stop it . In the meantime the witch would remind everyone that she is omnipotent and not because of the uranium necklace around her neck but because it has a web of activity, simmering cauldrons in so many places... and when the time is ripe....
then she would show the world....

And as one continues to observe Putin doing a repeat of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, while telling his adoring student audience that  he has to act because the situation is similar to when the Nazis besieged Leningrad, and while the international community tickles him  with sanctions hoping that five more years will pass before Putin violates another country's territorial sovereignty... and as we watch the ominous Caliphate which is getting its weapons from somewhere, encroach in this direction, we do not have much choice  but to anticipate the sad ending to all these stories and prepare ourselves for the New World Order that is unfolding as we speak. From our end,  decisions have to  be made as to how best to remain on the side of the Rule of Law and keep our people safe , and that is as far as we can go.

Seeing that through all this turmoil  the main stories in Malta these last few days where  about ice bucket frivolities  and patronising breastfeeding or non breastfeeding mums by callous approaches to sensitive subjects, one only hopes that the things that matter like the overflowing hospital corridors, the fast rising  financial deficit,  the energy sector shrouded in a cloud of secrecy except that we know China  now owns BWSC plant too , and the question of our national security, are being dealt with seriously...

In the meantime, we will enjoy what's left of our lazy summer  days and nights  while we  wait and see if we remain among the lucky few who  eventually get a chance to tell their story.