Malta – Week 1: Reverse Culture Shock
MALTA
Week 1: Reverse Culture Shock
April 13 to 19, 2023
PART I
Just like that, I was on my way back to Malta. A six-hour flight to Bogotá, a ten-hour flight to Madrid, and then a three-hour flight to end the trip. All along, I had been prophesying that the second I’d hear someone speak Maltese at the airport (which is inevitable given how damn loud we are), I’d immediately break down – the sudden realisation that I’d be going back home feeling like the final nail in the coffin.
But that never really happened. I think it’s knowing that I had made the most of my time. I had truly pushed myself to do and see as much as I possibly could. I had done a really good job. I took a year off to explore and learn, and that’s exactly what I had done. I was proud of myself. I was proud of my growth and all that I had achieved. And so, I wasn’t grieving or mourning the end of this chapter. I was okay with going back and excited about the future.
I guess what awaited me was something I wasn’t quite expecting. Coming back, I thought everything would be different. For me, life went on – why wouldn’t it for an entire country? But, the second I walked out of the airport, it felt like I had stepped right back in time. Life did go on, in its own way, but everything seemed the same.
On my way home, I sat at the back of the cab, looking outside the window. These were the very same roads and streets I’d drive upon on most days. It felt as if I had never even left. I mean, yeah, sure, there were some new roads and buildings here and there, but that’s Malta for you – a concrete jungle that keeps on expanding with no signs of stopping. Thing were different, but everything was just the same. And much like before I had embarked on the trip, I was neither excited nor sad about being back. I felt nothing.
Nothing has Changed
I found my mother waiting outside my home – or at least that’s what I used to call it. Ever since my dad had died, that place was nothing more than a house. And now, after eight months away, I felt even more detached to the very same place I had been living in ever since I was born.
She approached me – cautiously – knowing I’m not into big displays of affection. With a giant smile and a hearty ‘Welcome back!’, she came in for a hug and opened the door for me. Maggie, the hateful Pomeranian whom she had gotten after my two real dogs had died, stood there like an idiot, wagging her tail and yapping about. I took a calculated risk and patted her on the head. For once, she allowed it without trying to bite my hand off.
All worn out and exhausted from two days of travelling, I made my way to my room, still laden with my two bags – for the last time until the foreseeable future. My room… My safe haven, my sanctuary, my comfort zone… I opened the door to find everything exactly as it had been eight and a half months before – everything seemingly untouched. Nothing had changed.
I had shared this room with my brother for some twenty-three years before he had moved out. Despite all our trials and tribulations, his presence in this room was still palpable, and, in a way, kind of comforting – despite how much we don’t get along and despite his horrible sense of interior design. Try as I might, over the previous years, I had tried to de-brother it as much as I could, but still, half of it belonged to him. The only way I could do that would be to get my own place and move out – something I’d do once I started working.
I dropped my bags down and sat with a cup of coffee my mother had gotten me right away as if by reflex. I lit a cigarette, took a long and deep drag, and just paused. Staring at the same old, cluttered décor, smelling the faint, lingering aroma of the scented candles now concealed by the smoke, feeling the cigarette as I lifted it up melancholically towards my lips, tasting the dark roast as I swirled it around my mouth, and hearing the sound of my mother talking in the background. Nothing had changed.
On the outside, it felt as if I had just resumed life exactly where I had left things off. Nothing had changed. But on the inside? On the inside, it felt as if everything had changed. I didn’t belong here anymore. This wasn’t my life. As exhausted as I felt, as much as I wanted to just collapse into bed and let despair wash over me, there was one feeling that overwhelmed the rest. I felt like I was suffocating. It had only been a few minutes, but I already felt stifled by it all. It felt as if all my senses were heightened as they tried to warn me about some impending danger.
The Turning Point
It felt like I had knowingly walked right into a trap, and it was about to snap shut. Right there and then, I realised that if things were to be different, I had to do something about it. As much as I had changed over the previous eight months, as many resolutions and promises as I had made to myself, it would all be meaningless unless I’d do something about it. I realised how easy it would be for me to return to my same old, unbearable routine. I couldn’t let that happen.
I set my fears aside for determination. I unpacked everything – effectively doing away with eight months of traditions I had gotten so used to. Just like that, it felt as if I had left my past behind and started looking to the future. After a much-needed shower, I darted off. I got in my car, expecting I’d forget how to drive the old, worn-down, sorry excuse of a vehicle – having not driven in ages. Turns out, it’s just like riding a bike – even though that’s something I couldn’t quite say given I still had no idea how to ride one. I wish I could write that I went on this long, freeing and contemplative ride, but instead, I went with the less poetic alternative of running some errands in order to start getting my life back together.
At some point, I knew I’d have to go back to that dreaded room. At some point, I’d have to go back and get some sleep. And, as much as I didn’t want to, I have to admit that lying in my very own comfortable bed after so many nights spent in crappy dorm beds, it felt good. Especially after firing up my big ass TV, putting on an episode of Modern Family, and dozing off halfway through.
PART II
Out with the Old
And just like that, one chapter had officially come to an end and a new one had started. Over the following week, being unemployed and with virtually no responsibilities whatsoever, I went crazy trying to make good use of my time.
And lemme just say, I did such a good job with filling my schedule that I barely had any time to myself at all by the end of it. Most of it was taken up by social commitments. Being away for so long, with only a videochat here and there to keep in touch with my friends, I found myself with little time for anything else. It was me trying to catch up with anyone and everyone I give a damn about – which, I have to admit, is a crap ton of people. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by it all, and, even worse, it seemed I couldn’t keep up with all the events, especially in terms of money. Malta had gotten so friggin’ expensive over the previous year I could hardly believe it. I guess some things had changed, after all…
Then it was the getting my crap together part – the adulting aspect of life. I got my finances in check, got a new phone plan, sorted out some work stuff, and, most importantly, I did some spring cleaning back in my room. I literally cleaned the past out of my life – throwing away mementos and souvenirs I had been hoarding throughout my entire life. Now, all these things seemed nothing more than attachments to a life I had no interest in. It was all about moving forward from then on.
In with the New
To that end, I decided to tackle some of the goals I had set for myself once I was still out on the open road. Goals I had been meaning to achieve for years on end – ones that I had been too lazy or too disheartened to try.
First up, cycling. I dragged my friend to a park and promised him I’d hold him hostage until I learned how to ride his bike. At the ripe and tender age of twenty-seven, I rode a bike for the first time. Mind you, it wasn’t all plain sailing, but after some thirty minutes I was already well on my way to riding it in a straight line without tipping over. I could also turn around, though unable to control the exact direction. I might not have been Lance Armstrong, but I was still so damn proud of myself, and I found myself buying a second-hand bike right away!
And let’s not forget diving. Coming back, I was surprised to see that there was a dive shop behind every single corner of most seaside towns. These dive shops, of course, had been there all along – and all along I had ignored them given that I never really thought about diving before my gap year. But now? Let’s just say diving had become yet another passion of mine. And, since I’d have an entire summer of unemployment ahead of me, working as a divemaster could have very well been a valid option. That way, I’d also be able to explore Malta’s seas for free!
Avoiding the Trap
As much as I feared devolving into the pre-gap year Marius, I knew the real challenge would come at the end of summer when I’d be working as a full-time doctor again. I knew it’d be even harder to keep up this new lifestyle – given much of my time would be swallowed up by the hospital.
But, as I figured, I’d cross that bridge when I’d come to it. In the meantime, I still had a few months to spare. And so, I decided to go on a diving trip. Back in Utila, Natalie 2 had mentioned this incredible place for diving. It was practically in the middle of nowhere, and, when I had jotted it down on my To Visit list, it had felt like nothing more than a childish dream. First of all, I had no idea when I’d be able to travel again once my gap year would be over. Second, I never thought I’d travel exclusively to dive when I could be exploring the land. Third, it’s literally in the middle of friggin’ nowhere. But, the second I had made up my mind to leave Malta again – if only for just a few weeks – I just couldn’t get the idea of going there out of my head. Once again, impulsive me took over and the second the seed had been planted, I couldn’t do anything to stop it from taking root.
The problem with that would be my job interview. You see, with Malta being Malta, you can never count on anything being direct and straightforward. They’d announce the interview date whenever they’d feel like it, precluding me from making any plans. But, with Malta being Malta, these things always tend to take their sweet time. They’d probably send for me late in June or even July, as they had done the previous year. And so, a three-week trip in May seemed reasonable enough.
The second I decided on it, I started working on my itinerary. I’d go on my diving trip and spend a few more days away before renouncing travel for the time being – the entire thing gobbling up whatever money I had left in my bank account. No better way to spend my money!