So I moved to London last Friday and am slowly settling in. My free time is still taken by attempts to transcribe my being here onto paper in order to be deemed a legitimate settler but I'm looking forward to finally working on some personal work that I'd been putting on hold for the past couple of weeks, in particular one which included filming one of my favourite performing artists Ira Melkonyan with a broken camera in my Skalian neighbourhood.
I remember a particular dream I had in my last week in Malta. As always, twas a strange one. I was weaving a fisherman's net in a part of the Southern coast covering Delimara, Xrobb l-għaġin, Il-Ħofriet and il-Munxar. It was a really hot summer's day where the sun was yellowing the rocks and every visible human was brown and the sea was very blue, so it all looked like a 1970s postcard of Malta. I could see my 'family' (as in, the people I was hanging out with at the time) was on a nearby boat jumping in the sea and screaming- they were the picture of summertime bliss that I grew up to learn.
And I was on land, very close to the boat, removing my late grandfather's rusty hooks that were attached to the net and replacing them with brand new, silver ones.
The dream was a mixture of nostalgia, melancholy and longing.
I'm very glad to have dreamt it.
The excitement never ceases.