Ftit u hafna bahar

Sabih il-bahar kalm jew ftit immewweg ghax go fih qisek dejjem thoss li minnu ghandek bizzejjed.  Kemm jekk ghal  ftit f xi qabza ta’ malajr kemm jekk hafna, f' xi nofs ta nhar tiela u niezel miflug bix-xemx imma bic-certezza li se ssibu hemm biex jiffriskak.  U l-bahar fil-bajjiet kommunist u ararkist.  Jghati lil kulhadd u ma jiehu xejn lil hadd. Jistiedenk imma tmur meta trid int.  Il-bahar ghandu riha, hoss u jmissek kullumkien, ruh u gisem.  Materjalist u spiritwali fl-istess hin.  Il-bahar ta’ kulhadd ghalinqas sakemm ma jbieghawhx ukoll.  U minkejja li ghandu r-ritmu tieghu f' dik  iz-zifna eternal tieghu mar-rih, fih issib is-silenzju.  Ghax fih facli ma tixtieqx iktar.  Go fih ftit jew hafna dejjem bizzejjed.    Ghalinqas sakemm qieghed hdejh jew go fih.  U anki jekk il-boghod taf li qieghed hemm dejjem u  kwazi kullumkien.        

The Paradox

Shelter in words. It is either here or elsewhere.   Words are alive.  Words are a paradox. Light is a paradox. It  can be a particle.  But it can be a wave.  Light gives perspective. But it is ambiguous.  Perspective destroys dreams.  Light makes dreams.  Twinkle twinkle little star.  The Stary Night gives me the creeps.  Dreams take you elsewhere. I know where I want to be right now.  Blown away by a smile. One moment.  

But I can also be drinking raki in a remote village on the border.  Borders are bloody.  Crossings are dangerous.  Borders kill hope and people who push their dreams an inch too far. Some borders can be crossed.  Others should not be crossed.   Choice.  We can dare.  But we can submit. Submission is sometimes freedom.  Letting go.  But submission is a paradox.  One can submit to elsewhere or to here.  I choose elsewhere. But i change elsewhere in to here.      

Food glorious Food

There can be no feast without an abundance of food, preferably accompanied by wine, raki, beer or herbal brews and teas. For since the invention of fire, food has become a collective experience which has to be shared. The way we have evolved has a lot to do with the way we started preparing and consuming our food. Our own bodies are the biological products of cooking. But food is not just material sustenance but a cultural depository of tastes accumulated through history, layer over layer. Food is also the finest example of international exchange; can you imagine Italian food without tomatoes or the Maghreb without harissa? Yet there where no chillies, chocolate, potatoes and tomatoes in the old world before the brutal conquest of the new world. These ingredients may well be the only positive legacy left from a genocidal conquest. Yet even the conquestadors could not resist being seduced by the spices and flavors concocted by the Mayas, the Aztecs and the Incas. Food is a cultural exchange. Ingredients from different cultures can blend in a way which enhances diversity. Nobody can resist the smell of a pot cooking, irrespective of cultural boundaries and religious divides. Through this exchange often encouraged by the seductive appeal of taste and smell, home grown foods evolve and change but still retain a distinct texture. Immigrants often bring with them new tempting smells but unlike Mc Donalds and coco cola, they tend to enrich what is already established. But the cultural exchange is only part of the story. The other fascinating story is that related to the act of cooking. For cooking is akin to witchcraft. The flavors and herbs we put in the pot can actually change the mood and humors of those who enjoy them, both in the act of preparation and in the act of consumption. And it all comes round through the magic of science: the sheer action of heat, air and earth on base ingredients which are elevated to new levels. The transformation and blending of ingredients is nothing short of an alchemy which often transforms the frugal in to the sublime. There is also magic in the chemistry taking place when food hits the taste buds. Smell also triggers our personal memories especially those related to childhood. But even the most delicious food would lack flavor and taste if consumed in a solitary environment. For it is the feast which turns food in to a sensual experience. It draws us closer to our loved ones. Sure over the past century food has fallen victim to mass production, factory farming, the fast food industry and big retail chains, which have undermined diversity and imposed a sterile uniformity. It has also fallen victim to vanity and the domestification of private life in the nuclear family and taken away from the neighborhood. It has broken apart by rigid seating and cutlery arrangements, which undermine the whole concept of feasting. Eating on cushions on the floor is more conducive to sharing and feasting than sitting on a high chair. A feast has to be messy, joyful and excessive. It has to include numerous plates and flavors. It is no wonder that feasting and food are so intertwined. So in a time of social distancing, it is imperative not to forget the joys of feasting, something which should fill us with revolutionary hope. For reclaiming the joys of sharing, slow cooking, celebrating locally grown ingredients and opening up to an exchange of diversity is an integral part of building a new world in the here and now. It is another reason why we should resist the return to normality. One benefits of the slow down is that we have more time to cook. Just imagine if we can do this in the absence of social distances. After corona; lets have more of these feasts.

Conjuring utopia in post covid times

Would it not be great if we do not return back to normal after COVID-19? Would it not be great if we slow down life to enjoy it to the full? Imagine the slow down without the social distancing rules. A world with less cars, less consumerism, less work and more time for ourselves. A world where we can hear birds chirping in the morning and where one can walk at a slower pace without engaging in a dumb rat race. A world where the state fulfills the obligation to insure us from risk and where poverty becomes history. A world where capitalism loses its ability to reproduce itself. Would that not be utopia?
So what would I keep from corona times? On an emotional level its been a pleasant knock out, a puzzle which i am in no rush to entangle, with corona serving as as a delaying tactic. Surely isolation has confined me to a mental and less physical state. Giving flesh to the dreams conjured in the past weeks will be the task ahead. The metaphorical (or real) train will have to depart from this station.
On a work level it simply confirmed that you tend to work more if you work less time. It should be the next great social demand; a reduction of the working time. We need to reclaim time. Our life is too short.
On a political level am less angry, somewhat more lucid and more interested in the aesthetics of rebellion than in letting off steam. In a time dominated by Thanatos (the death instinct), eros (the life instinct) is always bound to rebel. My whole experience has been that of letting go more, not think too much and stop defining things. But old rational me has not gone on holiday. It has given its tacit approval but still watches and observes with interest, and healthy skepticism. It will remain my essential guide, especially in the brave new world after this ends. Otherwise I would lose myself.
But the question remains; is life to be found here or elsewhere? Is the train just a metaphor or is it an indispensable physical bridge to a new life. Is the new life to found in a series of stops in a journey from station to station? And can here and elsewhere meet and merge? Should one travel far away to discover or is that elsewhere found in communities of nomads struggling for change in the here and now? Still that is where aesthetics of rebellion come in to play. For how can eros prevail without rebelling against Thanatos? Isn't elsewhere found in that moment of refusal? The reality is that we live in a state of uncertainty and there is no escape from that, except the certainty of rebellion and saying no.

Why I love Malta but not its flag

The display of Maltese flags on homes, particularly in the poorer and less affluent neighborhoods, during Covid 19 times leaves me cold. Not just because this display of patriotism was contaminated by xenophobia and anti immigrant sentiment stemming from Robert Abela's attempt to project himself as a strongman during a medical emergency, but also because it reminds of the emptiness of this signifier.
Sure enough I feel human more than Maltese or European, but I love Malta, its landscapes, the way the sun illuminates the contours of its rocks, the noise and clutter of its people, the beauty of the Maltese language, the townscapes and the mixture of Mediterranean and other influences. My love for Malta has little to do with it being a nation state, something which was mostly a historical coincidence and far from some manifest destiny. But am proud of some aspects of our history. For example I am proud of our heroic role in resisting fascism in the second world war. I am also proud of the national awakening after the second world war, which saw women and workers winning the right to vote and the election of a Labour government. I am also proud of our robust national health service whose effectiveness spared Malta from the worst ravages of Covid experienced by richer countries. I am also proud of my country's late transformation from a laggard in LGBTIQ issues to a global trailblazer.
So I do not belong to that segment of the population which denigrates Malta, its language and its working classes.
For identity is Malta is intimately connected to class and segregation in education. The segregation of Maltese elites in private schools curtails the evolution of vibrant national culture. Even the media landscape is one where Maltese newspapers are mostly partisan, while the independent media is associated with English.
But surely I can't be proud of many other aspects of manufactured Maltese identity. Sure I can't stand Maltese exceptionalism, so evident in the rhetoric of the anti abortion brigade, who celebrate Malta's uniqueness where motherhood is not a choice but an imposition. I can't stand the eight pointed cross cherished by the far right as a substitute for the swastika. Neither do I stand the way nationalism has replaced class consciousness especially among Labour party supporters. In this new dominant ideology workers are not expected to struggle for their rights but are expected to fulfill their duties to state and party, both of which subservient to capitalism.
Neither am impressed by those who identify themselves as Europeans in order to deny their Maltese roots. In many cases their attitudes are reminiscent of the Maltese elite's identification first with Italianita than with British imperialism, in a bid to be treated as equals by colonial masters. And while I am a firm believer in European integration, the idea of a fortress Europe worries me as much as right wing nationalism.
In many ways the idea of Maltese identity frustrates me because it lacks the confidence and vitality to evolve, absorb and change. I love the rhythm of Maltese ghana but it lacks political and social relevance and failed to blend with other genres like hip hop, punk or reggae. Even our flea markets are lacking in character. We even managed to turn a food market in to a food court serviced by a few local chains. I love the language but there is a general reluctance to coin new words and popularise their use. We are even reluctant to name our children in Maltese. Our TV no longer features high quality drama as was the case in the 1970s and 1980s. Our lack of confidence in our culture probably is one factor contributing to our fear of the others. We are not sufficiently rooted in our culture to believe in our ability to absorb from others while also transmitting aspects of our culture to them.
So while rejecting nationalism as an ideology, I do see a great need for a celebration of Maltese and Mediterranean identities. My starting point is not the nation state but the regional influences which shaped our cultures for the past hundreds of years. Unlike nationalism regionalism can be progressive and inclusive. It offers food, music, beauty, poetry and feasts to all those willing to engage and participate. Rather than erecting fences, regionalism seeks to seduce by appealing to the senses. Unfortunately the drab Maltese flag hanging from balconies lacks sensuality. It is just a symbol representing the state and not the history and lives of its peoples. Ironically the only positive reinforcement in our flag is evoked by the George Cross, granted by the British King to acknowledge our bravery in fighting Nazi Fascism. But still we do not have our own equivalent of Bella Ciao to celebrate that heroic and popular struggle.

The cat out of the box

One of the most fascinating experiments in science is that involving the Schrödinger's cat.
The experiment requires a cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source all placed in a sealed box. If a Geiger counter detects radioactivity caused by the decay of one single atom, the flask is shattered, releasing the poison, which kills the cat.
Although while in the box the cat can be simultaneously alive and dead when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead, not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.
One interesting theory, is that both the alive and dead states of the cat persist after the box is opened, but are split from each other. When the box is opened, the observer and the possibly-dead cat split into an observer looking at a box with a dead cat, and an observer looking at a box with a live cat.
The experiment is a reminder of how uncertainty underlies not just our existence but that of the whole universe.
The excitement of living derives from making choices and weighing risks in the face of uncertainties. That is why any static utopia becomes dystopian the very moment when people are deprived of the freedom to make mistakes.
But that is only one side of the coin. Uncertainty creates anxiety which can be debilitating. COVID 19 is just an example of the collective risks we face as a species, foremost of which is global warming. Added to this is an economic system which renders the lives of entire populations and communities superfluous. Choice entails a sense of being in control of events. But neo liberalism tends to put us at the mercy of forces which are outside our control.
Managing uncertainty is probably one of the secrets to a happy life. It should also be the goal of social policy and health promotion.
Freedom is all about being in a position to choose. But there is no real choice if the option is between survival and destitution. That is why a universal basic income is a pre-condition for freedom. Moreover to equip us all to deal with uncertainty a national mental health policy is imperative. Why should not mental therapy be part of the national health scheme? Freedom is also restricted by ownership of time. If we do not own most of our time, how can we even exercise our freedom? And how much time would we have left to weigh choices and take responsible decisions?
Awareness of the consequences of our actions and their butterfly effect, is also key to increasing the sum of happiness in the world. Freedom comes with responsibilities. And freedom becomes cruelty when exercised without empathy. The world is not our playground. In this sense freedom without equality simply results in the oppression of the many by the few (or in some cases the few by the many).
For even the most inconsequential action can unleash a chain of unpredictable events not just on fellow humans but also the planet in which we live. Still it is thanks to these chains of unpredictable events that we probably owe our own existence in this particular spot in time and space. It is also thanks to decisions taken on the spur of a moment that we owe some of the happiest moments in our lives. Yet we should never forget that we are also like the cat in the box and that there is always another side of the coin, perhaps even different versions of our selves experiencing different trajectories unleashed by choices sometimes made by us or made for us by others. In this way the universe is playful and has its own sense of humor, bestowing fortune randomly. Yet that is no excuse for not taking care of ourselves and others, to ensure a safety net for all.

When silence is golden

Silence is not just the absence of noise. In fact we often associate it with the multitude of voices found in nature. Covid 19 may have made these voices more audible (ex birds chirping) than usual while silencing more fastidious ones (ex traffic noise and the hum).
It can be found even in the clutter of the life around us. Silence is material not spiritual. Neither is it necessarily a solitary experience. One does not have to be a hermit to experience it. Silence can even be shared. But each person's experience of silence is different.
Silence becomes a form of communication. It happens when savoring a moment together. Silence changes our perspective of time . In silence time becomes a moment. Silence is a capsule.
Silence has to be found to be listened to. But that requires detachment from daily life. But that does not make daily life an illusion. Without it silence cannot even exist. In fact the quality of our silence depends on the quality of our life. The happier we are, the more we can appreciate silence. So wrong to expect people with mental health issues to appreciate silence.
Silence does not have anything to say to anyone. It does not exist except as an experience of living bodies surrounded by other material beings and objects.
Silence does not necessarily make us wiser. One can still make take bad decisions while silent. Silence can be delusional. Silence may help us transcend the meaning of words to feel connections which we fail to see when we are too busy or attached. It may also make us see connections which do not exist. Silence can make us lucid and receptive. But it is no substitute for rational judgement.
Silence can hurt. It can numb us. Cause silence cannot give us anything except that sense of comfort of being enveloped in an invisible chrysalis. Silence can make us anxious, itchy and fidgety.
Silence can be golden in that moment when we sigh in satisfaction. The moment after sex. The moment after writing an article or a story. That moment after an exhilarating conversation. The moment after hearing something uplifting. The moment after a first date on the way back home. The moment after a long walk. Even a pause in pause between things. Silence is always an in between. The moment after savoring beauty while closing your eyes to prolong the sensation. Silence is ephemeral. If prolonged it loses its magic. It cannot last long. It cannot be conjured out of thin air. It has to happen. It has to be found again and again. It can be lost. Silence is evasive.