The Ivory of Mediterranean

Malta - A tiny island between Sicily and North Africa. Where the language sounds like Arabic and the houses bear the symbol of Maria. Where limestone buildings and city walls rise above the sea, like ancient guardians. Where the biggest church in Europe impressively marks the city of Mosta. And where you can find temples older than pyramide and stonehenge, the labyrinth of catacombs, and the silence city Mdina.

Romantic, that's what I felt about Malta. The island and its towns glimmered their rich history. Nearly everybody had come, conquered, and influenced this small country. From Arab and Byzantine to British and Napoleon. It is strange how our impression (of the past) is influenced a lot by our imagination. If you look more into the history, it is a bloody story, a difficult life for its people. Yet I found it interesting, beautiful.
When you enter the city of Valetta through the only passage in their city wall, you will find rows of beautiful architectures at a hilly landscape - balconies, squares, people enjoying the sunshine.
Yet when you look closer - paint peeled from the walls of houses, dust at the windows and cars and everywhere, giving an impression of neglected houses and belongings. Giving me impression of a hard living. Still, it looked more charming than Switzerland, for example, where everything is clean, neat, and highly organized.

When you asked me of a particular event in my past, my impression can also fool me. I cannot give you an accurate story then. Am I then being honest (to myself)? When you ask if I like the Netherlands, I would now say yes, I was happy there, and I miss it. Yet you know that I have complaint a lot, and I chose to leave it and went to other places. When you asked if I have loved a particular person in the past, I could say no, it's just this or that. Or the opposite. Strange that the impression left is correcting the actual truth. Or "truth"?
Even for current events, my judgement is influenced by my impression, my prejudice, my longing. As always.


PS: Sorry for the misleading title :-)

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"In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine." (Milan Kundera)