At a time when life reaches its final chapter of mortal existence, the mind becomes prone to reflecting back as to what might have been, had one did this or that, or allowed inaction to prevail. The intensity to which this iffy process accelerates in the mind, is in direct proportion to how we realistically perceived who we are, and to assess how best to institute amends within the remaining brief interval. In the process of self re-evaluation certain truths surface, such as that choice and circumstance inevitably mix in ways which lead to unpredictable results. For the pessimist, this exercise in introspection offers enough reason to blame external factors as an excuse for shortcomings and failures, while for the optimist they are regretful reminders of lost opportunities which might have led to greater levels of achievement, had a more prudent venue been chosen. Either way one is bound to question fortunes made or lost at the random throw of a dice. No such soul searching musings came to mind the day I left my beloved Malta, when the throbbing vibration of the ship's engine energized my youthful exuberance of conquests yet to come.
Rather than seek the past to ascertain the future, it is more comforting to contemplate the many crossroads which were traversed in reaching the present. For me the epic journey into the unknown started when I departed Malta by sea at age seventeen, enroute to take the world by storm. Like an invincible knight in armor riding astride his white mount, I never contemplated for a mere moment about the possibility of failure, in leaving behind the comforts of home and family. It was an eventful day like no others, in that the sheltered isolated way of life I enjoyed living on a small island, was about to be transformed into an environment of uncertainty, away from the warm comforting embrace of a loving nurturing mother, who protected her brood with a strong religious resolve, against all that was dark and menacing. In retrospect the nagging question arises if I would have ever left a charmed idyllic existence behind, had I realized the many trials and tribulations which lay ahead awaiting my entrapment. The subjective answer is in the affirmative, in that whereas some in my position would have seen thorns in a bush I chose instead to focus on roses. The analogy of a glass being half-empty or half-full comes to mind.
The bitter cold and grayish day I set foot in America by way of living in England, is another indelible marker by which I define the passage of time. Within the flicker of fifty years in duration, from the moment my teary eyes first stared with wonderment at the statue of Liberty while standing alongside my twin brother, to this precise moment in time, youth transformed into old age, and my children gave birth to grandchildren. The love of Malta once uncompromised, gradually mutated into a shared accommodation of sentimentality held with equal intensity for the United States, the land of my choice and boundless opportunities. Fate had decreed that my future laid not in Europe, but across the Pacific ocean beyond uncharted shores. To my regret none of my children speak Maltese, nor share my deep affection for the land of their forefathers.
Of all the body blows that scar a lifetime, none are more tragic than the loss of a loved one. With the death of my parents, I was left without sympathetic shoulders on which to lean and seek solace for my many burdens and self-imposed wounds. My dear mother's sudden demise at an early age led to a vacuum that can never be erased. Without her the world would forever remain empty. I remain sadden in that they remain buried outside of Malta. The grief that was yet to come would proof almost unbearable. There came a moment of incredible emotional intensity when I virtually witnessed myself die, as my identical twin Victor departed this earth, after a short but most painful bout with multiple Myeloma cancer. It is an experience which is impossible to narrate in words, one so unique that only those chosen few that were conceived from a single split ova can fully fathom. This terrible setback dealt to me by nature, will attain closure only when my ashes will intermingle with his and are strewn to the four winds over Malta. The many times that we reminiscent together about our precious WWII childhood in Malta, and an endless array of naughty escapades sought elsewhere, as we shadowed one another across continents, would never again resonate amidst the sounds of joviality and laughter.
My now fading memory recalls the distant day when as a newly arrived immigrant, and without having the benefit of influence with the local draft board, I was inducted by Uncle Sam into military service and trained as potential cannon fodder for the war in Korea. It made no difference that I was at that time not an American citizen. The episode taught me an indelible lesson in that some folks are more equal than others. It also hardened me for twenty plus years working abroad in a civilian capacity, as a soldier of fortune, before settling down to raise a family in California, with its Mediterranean like temperate climate. During this time of youthful adventure I helped America loose the wars in Korea, Vietnam and the civil revolution in Iran. Destiny had decreed that I was never to be honored as a conquering hero.
Twice married and the parent of four children I am in a favorable position to vouch for the indescribable pleasure that children bring at birth. Nothing is more tender than the feel of an infant's soft breath on one's skin. It is the pinnacle of human existence. Newbies bring with them a sense of being eternal, in that they become the present link for countless generations yet unborn. The perpetuation of life is akin to a circle, it has no beginning nor end. Just as my forefathers reached Malta's shores from points unknown, and I set foot in New York in search of illusive fame and fortune, so will the children of my children traverse the far corners of earth, and perhaps venture beyond to colonize deep space. The voice within will not be stilled, but will be heard in endless repetitions over the eons of time, ever in search of an allusive answer to the eternal question - dear God, why me!! .
E-mail to Joseph Vella: vellajoseph@msn.net
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