Storm on the horizon and storm within.
I had long been at war with myself.
The reason lost in translation.
It all began on a cold Saturday morning.
It was windy and cold. I began the day with a cigarette and tea.
I had gone heavy on cannabis the last night, and the many nights that preceded that, but I decided to honour my promise of making it there.
When I made it to the meeting point, I was greeted by people as far as I could see. It was truly heartwarming so many people show up on a shitty Saturday morning, all focused on accomplishing a singular task: waste removal from the sea and from land.
I could swear that standing beside me was my family from a past life. Everyone was chill ,pure chill vibes.
The group leader was giving us a recap on the past year. Something that stayed with me was using AI and drones to map out waste on the coast from the air, which is pretty cool. I can only imagine the datasets they train the drones on, with trash collected from cleanups. Super interesting, age-relevant work.
When the group meeting was over and it was time to head to specialised groups, I went straight to the dive group. I was greeted by the most chill and cheerful people on the planet .I swear they were all having fun, and I felt so nice to join in.
When the buddy pairs were decided, I looked at my buddy and I thought I had seen her before at a brainstorming session for the Coast Trust project, but I decided to keep shut because I already trusted her with my life. That is the only requirement I currently have for dive buddies: trusting someone with my life. And not once during the dive did she betray my trust. I had visual contact throughout the dive and she was pretty chill underwater, so no worries at all.
The task of removing waste from the ocean at that particular point was distressing because as far as the eye could see, there were glass bottles strewn over the ocean floor. And honestly, anything I do won’t put a dent in the numbers of 6.36 million tons of total debris that accumulate in the ocean every year, but with the Żibel tribe it felt doable, honestly.
Before going into the dive, for the life of me I couldn’t figure out where air were leaking from in my regulator. The dive co-ordinator Miguel, who is super experienced with equipment, was gracious enough to help me fix my regulator. When I asked him for a spare one, it turns out that my pressure gauge had come loose, and he promptly helped me solve the issue.
Then it was time for a buddy check, but before that another member of the Żibel tribe was super helpful by passing me the tank over the wall edge which, in my state, was a lot of help. I don’t remember his name, but in retrospect I should have asked for his name because I believe he also helped fasten the cylinder straps over my tank.
After that it was a buddy check with my chill buddy, and we were in the water.
Throughout the dive I was focused on the singular task of taking out as many glass bottles as I could from the bottom, because in my state then I doubt I could have manoeuvred a lift bag or tie a bowline knot. It was simply freezing.
Coming up from the dive, I was defeated by the tons of trash I saw. When the group leader asked me if everything was okay, I wanted to say yes but I could only nod because after 41 minutes at 5 m my body was numb from the cold.
But I was greeted by the Żibel tribe with hot chocolate, and that warmed me up a lot. I felt the ripples of that delicious hot chocolate within my heart.
In general everyone who showed up to the dive was a chill person and I have immense respect for everyone who showed up on that shitty Saturday morning. It was all for the “love of the game”, and the game is beautiful indeed with such beautiful people who are a part of it.
Looking at the storm clouds on the horizon, I felt hopeless but then I saw it—a man, a myth, a legend: David, standing in the freezing wind and rain in shorts and slippers. That was a sight to see. The strength he has is truly inspirational. I could never stand in shorts on a rainy morning in the wind. After talking to him I realised the reason he could stand the cold was because he was already chill. We talked about tons of stuff and it all made sense in that moment. I saw my own flaws and he was gracious enough to correct me on tons of stuff I had wrong.
Another super cool person I saw on that particular Saturday morning was Jaydip Lakhankiya, who is planning to walk from Malta to India. On days when he feels challenged to find hope and motivation, Lakhankiya reminds himself it just takes one person to catalyse change.
“If you study any revolution in the world, it starts with one person.”
Source: https://timesofmalta.com/article/this-man-plans-walk-12000km-malta-india-18-months.1118545
After bundling up my gear and drying myself, I requested Robert and Stephen to drop me home to Msida Campus Hub and they were gracious enough to accommodate me in the backseat of their car. The ride home was honestly really educational and they were super kind to me.
One thing that stuck out to me before I got into the car was an old rusted anchor resting on the wall in front of me. I found it really symbolic.
After getting home, washing my gear, I was back to the ganja. It made sense in the moment—doesn’t anymore—but yeah. I smoked up and I lost track of time in that stormy weather until sunset, when I was smoking a custom pasta joint crafted by another French legend, David.
Honestly, looking at Mater Dei from the Campus Hub terrace after the rain showers and stormy weather was one of the best sunsets I have seen.
On the stairwell going back down to my room, I saw Osheen—another legend—my neighbour in Campus Hub, and Leyla, and in that moment, cooked by life and staring too long at the sunset, having that conversation meant a lot.
After going back to my room, rolling another and smoking it, I was lost, broken, and hopeless in all senses of the world. The one singular thing which pulled me out of that darkness was the terrace gang shoutout to Rowen, Ash, Pierre, David, and Sinem. They indeed made the game much more beautiful with their comforting presences.
Another French legend, unarguably the man, the myth, the legend himself Monsieur Quinten, was always there waiting at home for me and honestly his presence made C641 home. Since I landed in Malta he was always there for me and I only have incalculable amounts of respect for that man. He is a legend indeed.
After breaking down multiple times at the bench by the pool, I decided the only thing that could make this storm bearable was Happy Days because I had the happiest days of my life at Happy Days.
So I went to the ATM and withdrew 80 euros, I believe, and found a super cool Bolt driver to take me there—and take me there he did.
When I went to the last bench of St Julian’s Bay right next to Happy Days, I sat down, lit a cigarette, and broke down again. I just couldn’t stop crying. The self-defeating thoughts kept coming to me.
I am pretty sure somewhere during the timespan of smoking that Camel cigarette that I heard two familiar voices of Satvick and Riyaz, my dear neighbours in C block and fellow table tennis partners, but I couldn’t reach out, not while crying. I felt ashamed of myself.
When I walked into Happy Days bar shack I saw another familiar presence: Mr Hazzouri from the international office, who had helped me out to get my residence permit card, or at least at that point the approval in principle. He was out in the boat chilling with “the boys”.
I ordered a half pint of freshly squeezed orange juice from the bartender, a fellow Indian dude who I had met countless times before. Most of the staff at Happy Days were Indians at the time of the great party era which spanned from the end of October till that moment. I knew everyone’s faces and some of their names. I have since forgotten all their names, something which I am deeply ashamed of. They are all beautiful people. Also the Colombian staff I believe they are also pretty chill there. Again, I had my happiest days at Happy Days.
When I went and sat in my booth I broke down again and my reality started feeling shady. I thought of the entire day and something felt off.
So I ran. I only visit Happy Days because there are two exits on either side and I know the general vibe. Up until that moment I had never seen Mr Hazzouri there, but in retrospect it was a pretty chill scene. He was having fun with the boys. Why was that suspicious?
Having seen Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Samouraï a few days ago, I felt strange and I saw a bunch of people lined up at even intervals all along the bay.
While running I saw a bottle and a bin, so having come up from 41′ at 5 m this morning on a crazy mission, I felt I should leave no stone unturned and not be a hypocrite. So I threw the plastic bottle flying in the wind into the bin in front of me.
I was so paranoid. I felt tons of people were following me while that wasn’t true. I had just seen too many hitman movies and I felt strange. The cab driver who dropped me till the skatepark was also a pretty chill dude.
I saw tons of chill people in the skatepark as well. It is a place I passed through so many times before that I felt it was shady at that time, in a storm, to see so many people.
It was all super shady in my mind, but hey—again, all the Moroccan hash was fucking with my reality in real time, so I don’t know for sure.
I made my way to the bench where it all began and I broke down again, feeling defeated that I couldn’t find happiness/peace.
Then I made my—at that point I don’t know which mistake—but it was my biggest one: I grew suspicious of my roommate and I thought he had something to do with people following me, and I grew hostile towards him.
Then I did the next best thing, which at that point in mind I knew was right running.
At this point I am really good at running. Not the fast sprint kind the slow endurance kind. After all, I have been running from myself my whole life. It has been 20 years and 13 days now.
I traced my way back to Dive Systems in Exiles Bay, and throughout the slow walk there I felt as though there was an invisible army of people following me. I was too stuck in my head. Everyone was minding their own business and I was super rude.
Especially when I made visual contact with the sea in that storm, I saw Jaydip and I thought he was following me while he was just walking. I mean in retrospect, he plans to walk to India—isn’t it a perfectly normal scene to see him walking? Even at night in a storm. I imagine he has a tough journey ahead and he was steeling himself. What an inspiration.
(if you are reading this Jaydip all the best for your long journey !)
I made my way to the edge of the rocky beach and sat down. I had tea and cigarettes, also a complimentary portable ashtray thanks to the guys at Happy Leaf for that. Get yours now at Happy Leaf or at Bloom (book your tickets now): https://bloomfestival.com.mt/
I broke down repeatedly again and kept crying for a long time. My dive watch was the only technology I had at that point.
I was convinced the world is out to get me. I didn’t feel safe, so I threw away my Kindle. I tried to break it, but when it didn’t, I reset it and left it at a bus stop. I hope the new owner takes good care of it. It has a Bloom sticker on the back.
I was in the middle of the worst storm in Malta I had seen since I got there, and the only reason I was out there was because I felt like I was looking for a fight with reality, and I thought I was being subliminally mind-fucked by god knows who—probably myself in retrospect. I was stuck in my head.
My only mission was to see the sunrise. I was cold, wet, alone, broken, but the things that kept me going throughout the night were people. I just saw so many, and I saw a few dogs as well which were pretty cool.
Anyways, I made my way towards Manoel Island in hopes of catching the sunrise because in that moment I believed I needed that ,and god yes, I did need that.
When I saw the sunrise on the morning of the 11th of January, everything beautiful, true, good in this world made sense and I felt whole again, after which I slowly made my way home to C641 in Campus Hub.
Then I made the final mistake of the morning or at that point I thought, my life. I was convinced my roommate had hacked into my stuff and I was paranoid, so I said, and I quote:
“Quinten if you touch my stuff while I am sleeping I swear to god I will beat the shit out of you”
I have enough hate towards Avik in that moment to fill all the oceans in the world perpetually, and I did him wrong. As a result, when I opened my eyes he was gone, taking all of his stuff with him. The home didn’t feel like home anymore and I was lost, broken, high off my mind and in a really shitty place in life.
Notebook Photos
10 January — day
(Transcription for readability)
10th January — day.
The day began badly.
Earthquakes in the mind.
Storm on the horizon.
Storm within.
Faith being tested.
Seeing so many people show up for the love of the game filled me with immense hope.
Saw an anchor.
Felt safe, valued, chill vibes.
Beautiful sunset between a storm.
The storm was more violent at night.
The entire night faith was tested.
11 January — morning
(Transcription for readability)
But in the depths of the storm, on the morning of 11th,
I saw that there lay beside me
an invincible fire.
It was people that bridged the gap and helped restore faith.
I have a profound unwavering faith in people, especially people
who are in it for the love of the game!
After much deliberation with reality
I have decided it is beautiful
“One must imagine Sisyphus happy”
— Avik vs reality
Authors note: this is fiction not true
Leave a Reply