I was born on the Mediterranean island of Malta wanting to become a medical doctor. My parents strived hard to give me the best education on the island. Life is all about priorities and my mother would buy a book for me rather than a new shirt for herself. And so my parents fed my imagination and nurtured my ambition. I slaved away at medical school and I graduated in Medicine and Surgery in 1993. My dream came true. But the profession is not without its stress. There is heartbreak when faced with incurable diseases, things that only God could cure. This was when I started to write. I went home after work and wrote volumes. All the stress seeps out as ideas flood my mind and materialise on paper. I feel complete when I’m in my own little world, creating.
Seventeen years ago I moved to the UK. And for anyone out there thinking of moving around...beware. Nowhere is home. When I’m here I constantly dream of that scorching Mediterranean sun, deep blue seas and soft sand caressing my toes. I long for the loud boisterous conversations and the warm gigantic hugs....Oh nothing beats a scorching Mediterranean summer. Try it and you’ll see. But when I’m there I start to miss the luscious green countryside, the tranquillity of the rolling hills of Britain, the polite good mornings, the orderly queues, and most of all I miss the fairness, opportunities and rewards for hard work. I grew to love my adopted country, but I love my roots too. It makes me wonder....where is home for me?