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Gordon's D-Zone Arcive (2006-2014)

Saturday, September 16, 2006


It’s almost the end of another Saturday and I’m blogging again. Sorry for stating the obvious, but I realised just today how blogging is a strange phenomenon. Not only are my friends and family capable of reading this stuff but really anyone with the resources to access the internet and to have the luck of stumbling on this part of the blogosphere.

Today I am compelled to write about my search for home. A place that physically seems quite clearly defined … a building where you live and do the most mundane of tasks before going out to face a hostile and violent world … ok my neighbourhood is not that bad!

But the home I’m referring to is more a place that I feel I need to find, or a state in which I belong and can fully express who I am as a person. Naturally, I sometimes worry about things that are beyond my control. I have been to places where children cannot afford to buy adequate clothing and begged the streets (Turkey: 1988). And the fact that most of the injustice and suffering I’ve seen was being inflicted on children my own age, I questioned my position in the world. And to be honest, my experience of poverty was the stuff of nightmares.

I have even looked at the stars for answers before I realised that I had to search inside of me for that answer. But where is my home? I mean if I knew the answer I wanted be writing this… but I know what did not work for me.

Simply put, growing up with an impairment meant that I could be in society whilst in the same time feeling an ‘outsider’. Thus, I never felt really inclined to become a patriot, or even a religious fervent (Malta has a majority of Roman Catholic).

I could also have identified myself as some and of walking, talking medical marvel or closed myself to self-pity and receive false praise and artificial consolation for my ‘condition’. And not to forget the countless attempts or suggestions to get me fixed or ‘cured’ through divine intervention. If that was home for me, then home was hell!

That said, I was close to death in 1999 after experiencing a significant loss of blood after a kidney haemorrhage. My little kid is ok now (couldn’t resist that) but I have been left with a much greater resolve to find home. Although as my philosophy class should teach me, home is already where you are…

Yes, that point is true but it’s not easy getting to realise and believe that you are there. Especially when the world tries to put you down or change you for its own ends:

1. Charity fund-raising.

2. Medical research or even social work assignment.

3. Holy wheelchair man with great powers of foresight and wisdom.

4. Holy sufferer image of God. Help me or touch me and you’ll be saved…

The sad fact is that everyone knows that home cannot be reduced to some neat formula dictated by some code/law/ethics. Not that these do not have a value for me but what I’m saying is that if you live for the rules with your identity inflexible to changes, then if you experience like I did, the touch of the angel of death you will have to learn everything from scratch.

More painful still is when you start having feelings and emotions that any human being has and having those same human qualities analysed and reduced to data. And when that happens or if every action is determined in relation to how you appear to others, and then you not only lose the hope of finding home but must admit that life is not worth it.

Not because you are at fault or in any way ‘alien’ but because others think so. And do I need to spell it out… that is no H-O-M-E of mine!


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