Identity
I am an immigrant. Born of Maltese parents in West London. I sang “God Save the Queen” but was always aware that I came from a sunny island far away. Only my best friend Gary could properly pronounce my surname.
When I was ten my father got homesick and the whole family moved to Malta. I was in a place I should belong. However, I could only say three words in Maltese. Iva (yes), le (no) and inħobbok (I love you). At my first school I was known as l-ingliż (the English one). I felt like an immigrant.
Thirty years later I moved to Belgium with my wife and daughter. A new country, two new languages, a different sense of humour. I became an immigrant again. We are called Expats but it is really just a fancy word for immigrant.
I remember coaching Malta against England. They played “God save the Queen”, I sang l-Innu Malti out loud. I insisted all the players did. I knew both anthems by heart. One I vocalised, the other I might have sang silently, but I didn’t let anyone know.
It can be a little confusing sometimes. Explaining where my allegiances lie. I care about what goes on in all three countries. I want all three to thrive.
What I do know is that each country faces immigration problems. Whether real or overblown, they often shape the politics of each country. What do I think? I was born an immigrant. I am an immigrant. I have felt like an immigrant in the country of my forefathers. I say give the immigrants a chance.
This blog is the third in a series of 30 leading up to my sixtieth birthday. If you pop back everyday expect to see photography, videos and poetry as well as tidbits of information about what makes me tick.
Stephen Buttigieg - Words 