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 new 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 graduated in Medicine and Surgery. My dream came true. But the profession is not without its stress. There is heartache when faced with incurable diseases, things that only God could cure. And that 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 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 tranquility of the rolling hills of Britain, the orderly queues and polite good mornings, but 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?