The Destination

Like walking in the desert, the dunes on the horizon never seem to be getting closer. They are static, faded, but illuminated as my destination. The sand beneath me acts like a treadmill and I don’t seem to be moving closer to my destination.

A palm oasis to my left, the ultimate distraction. The glistening water, the proximity, the treadmill breaks loose and I can walk, walk into my new destination. The destination is but a distraction, and is not real. A false goal in life, an illusion, a mere wish, a short phase. Mirages change people, many find that oasis at the end of their shorter, lighter walk, however its water is often dry, and a muddy surface replaces it. The trees that once reflected in the shiny water have died, and have been replaced by nothing alive.

For those who keep focused on the dunes, in the long haul they will enlarge, they will seem real, they will be climbed. The journey is the destination. It is worth the longer wait, the dream will be realized. Along the way your canteen might dry up, as will your morale, however just keep putting one step before the other. The destination is real, the oasis there is pure, it is heaven.

Sometimes in life it is better to walk that extra mile, to reach the water on the other side.

... and now its time to head back to 505

First gear

First Gear


Clutch, gas, first gear. Clutch, gas second gear… brake. Repeat cycle. This is the system we all call early morning entertainment. That 30 minute drive every single morning as we make our way to the Mecca of our student life, the University of Malta feels like hours.

30 precious minutes trod by in the same routine, seeing the same thing, singing the same tune, cursing the same traffic. How many times have I read that same bumper sticker in front of me? I’ve inspected every inch of my car, and I’m bored. There’s only so much the Focus can offer. I’ve read all the manuals, safety stickers, tooted the horn enough and literally studied the interior design.

Each minute strapped in feels like an hour, each hour a day. The clock receives more attention then my speedometer. I glance at it an average of once a minute, sometimes the minute hand wouldn’t have even budged.

With the first five minutes out of my way, I resort to my entertainment system and slap some lively morning music on my iPOD. People passing by now can enjoy the view of a wide open mouth, as I literally make my speakers redundant. Thankfully my windows are shut and the misery is contained.

Finally I arrive at my destination, and now the real challenge beings: looking for that sacred space, that hole in the floor. Can I squeeze in there, or there? Ah, that’s reserved, as is that one, and that one. Now the panic sets in, which excuse have I not used yet? Will my lecturer be sad enough to believe? Perhaps ill use the puppy eyes this morning, and really go full swing. My sincere apologies go out to my teacher, I’m late… again!