Identity
Do you need to have a title?
I have always struggled with my sense of identity.
I was born in Malta but not brought up there.
When I eventually lived in Malta, I spoke more English than Maltese, yet I was not English.
I never quite fitted in Malta, but I did not fit in England either.
Do we need to fit in?
Do we need to belong somewhere?
Some people call themselves global citizens, able to fit everywhere. But do we also need to be localised, pinned to something, so we can describe ourselves? Or, as my husband puts it, to have a connection and feel inspired.
For many years I wrestled with this idea of identity. I hated explaining where I was from. Because of my accent, or rather the lack of one, I was never given Maltese roles in plays or on television. I often wished I could speak British English the way Renée Zellweger does in Bridget Jones’s Diary. Then I could belong wherever I wanted. Perhaps all I needed was an accent coach.
Being a teenager in Malta before the European Union was not easy. I was called everything from a snob to the English bitch. I never felt that I belonged.
As I grew up, I placed myself into different pigeonholes just to be accepted. Slowly, I began to forget who I actually was. I forgot what I liked, what inspired me, what came naturally. I started doing what was expected of me instead. It is a dangerous place to live, but I survived there. Being pigeonholed makes you normal, one of the crowd, a number.
Yet I have always hated doing what everyone else does. When Fifty Shades of Grey came out, it was everywhere. On the beach, on the bus, in staff rooms. Everyone was reading it. I still have not read it, and I have never seen the film. I dislike liking what I am told to like. I am not a sheep
.
Perhaps identity is something society wants us to have so we can be easily understood, categorised and controlled.
I do not want to be controlled. Do you?
When Covid hit, everyone needed to be accounted for. Freedom felt stripped away. We had to explain where we were, what we were doing, what our plans were. I hated every day of the pandemic. I wrote about it in my diary somewhere. I envied those who travelled anyway. I envied those who resisted the pressure to get the vaccine because it conflicted with their freedom of choice. I did not have that choice. I had to get it in order to leave Malta.
Now, when customers come into the tearooms I run and try to work out where I am from, I enjoy their confusion. I like that they cannot pin me down. It feels good not to fit neatly into a box. It feels good to just be me. I am unpredictable because I do not belong to any flock, black, white, grey or pink.
I asked my husband about this once. It is a source of pride, he says. So does that mean I am not proud of where I was born? Not proud of my ancestry and culture?
I love Malta. I miss the sea, the buildings, the beauty of what was, though not always what is. I know my roots and I am proud of them. But they do not define who I am.
Being clear about your identity, at least to yourself, is the first step to being true. Everything else is noise. Because once you know who you are, or who you want to be, your focus shifts to being yourself always and everywhere. No explanations. No apologies. Yes, not living for the likes or the followers. Just being you.
What do you think? Are you ready?