"C"

by Marin Ivanov (Bulgaria)

A leap into the unknown Malta

You know how sometimes in Google Maps there are locations that you really, reeeally have to zoom in on to unveil? This is not a story about such a place – in fact, this is about going even deeper. Pinching and swiping and double-clicking until only nameless textures remain on your screen, mere indications of earthly existence. No landmarks or marked lands, nothing historically worthy of somebody going “This is X because I just said so”. But you know something is there, it HAS to be! And not only because there’s technically a “something” everywhere but because your instincts are telling you so, and don’t you think that part of the coastline looks like a nose poking out into the open waters, sniffing out adventures? There might not be a big, bold X stamped in the middle of it all but there is definitely plenty of… “Sea.” “Yes, ducky, we’re on an island – there’s plenty of sea to go around. Literally.” The purposeful pause before her last word automatically turned both the gears in my brain and my gaze towards her. My smile and squinted eyes were the facial expression equivalent of pointing “finger guns” at her – especially since my real fingers were too busy stopping my hat from becoming the largest colorful petal this wind has ever picked up. With the joke acknowledged and my head surviving to wear hats at least another day, the next question followed: “I’m glad we took a route to get away from the crowds and all, but is there a specific direction we’re going?” It didn’t stem from annoyance or fatigue. It was a plea for reassurance – that I’m fine, that WE’RE fine, and that the wind hasn’t entered my ear and turned my internal compass into a carousel. I didn’t want to ruin the mystery, not when I was feeling that we’re so close to “it”. The unknown is interesting exactly because it’s unknown - the nerve endings and chemicals inside of you waiting for the big reveal, for that built up suspense to burst out into the world. I wasn’t about to withhold that from her, but I still had a question to answer. “Sea.” “That’s not a direction, ducky – east, west, north and south are. Let’s try this – what is there to the east?” It took me longer than I’d like to admit to get my bearings, but I turned around to where we came from – the path woven into the cliffs, each step an excuse to admire a different scene every time. “Sea.” “Alright, and to the west?” I spun back to the path ahead of us, where the sun was acting as an ever-reliable indicator of both time and space. “Sea.” “To the north?” Half-expecting that one, half-working out the answer from the sun’s position, I looked over my right shoulder. A cathedral in the distance, another companion of ours for the last hour or so, was framed almost perfectly by a high arch composed of cactuses. Cactuses? Cac-cactae? “And south?” That question ended up being the last one, not only because we ran out of cardinal directions, but because it was also the answer. Snapping me out of the cactus conundrum like a hypnotist waking you up from a dream, I grabbed her hand and ran towards the coastline. The clearing was just too inviting, too perfect to question whether this was going to be it. The blue sky ahead of us quickly transitioned into the blue Mediterranean, the horizon necessary but pale in importance compared to its neighboring giants. We gradually slowed down and stopped near the edge of the cliff, on our own shared border between safety and breathtaking amazement. The very last question of the journey came from me, in the form of a short word. At that point it didn’t matter if it was “Sea?” or “See?” or even “¿Sí?” –what seemed like the answer to every possible thing you could ask for in the universe was right there in front of me. And next to me. It wasn’t marked on any map, but it left a mark where it mattered most.