I come from a minuscule island of 45km length and 13km width while carrying a hefty population of 400,000+ in its belly. That works out at over 1,000 people rubbing shoulders (and it doesn't take much to excite the elbows to do some elbowing instead) per square kilometre.
I come from a paper sailing boat-sized land that is anchored solidly in the middle of the Mediterranean, with its bow optimistically facing Europe and its stern snubbing the Arab heritage that fed our nation's lifestyle, culture and religion for centuries.
I come from a rock that is most deceptive to the eye; apparently barren but for the stone and concrete constructions that spread malignantly but certainly not silently. A visitor scanning the remaining untouched surface of the land will, with mouth parched by a sweltering summer sun, sadly bemoan the lack of lush green that is so abundant in their own water-blessed country. Yet, if only the eye were to drop ever so slightly, the bounty of nature's colours is there, in full Lilliputian glory - escaping from every crack, twisting from under every stone, bursting through each clod of caked earth.
I come from a republic that treats its politics like a football match, with every member of parliament trying to score the winning goal (but for added realism occasionally kicking the ball into their own net) and every election being a cup final, replete with flags and foghorns and obligatory carcading and partying for the winning team's supporters.
I come from 35° 50 N, 14° 35 E.
Yes.
I come from Malta.
