La dolce vita in Malta

I graduated in interpreting. It was something I was quite good at. In the booth I was confident, creative, focused. My lecturers encouraged me to pursue a career in interpreting, ideally in Belgium, where I grew up and where all the opportunities are. Fate decided otherwise. I fell in love. With an island dweller. Two weeks after graduating I packed my suitcase and moved to the rock. Never regretted that decision, ever.

I now live in the Mediterranean. The islander and I own a flat with a sea view (until they decide to demolish the houses opposite and I end up looking at my neighbours’ washing lines) and I indulge in the dolce vita of the South, where fireworks are a daily occurrence in summer, music and art are food for the soul, life is lived on narrow streets and colourful squares, religion is the backbone of society and work is nothing more than a countdown to late-night drinks at the pub.

It’s a misconception that Southerners don’t work. They do, and more intensely than up North, believe me. Forty-hour weeks are the norm and siestas are not standard practice. But we – I consider myself one of them, albeit with milky-white skin that turns lobster red from April onwards – live. We treat ourselves to good, but sometimes far too greasy food – think pastizzi, qassatat and rabbit stew (well, hubby-to-be, I don’t eat rabbit). And wine – yes, Maltese wine is actually good. My favourite: Delicata’s Grand Vin de Hauteville. Highly recommended. We travel – Air Malta won’t go bankrupt, we’re far too loyal to our national airline. We simply enjoy life.

Many wonder why I chose to move to a rock with a total surface area of 316 km², a spit in the sea. With a population density of more than 1,200 people per square kilometer. A place where trains and trams don’t exist. Where it never snows. Where the humidity levels are so high my hair looks like that of Madonna in the 1980s. Well, the answer is simple: I followed my heart. I realised that you only live once. That work is important, essential even, but that, at the end of the day, all that really matters is happiness. And although work does add to happiness, it’s not the main contributing factor. Love is. Not just love for that one special person, but love for life. I’m not simplifying. I’m not romanticising. This is how I see it.

Yes, if I had stayed in Belgium I would probably have become an interpreter instead of a translator. I would have earned more money.  But I would also have lived a very different lifestyle. No sunshine on my pillow. No walks on the seafront soaking up the Mediterranean sun. No shopping in the city of the Knights of Saint John on Saturdays. By ferry, because we travel in style! No cake at Fontanella on Sundays. No trips to the beach in October.

Who knew life could be so blissfully perfect? Sure, I have off-days too. But today is not one of them. Enjoy your weekend!

LOL & ROFL – WTF?

I’m old. I’m 27 going on 28, and I feel old. Especially in conversation. I can’t keep up with the way (the English) language is evolving. I live in Malta, where English is an official language. I was raised speaking English and Italian at home, and Dutch at school. I can get by with my basic Maltese. Language is supposed to be easy for me – it’s my passion, it’s what (I think) I’m good at. So why on earth do I find myself questioning my skills over and over again?

I’m a translator, proofreader and copywriter. Needless to say, I know that language is dynamic. I’m an advocate of progressive vocabulary. I welcome new words and expressions. And yet I can’t keep up with the way teenagers and twenty-somethings speak. Not only that, I also find it utterly ridiculous.

Apparently when something is funny, you no longer laugh or smile. Nowadays, you say LOL. Come on, LOL?! And something extremely funny has now earned its very own abbreviation: ROFL. When I first heard it, I had to google it (yes – Google has become a verb, are you supposed to capitalise it when it’s used as a verb?).

I can understand you might want to use abbreviations while chatting, in writing I mean – I’m not a fan, but I do see the logic behind it: a fast-paced life calls for quick and easy communication methods. Capital letters have been banned. Punctuation is a thing of the past. But why, oh why can’t we take the time to pronounce words in full? And what happened to the good old smile or laugh? Isn’t that enough to show appreciation for a humorous remark? Do we need to add foolish internet slang to our spoken interactions?

Naturally, when you work from your sofa/bed/kitchen stool, your circle of friends and acquaintances is more limited than that of say, a marketing manager who attends networking events. The scope of your spoken communication is also more focused – you speak only when and if necessary, and it’s mostly about work. Could that be the reason why I’m not on trend? Or is it really an age thing? I’m starting to doubt myself…

The perception of time

Have you ever found yourself casually glancing at a digital clock and seeing the same numbers displayed in sets, like 11:11 or 12:12? For some reason, that happens to me at least six times a day. No joke. You’ll tell me “Of course, you have deadlines, you probably look at the clock every five minutes, so it’s bound to happen at some point.” But no, I don’t check the time that often. I like to believe I have a built-in clock. I usually know more or less what time it is. Anyway, it might all be a coincidence, but I still find it freaky, so I had to mention it.

Now that takes me to my main point: time. I’ve been fascinated by the concept of time for… ever. Is it linear or multidimensional? Is it “real” or “perceived” differently by each and every one of us? This is not science fiction. On the contrary, time is one of the most fundamental principles in life. We experience it every day. The clock relentlessly ticking away…

Hubby-to-be, a very rational man, is a history enthusiast. Yet he refuses to question the very essence of time. He doesn’t feel the need to define it. For him, like for most people, it just exists. It’s almost irrelevant. This view baffles me.

A few weeks ago I decided I wanted shelves in my kitchen. Hubby-to-be and his brother had to spend an entire afternoon drilling holes to hang my floating shelves, which, I’ve now discovered, serve no purpose. In the process, they had to remove my wall clock. Even though I have a clock on my laptop and one on my oven, as well as a wrist watch, I felt lost without my wall clock, my point of reference. I hardly looked at it when it was there, but as soon as it was gone, I realised just how important it was in my daily life. It’s still on my desk – close enough for me to casually glance at it from time to time. We’re trying to figure out where to hang it. Or maybe we’re just lazy.

I feel time seems to run faster now that I’m working from home. Years ago, I worked in an office for a few months, and I remember the days never seemed to end. Yes, I had deadlines there too. No, I was not bored. Yes, there were distractions – the phone ringing, colleagues chattering, my favourite song on the radio. Yet time was slow. Slower. Now, somehow, mornings seem to fly by. Before I know it, it’s time for lunch. Is it just me – or does my brain process time differently now?

If you’re interested in the concept of time, I recommend “A brief history of time” by Stephen Hawking. I’m not going to go into it, because it’s about quantum mechanics and I’d end up with the entire scientific community ridiculing my attempts at interpreting Hawking’s theories, but I do want to share an interesting quote with you below. Food for thought…

My “non-office buddy”

I’m very lucky to have my friend M. – I like to call her my “non-office buddy” – who checks that I’m alive every few hours. After all, when you share your “office” with no one but your dog, you’re not exactly safeguarded against intruders and sudden health scares, like panic attacks resulting in hyperventilation. Thankfully, I live in an apartment block where there is always someone around, and my hubby-to-be, parents, mother-in-law and sisters-in-law give me the occasional phone call to make sure I’m ok. And then there’s M.; she’s special. She makes me feel like I do have a colleague right beside me. Not one of those annoying, nosy ones, but a true friend, who asks you how you’re feeling first thing in the morning, who wishes you bon appétit at lunchtime, and who cheerfully ends the day with a funny one-liner. And yes, we also meet for cappuccino and cake. Like real colleagues do – wait, do they? I’m not sure.

I always thought that the worst thing about working from home was the gut-wrenching loneliness. And to a certain extent I was right. You do feel cut off from the rest of the world. You don’t have staff parties. On your birthday no one surprises you with a box of chocolates on your desk. And there’s no such thing as office pranks…

But even worse – and this was something I hadn’t really considered when my stay-at-home adventure started – is that you’ve got no one to turn to in case of emergencies. I like to think of my labrador as my guard dog, but if you’ve ever had the honour of being a lab owner, you’ll agree that those wonderful furry friends are not of much help in terms of crisis management.

So if you’re working from home, or you’re considering setting up shop in your living room, find yourself a “non-office buddy” who always has your back. Someone to give you a shout to remind you it’s time to go home – correction: to LEAVE home. This true friend will become your punching bag – sorry M. – when you’ve just realised you’ve translated a text into the wrong language (yes, that has happened to me). When boiler no. 9 has decided to trip (Maltese readers need no further explanation, I suppose?), causing a 9-hour power cut as you were about to send out an urgent proofreading assignment. Or when your allergy is making you sneeze all over your keyboard. Yes, that is happening right now. M., are you online?

Wannabe beauty guru?

I like watching beauty videos on YouTube. I work wearing jogging bottoms and tank tops, without a scrap of make-up on – save for some lip gloss or lip butter, from The Body Shop, naturellement – and yet I love watching so-called “beauty gurus” transform their faces into works of art. I anxiously await their next product review, even if it starts with the word ADVERTORIAL, i.e. I was paid a few hundred dollars/euros/pounds to rave about this anti-acne cream that actually turns your forehead into a moon crater. Tutorials, hauls, monthly favourites… they’re all in my bookmarks.

I’ve tried to think about WHY I love this beauty stuff. Maybe it has something to do with my work situation. At uni, I thought I’d become one of those classy ladies wearing fancy suits and driving an Audi. To say things turned out differently is an understatement. Manicures? I’ve had one in my entire life. Trips to the beautician? Nope, never. Hairdresser? Three times a year, at most. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t look like a hermit, although I sometimes feel like one. But I’m not the epitome of classiness either.

Nevertheless, I’ve always loved make-up, hair products and the like. Unfortunately, I rarely have the opportunity to show off my skills in that department. So I’ve resorted to keeping a pocket mirror on my desk, along with lip gloss, mascara, eye shadow, concealer... The list goes on and on. Beauty gurus inspire me to buy fancy creams and potions that I never use. Yes, I fall for marketing ploys. When mascara costs € 9.99, that’s
€ 9 for me. I really believe there is a significant difference between lip balm and lip butter. And yes, primers really do smoothen my skin.

When I feel like my day couldn’t get any worse, I attempt to recreate celebrity looks – that often ends in disaster… and a desk covered with make-up remover pads, cotton buds and wipes. All while trying to focus on the latest L’Oréal press release. And if my boss ever catches me doing my make-up during working hours, I have an excuse: you gotta practice what you preach. Samples are always welcome!

We all have our little quirks. What are yours?

Oops, I forgot my moisturiser!

Sempre e solo Lavazza

I'm half Italian. I love coffee. And by coffee I mean espresso.

I studied in Italy for a few months, which fuelled my caffeine addiction even more. I would literally have a coffee – sorry, espresso – every hour. And real Italian espresso is nothing like the schifezza they drink here: soluble coffee – I can’t mention any brands, but you all know what I’m talking about. Now the problem is my body can’t really handle caffeine very well. I’ve always been a nervous person. My heart rate is always far too high, and yet I can’t resist the temptation.

I bet my boss thinks I can handle stress. After all, I manage to translate very creative texts in the blink of an eye, especially poems, my pièce de résistance! Sorry boss, I panic. A LOT. I’m a perfectionist. And when the going gets tough, the coffee gets poured in industrial quantities.

I’ve tried switching to tea – peppermint, lemon, raspberry, even chamomile. My taste buds hated it. Subtle flavours, yuck! I need the kick of espresso. Lavazza. Yes, it has to be that particular brand. I refuse to drink anything else.

I know coffee breaks are a big thing in offices – people get together, gossip, enjoy a sweet treat and get away from it all for a few minutes, all while sipping a delicious cup of black gold. In my case, coffee is my main source of hydration. So wrong, I know. I’m forcing myself to drink more water, but when you’re freaking out over a deadline, your dog is barking like mad because he needs to go for a wee and your e-mail server is blocking all your outgoing messages, water is not exactly the best pick-me-up. Maybe in those cases I should just scream beam me up!

Heart-shaped coffee spill... Coincidence? I think not!

To desk or not to desk?

If you work from home, you’re familiar with this issue. Having a desk has its perks, first and foremost: it looks professional. People who happen to stop by – “I was at the supermarket and I thought you could use some company” – will actually realise, even if just for a minute, that you WORK. Having a desk is the perfect way to avoid infertility – to be honest I’m not sure about this one, but surely it can’t be healthy to balance your Mac on your lap all day – and that horrible stingy feeling you get in your legs when you’ve been sitting on the sofa all day. But it also has its drawbacks, especially if, like me, you have no space to set up a home office in a separate room. I mean, who wants to look at his work space ALL DAY? That pile of papers that just keeps growing and growing – yes, even when you’re in a paperless sector like mine, you end up with scraps of paper everywhere… doodles, phone numbers, business cards. Very productive.

So what’s best – a desk or some sort of laptop-supporting contraption, like the thingies IKEA sells? I like to look at it like a fashionista who loves to mix & match colours, fabrics and textures. I have a green (plastic) IKEA laptop support on my desk – yes, I do own a desk, also from IKEA… made of cheap but sturdy MDF. I also have a ridiculously ugly, but comfy laptop cushion – from, you guessed it, IKEA. I use both every day. I start my day at my desk – it makes me feel like a “real” office worker. It motivates me. For about two hours. Then I move five metres to the right and I cosy up on the sofa – on the chaise longue to be precise – with my dog beside me and a cup of espresso on my footstool turned coffee table. And sometimes I end the day in the bathroom, on the bed, in the kitchen, or even on the balcony…

Do I recommend my approach? It works for me, so why not give it a shot? They say variety is the spice of life. So by all means, do move from your desk to the sofa, from the sofa to the table, from the table to the bed, and maybe, just maybe, all the way back to the desk. It will make you feel alive. I mean, less frustrated. But no, it doesn’t count as exercise! 

Oh and, for the record, we don’t have an IKEA store in Malta. Whenever I go abroad, I actually schedule a trip to IKEA to fill my suitcase with office goodies. I’m a sucker for cheap faux-Swedish rubbish.

I work from home. Seriously.

This project has been in the making for quite some time. In my head. That happens a lot. I have great ideas – I think – but they often get stuck somewhere between my head and my laptop. For lack of time. Why you say? Because I work from home. I work at home. I work. In my house. No matter how you try to explain it, you’re bound to get some puzzled looks. Yes, nowadays working from your living room, kitchen, bedroom, even your bathroom (when your dog wants to play, but your deadline was, like, twenty minutes ago), has become quite acceptable. And yet many people seem to find it odd, intriguing, questionable, interesting, exciting, laughable…

I happen to be a translator, proofreader and copywriter. My work starts at 8 a.m. and ends at 5 p.m. In theory. Weekends finishing up unfinished business? Yep, I know about those. Evenings trying to retrieve translations lost in cyberspace thanks to my crappy e-mail server or… that magnificent so-called "operating system" Bill Gates created? I’ve learnt the hard way that a Mac and automatic back-ups can be lifesavers. Social networking during my lunch break? Make that all day. Every day. Oh shit, deadline. Close chat window. No wait, there’s a cool video on YouTube. And that oh-so-interesting article on The Times. This coffee is delicious. Tweet. Dad on the phone. Pizza in the oven. Sheets in the washing machine. Dishwasher beeping. HELP, deadline looming!

And now… this blog, where you’ll find handy tips and tricks to work more efficiently… Wait, who am I kidding?