I find Sicily oddly poignant. By now I have visited often enough to allow myself an opinion and it’s not necessarily a happy one.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the place and I would live there for stretches of time, tucked away into the mythical Hyblaeans. I am, however, like that little prince who loves watching sad, beautiful sunsets. And Sicilian sunsets are awfully grandiose. Driving through those thin, winding roads, watching the shadows fill up the valleys like liquid penumbra, drowning all the colour in pinks and oranges; dusk is enough to melt one’s soul. Then the sunset itself morphs from one ecstasy to another, until the sun beds itself beneath the hills.
I dislike sunsets simply for this reason – they erupt poignancy in me. They have always been avoided – it spells trouble for me should I happen to witness one. Maltese ones are timid, which suits me well. It wouldn’t do to behold a Grecian or an Icelandic sunset or even a Fire Island one; that would be outright heart-rending to watch.
I guess it’s just as well I haven’t been there, isn’t it?
Authored by: Isaac Azzopardi