Harmony Part 2: A Beautiful Juxtaposition

Today, I woke up with an urge to visit a place from my childhood. The playground in Mellieha Bay is secluded behind the parish church and isn't that easy to find. I suppose one can see it overlooking the islands of Gozo and Comino driving up from the coast road, but the place doesn't stand out straight away. As I stood in front of the church, I didn’t quite know if I’d still find it there, but some places outlast the decades and this is one of them. Most of the equipment in the playground has been replaced-- there’s even a seesaw for disabled children now--but to my surprise, the old rocking horse is still there. The paint's wearing off but the children are still enthralled by its imposing structure. Seen through my toddler eyes, it seemed huge and indestructible. Seeing it now again after so many years, I reckon that my perception wasn’t that warped after all.   

It’s as if time pauses in this playground; one can hear the cars drive by on the coast road beneath, but the noise is quickly muffled by the peace up here. My parents used to bring me here on Sunday afternoons, and I’d spend ages immersed in my play. The place is only 20 Kilometers away from my hometown, yet it would take us at least 2 hours to get here, courtesy of the Maltese Public Transport Authority. But it didn't matter: as a kid I loved it because it felt like a legit traveling experience and made me appreciate this place even more.

Fast forward to 2015. As soon as I got here, I started to take pictures but didn’t really know what I was looking for. Was I simply going down memory lane? I knew I’d be writing a post about this place, but had no idea on what exactly. Most importantly, I kept asking myself what was it about this place that I still treasure so much. It’s in moments like these, that I realize how complex writing is: we become consumed by a feeling, an emotion, but how can we capture it in a word, a sentence or paragraph, especially when the memories date back to my early childhood? 

But then, suddenly, it all fell into place. Next to do playground there’s a tiny cemetery, and the two are separated by an old wall. Strangely enough the cemetery doesn’t feel eerie at all; instead it whispers cozy. I’m not a huge fan of burial myself, but I can understand why people bury their loved ones here. It's serene.

On the left hand side one can see the wall covered in plaques. 

And as I stood from a distance, I understood what made this place so special to me. From this vantage point, I could see the toddlers play only a few metres away from where the dead ones are resting. The same ones that not so long ago played there too. 

We usually don't associate playgrounds with cemeteries; we're either faced with the lightness of childhood or the heaviness of death. I came here thinking that what I missed was my childhood playground. It turns out that what I loved about this place is the beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. The 2 coexist peacefully here and strike that perfect balance. Life and death. This has been a leit motif in my recent posts but there again the more I think about these 2 combined, the more it all makes sense.  It’s the new that replaces the old. The cycle of life.  

I’ve now moved to the Seaview Snack Bar facing the playground. As I sip my cappuccino and type away, I take a glance at the lucky "heirs" who flutter around mindlessly. Who knows, maybe I'll bring an heir of my own here someday.