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Ciao Mitici!
On April 30th, I stood once again at the edge of the Grand Harbour in Valletta, surrounded by a sea of people, all of us waiting in quiet anticipation. It was the final night of the Malta International Fireworks Festival—an event that, even after years of tradition, still manages to feel like something entirely new every time the first spark hits the sky.
As the sun dipped below the limestone buildings and the evening breeze swept through the harbour, a hush fell over the crowd. Then, without warning, the sky exploded.
But this wasn’t just noise and color. This was storytelling through fire.
Each display was timed perfectly to music that echoed across the water—modern symphonies, classic Maltese melodies, and global anthems, all blending into an emotional journey. The fireworks didn’t just light up the sky; they danced, pulsed, and painted scenes above us. There were moments of pure silence between bursts, as if even the crowd needed a second to breathe, to absorb what we were witnessing.
I’ve seen fireworks before—countless times—but what struck me here was the emotional weight of it all. This was a celebration, yes, but it also felt like a tribute. A tribute to tradition, to artistry, to the people behind the scenes who dedicate months preparing every sequence, and to the island itself, whose beauty was mirrored above in bursts of gold, red, and cobalt blue.
Children watched with wide eyes, couples stood hand in hand, and even locals who have likely seen dozens of editions still looked skyward with a quiet reverence. It was a rare kind of collective awe.
As the final crescendo lit up the entire harbour in one brilliant, echoing explosion, followed by a few seconds of total silence before the crowd erupted in applause, I felt lucky—lucky to be there, lucky to experience something so beautifully human.
Malta may be small, but on nights like this, it feels like the center of the world.
Logo by @doze
Seguitemi su Twitter e Logo by @ran.koree
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