A week ago in Parma

A week ago I was in Parma, together with 24 other young authors from the so called New Europe. Gremese Editore published an anthology of short stories, one from each EU member states, Racconti Senza Dogana. This was an initiative of PEN Club Italia, on the occasion of Italy's EU presidency.I was there.Someone wrote a press release saying that I was "representing Malta", an expression which, I have to admit, struck me as very odd. I mean in Parma I did not feel I was representing my country at all. If anything, my story published in Racconti Senza Dogana was representing *my self*. The concept of representing one's country is strange, especially if you find yourself doing it without really intending to. I mean I was contacted by the Italian Cultural Institute in Malta, asking me if I was interested to write a short story to be published in this anthology and that was it. But "representing" one's country is, according to me, a totally different concept. Secondly, I wonder if I *want to* represent Malta. What for? Is it that gorgeous to represent your country? Is it honourable? Does one *have to*? And what if one has an uncomfortable relationship with one's country? There is a castle in this little village called Compiano, a province in Parma. We were there, the 25 of us. There were also high profile personalities, parading like middle-aged Versace models. There was also widely known poetess Alda Merini, a contradiction to the posh environment we were in (thank Goodness). We were invited to a concert. A very melodramatic pianist playing Chopin. His gestures and mannerisms made one think that he was on the verge of dying a hero's death on the keyboard! Speaking of death, he was playing Chopin's funeral march, when all of a sudden .... someone's mobile phone rang, that horrible, lousy Nokia tune!