Had life been a chemical equation, Mr. Mario Vella would have found a way to make it a thing of beauty.

And then enthral us with it, with the skill of a consummate magician.

Sometimes, God blesses us by crossing our path with a select few, very unique individuals.

People who become part of our destiny, and are preordained to change our life in incredible ways.

This was one such man.

Unfortunately, I have just received the devastating news that Mr. Vella, teacher extraordinaire, chemistry wizard, ardent astronomer and quiet philosopher, is with us no more.

As with the passing of any person one knows well, any demise is highly upsetting.

However, in Mr. Vella’s case – or “Sir” as I have always called him for the last 35 or so odd years – the loss is all the more poignant because we are dealing with one of the last true gentlemen, a giant of the teaching profession that has left his indelible mark on a huge segment of Gozitan society.

Not simply by the scope of his vocation.

But by the way in which that profession was exercised to the highest degree of professionalism, steadfastness of character, discipline and dedication, all interspersed by his gentle sense of humour and quick wit that made him such an unforgettable character in my life and the lives of all the students he taught with such devotion.

You see, Mr. Vella was not simply a teacher.

Mr. Vella was a magnificent educationalist, a man who had the magical gift of stirring deep interest in his students on any subject he spoke about.

He could turn a dry and boring class about carbon into something as exciting and wondrous as a pirate treasure hunt, with gold to be found where X marked the spot.

Now that is a rare talent indeed.

Mr. Vella has imbued me an undying affection and wonder for chemistry that has been the backbone of my formative years and my defining love throughout my professional life to this day.

Indeed, I do owe my endless fascination of chemistry in its many forms to this one man.

You see, Mr. Vella had the singular ability of delivering his passion with a patience like no other, answering my endless questions – in class as well as outside – with unparalleled clarity, turning what would be a terrible subject in lesser hands, into a work of awe and inspiration.

And learn I did. Indeed, I tried repeatedly to impress him, even though, in retrospect, I am sure he would rather I hadn’t tried quite so hard.

He suffered stoically through a massive hydrogen sulfide reaction I made in his class to proudly show him how much I was learning about reducing agents. For those who don’t know, hydrogen sulfide reactions are commonly known as a “stink bombs”. It was an experience that was eye-wateringly pungent enough to decimate an entire school with the putrid smell of rotten eggs, forcing classes of gagging students outdoors into fresh air. It was one of those incidents that made me very popular in secondary school, all thanks to Mr. Vella’s tuition.

He taught me the beautiful chemistry of fireworks, painstakingly teaching me about the different colors that incandescent elements produce and how to mix them together, with a pride in his eye that only a father showing off his children’s prowess can have.

On one particular occasion, I watched open-mouthed as he demonstrated the properties of sodium, using a small chip of the element that fizzed around like an excited little firework in our chemistry lab sink.

I was struck by the bright idea that if, in turn, I used a chip of sodium that was 10 times larger, it would be ten times the fun.

If fun is catching fire and exploding, drenching the entire lab plus students in water and cracking the sink, then we had a blast.

To his credit, after he made sure everyone was OK, he chided me but forgave me for that summary extrapolation.

With a twinkle in his eye, he drew me to the side and whispered “In this way are great discoveries made.”

Mr. Vella kept on answering all my questions, way after I left the awe-inspiring aura of his classroom, right into my University years, past my graduation and beyond.

A reserved and soft-spoken man, he always found time to chat and never dismissed me by telling me he was in a hurry to leave.

A veritable class act of which there are few left.

In fact, we still talked on regular occasions, right up to just a few weeks ago.

As I grew up, the subject range of our conversations broadened and matured, but he never failed to impress me with his knowledge, his insight and his profound grasp of the world and its ways on just about every subject we conversed on.

In what now has turned out to be one of our last conversations, just a few months ago, I had addressed him with a particularly loud call of “Sir” as I drove by him just past St. Francis Square and stopped to talk to him.

He gave me his usual quick smile and told me “Isn’t it time you started calling me Mario now? You have not been my student for, what, 35 years?”

“Oh no,”, I said, quite horrified. “You will always be my ‘Sir’.

Such was the measure of this man.

So, do wait for me in that big lab upstairs, Sir.

I know you are already there, preparing another wonderfully mesmerising chemistry experiment for all of us.

I promise to sit as I always have during your classes – right in the front row, pen and paper at the ready for some more chemical magic that only you can deliver.

On behalf of myself, as CEO of The BodyForge Human Performance Institute, and my Junior Coach, Dr. Mike, who was also another one of his students, we would like to express our most sincere condolences to Mr. Vella’s family for their loss.

It is our honour and our blessing to have been taught by such a wonderfully unique soul.

When someone becomes a memory, they become a treasure. Mr. Vella already was one when he was with us.

We hope that our Lord brings you much-needed peace of heart during this difficult time.

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