Luca Arrigo didn’t find surfing—it found him, at a time when he needed it most.
We’re sitting in a Bulgarian restaurant in Malta, boards stacked in the car, salt still in our hair after a morning session at Ghajn Tuffieha. We’re greeted by the most welcoming of restaurant hosts, who serves us a home-cooked Bulgarian meal. Man to man, we sit in front of each other, it’s a safe space for two mates to discuss things of a slightly deeper nature. This isn’t about his first waves or his surf style. This is something else, something more important. We’re in the kind of setting where you don’t need small talk. Luca, a familiar face in the Maltese surf scene, opens up like the tide rolling in—steadily, then all at once. Him and I can’t possibly be shy towards eachother. We’re older, and tired of that shit in society. Things get real, fast.
“I was in a dark place,” he begins. “There was this weight, this fog, every day. I was overthinking, overdrinking, losing grip.” What started as a subtle slump spiraled into isolation, anxiety, even thoughts he couldn’t say out loud at the time.
Then came surfing. Or rather—someone with a board.
An instinct dragged Luca into the water. No therapy session. No deep-and-meaningful. Just a beat-up soft top, messy swell, and a “shut up and paddle” kind of love. “I wiped out twenty times,” he laughs. “But that first ride? That tiny moment of balance—it was like my brain shut off, in the best way.” That’s all it takes, a few people chipping in for a board while on holiday, with no clue how to do it! Kook of the day? More like winner of the day! That’s how to do it folks, don’t overthink: just do. Grab that board, take that chance. You’ll swallow water true, but you’ll get so lost in the moment, you’ll emerge altered mentally.
That’s how it began. Not with glory or a GoPro moment, but with quiet. Surfing didn’t save Luca’s life in a dramatic, cinematic way. It saved him slowly, wave after wave.
The Power of Presence
What makes surfing different from other sports, we ask. Luca doesn’t miss a beat. “Because it’s a conversation. Between you, the ocean, and whatever’s in your head.”
You don’t scroll while surfing. You don’t perform. You just exist—utterly present. And that, Luca says, is what kept him afloat. “You’re not trying to win. You’re just trying to stay standing, and sometimes, that’s enough.”
He talks about the stillness between sets. The way the ocean silences your inner critic. “It teaches you patience. Humility. You’re not in control—and that’s okay.”
Friends on Foreign Shores
That turning point came when Luca left Malta. Like many islanders chasing sun and soul, he ended up in Australia—backpack, board, barely a plan. “I thought I was running away,” he says. “But I was really running to something.”
Byron Bay, the Gold Coast, that long stretch of Eastern Aussie magic—it’s where he found his people. “There’s this tribe of surfers who live with their hearts open and their wallets empty.”
He recounts one particular surf trip, his first with the Malta crew to Morocco, deeper in his surf journey.
“It was chaotic. But it was the first time in years I felt like I belonged somewhere without needing to prove anything.”
He highlights the power of the local community and friendship groups. Here, no one judges and people think about the greater good.
The ocean was different there. Bigger. Wilder. But so was Luca. “I got tossed around in ways I wasn’t ready for. But every wipeout was a kind of therapy. The sea doesn’t cuddle you. It resets you.”
Community, Not Competition
BOMBA has always preached surf culture as more than a sport—it’s a tribe. Luca embodies that. The local lineup, whether in Malta or on the road, became his support network. Not the loud kind. The kind that shows up. The kind that hands you wax without asking questions.
“I used to think I needed to be fixed,” Luca admits. “Turns out, I just needed people who let me be broken without judgment.”
He name-checks a few familiar local faces. Mentions parking lot coffees after dawn patrol. The belly laughs after wipeouts. The knowing nods from someone who’s been there. “They didn’t save me with advice. They saved me with time, and waves, and showing up.”
The Return
Coming back to Malta wasn’t easy. The post-trip crash is real. “You leave thinking you’ve grown, then you come home and realise—you have to keep growing here too.”
But he brought back something better than stories. He brought back practice. Surfing. Grounding. Gratitude and a quiet kind of resilience.
Now, Luca splits his time between working, surfing, and checking in on mates. He’s become that annoying friend who smiles until you do, “and i’ll constantly tell you to surf.”
Still Riding
Today, Luca’s still surfing—and still healing. “The bad days still come. But now, I have something bigger than them.”
His message isn’t wrapped in a tidy bow. It’s real, and that’s what makes it stick. You don’t have to shred. You don’t have to be some soul surfer. You just have to show up. Paddle out. Let the ocean do the rest.
We leave the restaurants bellies full and faces relaxed. Sometimes, that’s the affect of a good, deep, non-judgemental conversation. Some interviews are therapeutic. And we always continue to learn. The power of sport is immense, and the energy a good friendship group gives you is unrivalled. If you’re still looking for yours, you’ve read this already – so just meet us, we don’t bite (unless asked to!)
If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, don’t wait for rock bottom. Talk to someone. Or grab a board. Sometimes, that’s where the conversation starts.
