Eager to test his new birthday present, a Swatch watch, Clifford Portelli, then 16, dived off Żonqor Point, Marsascala, at night. That rash decision changed the course of his life forever. Fourteen years later he gets about in a wheelchair, but he tells Ariadne Massa he needs wheels to reclaim his lost independence.

Clifford pops his head from behind the wooden door of his home in Marsascala, flashes a smile and attempts to keep his over-excited pug dog CJ from dashing out.

Manoeuvring his electric wheelchair through the hallway, the 29-year-old tetraplegic stops by the study to download a video link of the car he dreams of owning - a Toyota Fun Cargo, costing €35,000 (Lm15,000), adapted to his needs.

His brown eyes widen with excitement at the thought that some day soon he can get behind the wheel and go off on his own - get to work on time and meet his friends - without having to rely on anybody.

"I see the happiness printed on the face of those who have just obtained their driving licence and I yearn to experience that feeling of independence," he enthuses.

Shifting his weight in the wheelchair in a bid to find a comfortable position, Clifford recounts the day, September 24, 1994, when an impulsive decision robbed him of his adolescence.

His friends had organised a surprise barbecue for his birthday at Żonqor Point. One of the presents was a waterproof Swatch watch.

Gripped by the excitement of the moment, he decided to put the watch to the test by jumping into the sea from a spot he was extremely familiar with.

Except that evening, familiarity did not help - and he crashed on the rocks.

He split his head open and broke his neck, damaging the spinal cord's vertebra C5 and C6, which left him paralysed.

"I don't remember anything. My friends jumped into the sea to help and one of them found me stuck under the rocks. I'm paralysed, but the Swatch was still working three years after the incident," he says, smiling at the irony.

Reminiscing about his childhood, Clifford recounts how he lost his mother when he was three years old. His years at school were difficult and he was occasionally bullied.

His father remarried and life at home was not always easy. However, he sought refuge in Scouts, relishing the sports and adventure that came with it. He always sought his father's approval on everything, until he discovered the power of dancing and it boosted his self-esteem. He made new friends and started dabbling in DJ work, developing from a reserved boy into a young leader.

"I was no longer scared of anything or anyone. Life was finally going the way I wanted it... and then I got hurt," he says, in a barely audible voice.

Clifford spent two months in a coma at St Luke's Hospital Intensive Therapy Unit.

"I drowsily came to from the coma three times and each time I saw the person next to me die. I was thinking to myself, next time it's me."

He survived, but his passion for break-dancing was shattered and his youth was nipped in the bud. While his teenage friends were going back to school, he was struggling to regain some movement in his body.

He spent six months at Boffa Hospital, and he clearly remembers the day his father promised to return with a wheelchair.

A man he had met had a snazzy model and he was hoping this one would be similar.

"Instead my wheelchair was about 80 years old - it was like a war tank. I hated it," he said, laughing as he recalled how he struggled to make it move.

He got his break when he travelled to Stoke Mandeville Hospital, UK, for treatment.

Everybody had pumped his expectations and he arrived there with the firm belief he would walk again.

"I only cried once. On my second day at the hospital the physiotherapist strutted in and said, 'Hi, I'm Laura. You're never going to walk again'.

"I just bawled my eyes out, and her reaction was, 'Are you just going to stay there and cry, or shall we start working?' I knew we'd get on," he recalls.

"Her brutal honesty forced me to stop believing in miracles and face reality. As a result I exploited every opportunity I had at Stoke Mandeville.

"We spent eight-hour sessions every day doing everything from swimming, to weight lifting, archery, and learning to use a computer keyboard. The experience was indescribable."

The healing process had begun, and Clifford managed to regain strength in his upper body, though certain movements are still impossible to master.

He returned to Malta energised, but due to practical reasons, he could not return to his parents' home, so he had to be readmitted to Boffa Hospital, where he remained for three years.

"I had returned from the UK determined to continue my life and put what I had learned into practice, adapt myself to my condition and find a way to live again. However, being back in Boffa after the intense rehabilitation process I had undergone was a shock and I felt demoralised."

Something did come out of his stay at Boffa. There he met Josianne Sammut, who was visiting a relative and they instantly hit it off. She has been his strength and pillar for the past 10 years.

Once he got out of hospital he soon landed a job as an administrative clerk at Aġenzija Sapport, in Mtarfa, a post he holds to this day. He also derives a lot of satisfaction from keeping the website of the Physically Handicapped Rehabilitation Fund updated.

Working helped him regain a semblance of normality, but he depends on a contractor to shuttle him between his home and the office.

Luckily, the transport is subsidised but he still has to shell out €2.91 (Lm1.25) for the return passage, and his grievance is that he regularly arrives late, sometimes even by as much two hours, which makes him feel inferior to his colleagues.

Whenever he has appointments or events outside work, he has to fork out €34.90 (Lm15) a trip for transportation arrangements, so socialising for him and Josianne is limited and costly.

Being invited to a wedding means a lot planning beforehand but without fail he always arrives after the couple has tied the knot. Parties are the same, he arrives late and when the driver shows up at the stipulated time, Clifford will be having fun, but he has to leave.

"You are constantly depending on somebody to get you to and from your destination. That's why I believe a vehicle adapted to suit my needs will be a huge step towards more independence and mobility," he says.

It took Clifford a long time to pluck up the courage to go public with his story and seek financial help, but his friends and family finally persuaded him.

"I dream of one day being able to drive off on my own."

Clifford needs to raise €35,000 (Lm15,000) to realise his dream and purchase a Toyota Fun Cargo, adapted to his needs. Donations can be made to Bank of Valletta account: 400 171 101 92.