Red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight. What about green? Green is nature which, in Malta, usually means another plant to imprison on your balcony until the sun kills it off.

Nature, for me, has always been less about forests and more about grounding. I’m not a hiker, I’m not a camper. I don’t even like sandy beaches. But I do know the feeling of walking down the promenade with my headphones in, sea in the air, and realising that maybe, just maybe, I don’t need a junge to feel alive.

Sometimes all it takes is remembering there’s air in your lungs the water’s not far.

Green can be ritualistic. Small things we build our days around to sto ourselves floating off into the ether of chaos that is our the voice in our heads. My rituals are simple: drink coffee, feed the cat, match the playlist to the vibe, make sense of the mess. These aren’t breathing exercises or mindful affirmations. They’re tiny roots that keep me steady.

We all have a chosen family. Nature is never just plants and the sea; it’s the ecosystems we craft around ourselves. It’s the friends who send you memes at 2AM, it’s the people you can drop your guard around. The people who remind you that you’re not just surviving – you’re thriving.

Green is nature, and it takes patience. Nature doesn’t like to rush. We don’t scream at trees to sprout faster (you could, but you’d seem unhinged). Healing after a burnout, living openly queer and accepting my autistic brain – it’s all been a bit slower than I’d thought. But green should be that reminder that growth isn’t about speed. We all need roots to settle.

And if I’m being totally honest, Malta isn’t exactly known for its greenery. But maybe that’s what makes every olive tree, every squashed fig on the road, every patch of wildflowers by a bus stop feel even more previous. It’s almost like the universe is saying: look, life can grow here, too.

So I guess green, to me, is proof that even if everything feels scorched or sterile, stubbornness can push through even the tiniest of cracks.

Green is about grounding in the small rituals, the chosen people, the roots grown in places I never thought I’d find myself. It’s about remembering I am part of something bigger, something alive, something still growing.

Because nature isn’t just out there. It’s in here, too. And it’s not going anywhere…

Baryn is an occasional writer with a penchant for quiet corners and long walks through Malta, hunting Pokémon. Obsessed with all things Pocket Monsters, nostalgia and self-reflection, he drifts between the past and daydreams of the future while trying to catch them and live his best life doing so. Join along in the journey @jacxbsen_. 

Lovin Malta is open to interesting, compelling guest posts from third parties. These opinion pieces do not necessarily reflect the views of the company. Submit your piece at [email protected]

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Lovin Malta’s Content Manager, Charlene is a massive Swiftie obsessed with animals, scrolling and travelling. If she’s in the country for more than a day, you can find her reading on @onlyforthebooks