You wouldn’t expect the events guy of the organisation to be writing an article, would you? Truth be told, I have been exploring the world of writing over the past few years, primarily in poetry. Safe to say it is a world ripe with fun, knowledge, and overall, very therapeutic. This is one thing in the long list of uncomfortable things I want to do in life, together with opening a business and asking out people for some hot chocolate (I don’t like coffee, I know I know, I’m terrible). Quite ironic considering I’m usually the guy who jumps in headfirst when The Third Eye does interviews, Vox pops, and whatnot.

The topic of discussion today is about the individual’s self-image and social value, reason being that people are starting to care more about themselves. With more awareness about mental health and the power of social media, there is more help that is easily accessible such as online therapy services. Also, there is more information and books that are more convenient than going to your traditional library.

You can access summaries of books and helpful tips through platforms like Goodreads, Notion, and YouTube among other sites. This roughly translates to things that can help you become a better businessman, communicator or teach you how to bake some dope-a$$ cookies.

Of course, with every Pope visit and cat video, comes a price increase for pastizzi. More people nowadays are insecure about their image, linking their self-esteem to how their body looks or worse, how other people look in comparision, how many likes they get on a post or what they own. Why do you think demand for plastic surgery has shot up over the years? Or why so many gym supplements without any scientific evidence are sold?

In the book 12 Rules For Life: An Antidote to Chaos by Dr. Jordan Peterson, he notices that male lobsters challenge each other in their ecosystems for food, shelter and female companions. Usually those who win the most, have access to the best of these things. In turn, this lets them win even more because they are getting more and more confident.

It’s in human nature to have this desire. We want to be the best, so we go searching for the prettiest partner even though they are emotionally unavailable, the quickest way to shed 5kgs of fat to try and get that six pack whilst risking malnutrition or the best mobile phone with features that you will probably never use but you still somehow brag about. The fear of missing out and falling behind is unreal nowadays.

These fears and decisions breed habits that are inherently detrimental to everyone. In the book How to Not Die Alone, The Surprising Science That Will Help You Find Love by Logan Ury (Don’t judge what I read), she explains that there is an architype of people who constantly search for the best partner and if they find a better partner than their current one, they’ll leave them there and then. Now that’s only one example, you can think of the rest.

With that, I want to share a few tips from my perspective that may help you become a better version of yourself and avoid the simultaneous pressure of worrying about self-image:

• Consistency and patience are your best friends: “Most people overestimate what they can do in one year and underestimate what they can do in ten years.” – Bill Gates. To get good at something, it takes quite a long time to get good at it. You will suck at something the first time you try it, a lot of times. If you keep at it, as per the lobster example, more good things will happen in the future. Just keep punching the same wall, eventually it will break sometime. (Disclaimer: The Third Eye is not responsible for people punching walls and breaking the walls and/or their hands.)
• Treat yourself like you’re treating your Pokémon: In line with the theme of wanting the best things, we tend to forget to want the best for the most important thing, your mind and body! For your mind, I would recommend reflecting and journaling, exploring nature and the greenery more or trying out some therapy. When it comes to your body, change your favourite foods to more healthier versions of it, perform some exercise, at home, at a gym with some friends or even when outside. Having a well-trained Pokémon is essential to winning the tough battles, same principle applies here.
• Be hungry for knowledge like you forgot to eat for 3 days: This doesn’t necessarily mean “lock yourself in your room, do nothing but read books only for entire days.” Although it is very good to do so, we’re students, we’re already tired of reading notes, nanna’s Facebook posts and the endless wave of advertisements (and probably this article). Instead, what about trying out new stuff such as voluntary service? A new hobby? Doing something bold or funny? Sometimes, learning from our adventures and mistakes is much more effective and fun than listening to a lecture about it or reading some book about it.
• Find the boots that suit you and that YOU like: It is a very long and difficult process but buy and post things that are quintessentially you. Not what others think is best for you or out of fear, but what YOU want. Trust me, it lifts a heavy load off your shoulders.

When you have a healthy self-image and act in a kind, healthy way towards others, good things almost gravitate towards you. You’ll naturally create an environment of growth, where you will grow even further.

I’m no guru on the subject, but its what I got from a few people that are way wiser than me, some books, and a bit (quite a lot) of contemplation. There’s a unique beauty in everyone, waiting to grace this world. However, you have to be the one to unleash this. Let us grow together, for a budding today may create a blossoming tomorrow.

The post Self-Image: The boost to Super Saiyan or the chain to tie you down? | Your Right to Write Campaign appeared first on The Third Eye.

I was always taught that I would grow up and have a boyfriend, and eventually, a husband. I never knew I could love anyone, that there were other options than being heterosexual.  

The first time I came out to someone, I was fifteen years old. I was confident and comfortable in my sexuality by then and I wanted people to know the real me. I was at school at the time and I turned to my friend and told her “Please don’t look at me differently, but I’m a lesbian.” I waited nervously for her response, but she just hugged me and told me that nothing would change. That experience changed my life; for the first time, a person knew who I really was. I did not have to pretend or hide anymore. 

As months passed, I got the courage to come out to the rest of my friends. I was met with different reactions – some hugged me, some told me they also don’t identify as heterosexual, and others screamed. What each reaction had in common, was the love and understanding I felt from each and every one of them. Even though it might have come as a shock to some of them, they did not view me differently or stopped loving me, and it was something I did not expect. 

Then, it was time to come out to my parents. I tried to come up with different ideas as to how I could come out to them, such as literally jumping out of the closet screaming ‘I am gay’, but I figured that would send them into shock. So, I went with a more subtle approach; I sat them down in the kitchen and came out to them. They looked at me with blank faces and I was worried for a moment that they were going to be mad at me for being someone different than they excepted.  

As days passed, neither of us brought it up, and I thought it was something we were never going to acknowledge again. But then, my mother sat me down for the ‘How did you realise you’re gay’ talk, and I had to reply that even from a young age, I found girls attractive, I just did not know how to describe the feelings I was feeling.  

I am nineteen years old now and what I’ve learned over these four years is how good it feels to live life not hiding anymore. I can be who I want to be, love who I want to love, and most importantly, feel happy and comfortable in my own sexuality. 

So, for all of you who have made it this far of the article, I encourage you to accept yourself as you are. Unfortunately, not everyone had such a smooth-sailing coming out story like mine yet it shouldn’t stop you from being happy in your own body and identity. No one should be ashamed of something that everyone is beyond of – the ability to love someone unconditionally (that’s enough of my Katy Perry references). 

The post I kissed a girl… and I liked it | Your Right to Write Campaign appeared first on The Third Eye.

In a couple of hours I should be in my scrubs observing a consultant performing a physical examination on a patient. A couple of more hours after that, I am supposed to be seated with tens of other students attending a lecture; a contemporary ceremonial gathering celebrating a dying tradition. My schedule is as packed as that of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson; however, I do not anticipate the sight of a single pancake any time soon. Instead, I opt to stay in bed. A temporary prison sentence before I pay my dues as part of a civilised society. A sentence that is in no way voluntary.

I’ve spent many hours – or maybe days – staying in bed, on the couch, or on any surface that can withstand my weight. The funny – and sometimes disturbing – fact is that I do nothing at all. Usually my thoughts keep me company. A series of concepts passing by my mind with no intention to answer a philosophical question nor ask for practical solutions. My points of view in life are redundant. My healthy image of myself is dilute. Social connection benign and effort expensive. My Mental Health, invalidated and irreparable.

Although the narrative on Mental Health shifted from a stigmatised point of view to an accepted social phenomenon, I worry it has become that of fantasy. Despite the heavy campaigning, it seems we are lost in some kind of discrepancy. Why are we raising awareness about something we’ve yet to understand?
I have an issue with our contemporary perceptions of what mental health is. There is a relentless reduction of the self and mind only to personify it as ‘Mental Health’; an Institutionalised fickle entity limited to deterministic ideologies in academia applying counterintuitive pressures pushing the narrative away from any legitimate Mental Health comprehensive dialogue. If I’ve lost you, how do you think I feel when my brain decides to think of these sentences? Allow me to explain my point.

In the past few years, we’ve become glued to mental health perfectionism and hyper-awareness. Millions upon millions of books sold insuring the key to enlightenment amongst its pages. Millions more globally are seeking mental health consultation – striving to find answers about their lacking mental capacity to deal with….. life. It has been a distraction from the initial concept of mental health campaigns’ genesis.
I’ve struggled with my fair share of mental health issues. In fact, for a couple of months now, I’ve been attempting – and failing – to write this article. The pressure I’ve applied on myself made me anxious and self-deprecating. I found myself ranting and rambling with my pen on some poor notepad that didn’t see my angst coming. My notepad resembled a detailed-ink-stained-map of Asia. Every emotion carried its own weight on the page.

Internally enraged from my writer’s block, I am nonchalantly staring at the wall. I just stare with no real intention, but with every bit of ambition. My mind sees it differently, of course. We are meant to sometimes stare at the wall to think, predict, and process information. Our memories intertwine with our never-ending fictional streams of thought, narratives, and dreams. I just couldn’t balance my thoughts with my writing. I was limited.

“To be or not to be, that is the distraction.” A quote from ME, in Bed.

As we target mental health, we are mostly missing the point completely. Therapy was never the ultimatum – nor was the placement of anyone in distress in a given time in some circle-jerk group feeding off of each other’s insecurities for temporary relief. Needless to say, therapy has become such an expensive investment. If students and those who are less privileged socio-economically cannot access help, are those campaigns offering impractical solutions?

Our deepest and darkest thoughts are those that drive us to be better human beings. The danger arises when we develop a complacency to those facets of our characters. We’ve become far more comfortable in admitting we feel ‘depressed’ than participating in a reflective process to deal with our introspective maturity.

I sure hope my Perspective is cynical. That we are not relying on social campaigns – who are exploiting mental health campaigns for exposure – to define what mental health means to us. That we are applying more effort to be in an uncomfortable mental space to learn where our expressive limits are.

The step forward is to discard the notion of mental health. The step forward is to rehabilitate the
narrative; to reassemble our social and intra-personal perspective to accommodate to all. A diverse
scenario where the formerly known as a person with mental health struggles is viewed as a human
who fits a unique psychological profile; moreover, a heterogenous person liberated from the
mental health limitations in social hegemony.

The post My Approach to Owning My Mental Health Struggles | Your Write to Write Campaign appeared first on The Third Eye.

It is disturbing. Reading and watching the news on what is going on in your own territories and being incapable of doing a singular thing about it. It is disturbing to watch mothers mourn upon their killed children while sitting down with privileges, the guilt is eating you from the inside and goosebumps are spreading upon your body. One could wonder, for how long are we going to endure the ugliness of such circumstances? Is it going to last forever? Are we, as Palestinians, going to live under the fear of instability and insecurity for long?

Bias and chaos are what we live under. You might think that leaving the territory that fills you up with such feelings is the ultimate solution, something that a naïve politician sitting on his chair would think of. Palestinians endure on and outside of their territories. They cannot even express the words of “my territory” freely. If I were to count the times for when I had to go through the debate of “Isn’t that Israel you’re talking about?” or the “you mean Pakistan?” with pity looks are countless.. I have reached a level of numbness, one that comes after various observations of awful scenarios. No one would ever be able to understand how difficult it is to be A Palestinian.

Guidelines of subjectivity and chaos will never impede writing about Palestine. One needs to go through the lens of Anti-Semitism when mentioning the norm of objectivity of this cause. Anti-Semitism is a powerful weapon indeed, one that is used by almost any author, citizen, Israeli, in standing up against Palestinians demanding freedom. It is hideous, having reached the 21st century and still having the need to interpret why and how Palestinians demand freedom. “It is a sensitive topic” hits us in the face and ignites a million flames. In order to avoid getting political, the only historic statement that I will be mentioning as a backup to why Anti-Semitism as a weapon are the following: the existent Jewish communities that oppose the establishment of Israel along with the existing Jewish community in Palestine before 1948 (formulated 5% of the Palestinian population). This will undoubtedly answer the question of Anti-Semitism if understood and digested completely.

My mother used to recite this story to every friend or relative of mine as a way to prove how
dramatic her daughter is. The story starts by describing how my mother opened the door for the 3
years old me and my brother to go play in the yard and ends up with the Israeli soldier commanding
my mother to take us inside. IDF soldiers spread in our neighborhood which was in Qalqilya, a
city in the Westbank. My beloved mother starts here sarcastically imitating how I ran into the living
room crying and yelling “they shot me here” followed up by a laugh, a ridiculous laugh if I may.
The only memories I’m perfectly capable of recalling from my childhood would be anything related
to this misery. After several years, I was trying to interpret my reaction at that time only to find out
that a neighbor aged 16 years old named Walaa had a panic attack in front of our door and started
hysterically shouting “take them inside”. Walaa had previously witnessed the murder of her brother
by the IDF troops and at that exact moment, she got some flashbacks. I highly believe that the
attitude of being “dramatic” as my mom says, is a completely normal act that has been driven by
severe events along with a scenario that has been created in my head. Not a single child on this
planet earth should go through this, all kids have the right to go and play in their yards without
fearing a military intervention.

Situations, when I felt as if my head was replaced with flames, are countless times. However, I recall
dealing with an employee in Malta quite recently where I was giving out some personal
information, and all that sparked that internal flame was hearing her saying “but that is Israel?” as a
question, along with and allow me to say this, a stupid facial expression that demonstrates nothing
but stupidity. Having to be put in situations where people mismatch your land with an ugly
occupation is painful. I do not have the absolute authority to put the blame on them. I do blame
those who are fully aware of the situation of unfairness and still make wrong assumptions. I do,
nevertheless, blame with full consciousness, the media. The media is a monster. The power that the
media holds is scary.

Although some would think of this issue as misery, I still find it as a beautiful misery, and
emphasises are to be placed on the word “beautiful”. Call it in what generation Z know as
“flexing”, but I do highly believe that being born a Palestinian is a gift. A gift for which you will pay
a lot of taxes for. One that you will find yourself, unconsciously, talking about to everywhen and
everywhere. Without any sense of exaggeration, observing how certain people’s eyes spark when
mentioning “I’m Palestinian” that is followed by questions after questions as if a kid met his role
model and is out of breath forms what I describe as an exhausting interval of passion.
I was on a video call with my mother about two days ago and she described a situation that left her
speechless and left me in tears of laughter. It was 4 pm, stomachs were filled and bills were ringing
as a call for “time to study”, my brother who is almost 11 years old sat down and initiated studying
geography by observing a map for Palestine. He started asking my mother “do we have this city
now?” and he kept getting “no” as an answer. The 11-year-old ended up closing the book gently,
looking at mom with a sarcastic look saying “bring me an appropriate map, and then we will talk
about it”. Although this has left me crying from laughter, it has sparked an overthinking session
about how sorrowful this is.

Coming from regions like Palestine would put you in situations such as “crying at the airport”. I’m
not sure if everyone is familiar with this but Palestine does not have an airport. In November of
2021, tears were shed at Malta international airport. It was an exhausting trip as I had to, as usual,
head to Jordan to travel to Malta. Crossing the borders is an ugly and humiliating process indeed, it
is not easy at all. I remember arriving at the Maltese airport while deprived of sleep for more than
24 hours. Everything was going just fine until I heard her saying “you have to quarantine, I can not
find Palestine on the list here” while holding the passport humiliatingly. Keep in mind that I was
stuck in Palestine for more than two months due to that list until it was announced that Palestine
has been moved to the “dark list”, which means that I can enter Malta without any challenges. I
have attempted to explain to the employee that Palestine has been moved to the “Red List” and the only response I got was her eyes rolling back. I have asked to go and make some phone calls only as an excuse to let these uncontrollable tears fall comfortably. I went back immediately attempting to inform her
about the update. However, an interruption to my words occurred with “I’m calling the
inspector”. It ended up with the inspector apologizing about the inconvenience after 1 hour of me
desperately just trying to talk.

One might think that this inconvenience is due to covid-restrictions. However, my observations at
that time do not say so. I’m someone who usually observes everything, including the very small
details. Such observations have their disadvantages and advantages. In this previously mentioned
inconvenience, I would say that my observations were of benefit. I have seen how the employee had
these fed-up facial expressions as soon as she saw the “Palestinian authority” passport. Expressions
that oppose the way she treated other nationalities. The other matter that we could discuss here is
that this “inconvenience” would not have occurred if the changes were made for countries like the
United States for example.

I take almost every chance to talk about Palestine. You could say it is my main personality trait, an
oath that I’m committed to. It is what my life revolves around. It is also the main producer of my
dopamine. It is a passion, one that comes from misery, a beautiful misery

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Please don’t do it. This isn’t a pretentious throw away comment from someone who’s never experienced death, it’s a personal account and a desperate plea from a person who watched their boyfriend dissolve into thin air and couldn’t stop it.
There’s nothing comparable to the first time you learn someone close to you has suddenly died. Your whole world floods with memories as a black shadow grips your heart and shreds it. That’s what your loved ones will go through if you die. The hell they fall into in those first few hours is simply a teaser for the all consuming descent into madness the next few months will be.

And it’s worse when it’s not sudden. First they wonder why you aren’t texting, then they call three times and panic because you’re not answering. And finally they hear the news. The shock is immediate. All the anxious worries they brushed off as simply overthinking turn out to be the cruellest omens. The person they know is gone. They will never see them again.

After you kill yourself, the people who love you realise that the child they raised, or the partner they held in their arms, or the friend they grow up with, or the stranger they knew in secondary school decided that living was no longer worth the effort. The smiles they shared with you become poisoned. The laughs and memories permanently discoloured with questions they will never have
answers for. There’s no outrunning the earthquake that hits after that, and I don’t think there’s any surviving it either.

Losing someone to suicide makes you question every facet of your existence. It paints every mistake you made neon yellow and reroutes every pathway in your brain so you can never stray too far from them. It devours your relationship with yourself, and with the person who died. If you kill yourself, your friends are going to spend months arguing about how badly they treated you in your last few
weeks, completely ignoring the years of support that preceded them. Your partner is going to torture themselves because they didn’t notice the fire in your eyes dimming. Your parents will blame themselves for failing to give you a life that could make you happy. In one decision, a hundred people’s relationship with you will be crushed; reduced to doubts and over-critical introspection.

They’ll magnify their own imperfections because in their eyes they failed you. They weren’t available enough. They didn’t listen enough. They didn’t see enough. They’ll hate themselves for missing signs that may or may not even be there. Or worse: they might want to join you. If you kill yourself, you stop being a person and morph into a series of skeletons. One in a coffin and the rest tucked
menacingly into the closets of everyone who cared about you.

You might think they’ll never forgive you. That they’ll curse your name for months and beg every god they don’t believe in to take away the ghosts you left behind. And to be brutally honest, they’ll probably have days like that. But I can also guarantee that it never lasts. Regardless of how many times they feel horrible, there will always be more when they cherish their memories with you like
they’re solid gold. For every hopeless day there will be two others where the simple thought of you makes them wish they had five more minutes to tell how much they love you. One memory. The only thing they will ever want from you is one more memory.

You aren’t someone unloved, and you aren’t someone unsupported. So please, as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, please don’t kill yourself. If you have the conviction to die, if you have the determination to defy your basic survival instinct, I trust you have the strength to seek help? One phone call. That’s all I’m pleading of you. When the fog gets too thick to breathe and when the
shackles are too heavy to pull and when this vicious, unfair existence is warping your view of death so much that it looks like paradise; please just call someone. You’ll save a lot of people a lot of grief, and you’ll give yourself the most valuable gift possible: another chance.

If I had those five more minutes with my boyfriend I’d wrap my arms around him so tight and wouldn’t say a word. I’d stay like that until I turn to stone if it means he’ll go back to his grave believing he wasn’t alone. But that’s not possible now. He doesn’t have any time left. You and I do. You and I have an endless number of chances to claw our way out of whatever whirlpool is pulling us underwater. We’re not dead yet, but no one’s going to throw us a life raft if we don’t scream for help. These are the moments that matter. The ones where we see our own mortality for as fragile as it truly is but still choose to preserve it. You’re not alone. You’re just too deep in the shadows to see all the loving faces around you.

But I promise they’re there, and they’ll hear you if you shout. Don’t let everyone in your life hate themselves for missing the distress calls you never sent out. Let them hold you through the harsh nights and laugh with you at sunrise. And give yourself the same thing. You’re not going to hurt anyone by admitting you’re struggling, but you will if they only find out about it after it’s too late. I never received that one phone call, and I will never stop wishing I had.

If you kill yourself you’ll become a ghost: a collection of fading memories, framed photographs, and an abandoned Facebook profile. You’ll disappear from people’s minds after a few months and only return as a sombre reminder of what sadness feels like. The rest of the world is going to keep living, so isn’t it better to stick around with them? Isn’t an unwritten future more appealing than a premature conclusion?

Please don’t kill yourself. You deserve more than that.

The post Please Don’t Kill Yourself | Your Right To Write Campaign appeared first on The Third Eye.

Books and reading were never really compatible with me. I have a vivid memory of taking ages to finish a Horrid Henry book. Surprisingly I developed a healthy relationship with reading during the pandemic. I felt very much like my grandparents. They read because they enjoy it; it is an essential part of their daily routine. My grandmother, who reads anything from Immanuel Mifsud to Dostoevsky, has her day planned out according to her reading and recalls her daily activities by referring to her books. They read out of enjoyment, and that is all that matters.

On a national level, it resulted that a mere 35% of the population read more than one book in 2017, while a European Union study showed that Malta placed third from last in the number of books bought per household. Seeing the lack of critical thinking and imagination within the university, this probably suggests that most students of the University of Malta also do not read. Discussion often remains very shallow and sometimes there is no discussion at all, in both lectures and extra-curricular activities. Countless of times we hear lecturers complain that students do not venture beyond their required readings, if the latter is ever done.

As a member of Moviment Graffitti,I frequently attend the KSU Commission Meetings which are meant to discuss current issues. Ideas, thoughts and observations often lack any substance. Frankly, they are quite boring; not because of the topics being discussed, but because the same points are repeated over and over again, with no fresh ideas ever popping up.

Let us take a simple example. Following the horrific death of Paulina Dembska, there was a discussion about gender-based violence. Although a very pertinent matter in need of urgent reform, there was no indication that students had given much thought to the subject other than the statuses they had seen while scrolling on social media. No reference was made to any statistics, to Dr Marceline Naudi, who was the Scientific Co-ordinator of the European Observatory on Femicide between 2018 and 2020, to the Women’s Rights Foundation or to any particular study that had already explored the ideological and practical aspects of the subject. I went to the discussion with hopes of learning and understanding more. Instead, it was as empty a discussion as any others we had regarding parking or recycling bins at the university.

It is a true pity. The highest academic institution in Malta has consistently produced, en masse, generations of graduates with an individualistic and non-critical attitude towards learning and studying. This is a long-standing problem which I believe has been aggravated by the neoliberal approach the
university has taken to education. The ethos has been completely shifted towards producing job-driven adults, rather than critical, intelligent thinkers.

This attitude has baffled me since my days in sixth form. Am I receiving an education simply to please my future employers? I hope not. I would also like to think that all educational institutions do not only perceive themselves as job creators but in a rather more holistic manner. A hint of social responsibility would be fitting in such institutions’ ultimate objectives. There is, there must be, an intimate link between the lack of social responsibility most of us have and our exposure to this mentality. A simple example is the lack of resistance to the planning laws in Malta. Everyone hates seeing badly planned apartment blocks, yet nobody wants the laws to change in case they could benefit from them themselves. I would argue that this stems from the fact that the intellectual and political discussion on social class, economics, gender, race and work is very poor amongst our university students. Indicative of this is the lack of reading and desire to think about, discuss and find solutions for these relevant issues. Local university students are still quoting George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’, and thinkers such as Sigmund Freud, when in mainland Europe they are reading Rutger Bregman, Zadie Smith, Amia Srinivasan and other emerging
writers, thinkers and researchers.

All this could have a lasting negative effect on Malta. Some argue that we are experiencing a brain drain due to a lack of opportunities for certain graduates and post graduates, as well as the mainstreaming of jobs within the gaming industry.
I do hold a sense of optimism that from this vacuum something good may emerge. As Rutger Bregman says in his book Humankind, now is the time to ‘try to understand the other, even if you don’t get where they’re coming from’. He tells us to ‘be realistic’ and to come out of the closet to do good. When faced with such a situation as the lack of intellectual stimulation and development, we should immerse ourselves in these problems and start thinking of ways to solve the current crises troubling our islands. There is still time to write a hopeful history.

The post Immerse ourselves. Fill in the vacuum. | Your Right to Write Campaign appeared first on The Third Eye.