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I Document My Life Because I’m Afraid to Forget It 😥

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Everyone, at some point in their life, has felt that quiet, unsettling fear, the possibility that one day they might forget everything. The people they once held close, the moments that once felt infinite, the memories that shaped them, all fading into nothing. It’s a feeling we’ve seen in movies, read in stories, and sometimes, felt too personally to ignore. I am one of those people. I have always been someone who prefers to document life, not out of habit, but out of fear. A quiet fear that someday, I might forget someone who once meant everything to me, or lose memories that I once lived so deeply. To hold onto those fleeting moments, I turned to diary writing. For three to four years during my school days, I wrote consistently, pouring my days, my thoughts, my emotions into pages, believing that as long as they were written, they would never truly disappear. But life changed. Unforeseen circumstances pulled me away from that habit, and slowly, I stopped writing. And with that, a st...
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Seen by Many, Understood by Few: Why Most of Us Are Lonely 🫂✨

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We are seen everywhere. In crowded rooms, in passing glances, in the silent scroll of someone else’s screen. People know our name, our face, the way we laugh, the things we choose to show. We exist in their world, visible, present, and acknowledged. And yet, we have never felt more invisible. Because being seen is not the same as being understood. And somewhere between the two, most of us learn what loneliness really feels like. Do you feel lonely even when a group of friends is laughing around you? Have you ever been at a party where you know everyone, yet still feel alone? Do you feel like you don’t truly belong in a place that is meant to feel joyful and full of happy vibes? Everything around you seems bright and lively, and you show yourself the same way on the outside… But inside? Are you really okay? Truly happy? The happy face you show is how people see you, that is how you are being seen. But being seen is always different from being understood, and we often mistake visibility ...
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You’re Not Addicted to Your Phone. You’re Addicted to Distraction. 📱⚠️

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Every time I look at my phone, my mom goes like, “You are addicted to the phone these days, and that isn't really good for your health.” I agree that it isn't good for our health, but addiction to the phone is not what we're actually talking about. It's all about the content we're watching and the distraction it gives us from reality, providing us some relief. It’s easy to blame the phone. The screen time notifications, the endless scrolling, the “just one more reel” that turns into an hour. We say we’re addicted to our devices like they’re the problem, as if switching them off would suddenly fix everything. But what if the phone isn’t the addiction? What if it’s just… the easiest escape? “It’s not your phone you’re reaching for. It’s an escape from yourself and your thoughts.” Because silence has become uncomfortable. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind where you sit alone with nothing playing in the background, no sightseeing or stargazing, no notifications, no ...
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Where My Hands Learn to Heal ✏️✨

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Ever since I was a child, my hands have always reached for something to draw, random objects, quiet desires, things I saw and things I wished for. Somewhere along the way, I stopped, as if life asked me to put that part of myself away. But art has a strange way of finding its way back. Now, it returns to me in the most unexpected moments. I draw when I am bored, when I am tired, when my body aches and my mind feels heavy. I draw when I cannot carry my thoughts anymore. It doesn’t ask me why. It simply lets me be. I was never the kind of artist people admire at first glance. My lines were unsure, my sketches imperfect. But I kept going, tracing pieces of the world around me, borrowing inspiration from strangers on screens and the Pinteresty things, turning them into something quietly mine. Not to be seen. Not to be praised. Only to feel a little less restless inside. There are days when the lines don’t listen to me. Especially faces, they resist me. I can shape t...
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The Season We Never Shared 🌿🍃

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The Voice of the Spring 🌼  He was never meant for softness. Just like his nature, his coldness freezes me. Whenever he arrives, I fade, because he makes my beauty disappear and slowly takes the colour out of me until I no longer recognise myself.  I learned that the way frost settles, quietly, without apology. I tried to bloom in him once, tried to add colour to his life, tried to press life into the spaces he kept untouched. But he was not empty; he was simply closed, locked, not open for anyone. And still, I linger around him, hoping he would look back at me at least once. But once again, he grows colder, and somehow, it makes my own blood run cold. Yet, he hesitates before leaving completely, in that fragile warmth that dares to return. I often wonder if that is love or if he is simply comfortable in my presence. Maybe I was never meant to stay. Maybe I was only born to remind him that he once had something good and let it go. I fade when he arrives and return only after h...
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The art of creating something out of nothing ✨

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.Ever wondered what you could create out of something that seems completely useless? Something so beautiful and unbelievable that people wouldn’t believe it was made from what was once considered absolute waste? I’m the kind of person who collects all these things from my home, old boxes, sponges, ribbons, paper, and whatever else I can find. I’m often called a “scrap collector” by my parents. It does sound funny, but the effort I put into turning scrap into something unbelievable is what truly matters here. The first craft I’m proud of was made using cardboard and the sponge that comes with shirts we buy from stores. I had an interest in dolls and miniatures from a very young age. Of course, we’ve all had that phase where we were fascinated by miniatures, and those YouTube channels where they cook tiny food using mini vessels. Coming back to my craft, I used cardboard and sponge to make a small sofa for my toys to sit on. Back then, my parents did buy toys for me, but th...
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From the Perspective of a Candle 🕯️

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I was born just now, and I could speak. I’ve heard stories that my purpose in life is to give light to the people who hurt me by burning my hair. But though people say I’m born to sacrifice myself, I refuse to believe it. I’m being put in a box along with my friends, and now I look like a showpiece to the people around the bustling shop I’m in. From here, I get a chance to watch people every day… and I don’t think they are as harsh as I imagined. I always see them with smiling faces, some crying too, which makes me pity them. Children visit often, crying when their parents don’t give them what they want. Ever wonder how I know them? I have no mom, or maybe I was born without one, so I don’t feel like most people do… none of my friends have feelings either. The place I live is bright, decorated with countless lights.  If light is everywhere, what is the purpose of my existence? I was taught that I live to give light, but now it seems that lesson was wrong. I’ve heard that giving lig...
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