Raya's Realm

We live surrounded by voices. Conversations fill our days, in classrooms, over calls, in passing moments with people we claim to know. Words are constantly reaching us, brushing against us, existing around us. And yet, somehow, something feels incomplete. Because hearing has become effortless. It happens without intention, without thought. But listening… listening is something we’ve slowly forgotten. There is a difference, a quiet but heavy one. Hearing is just sound. It is words entering our ears and leaving just as quickly. But listening is presence. It is choosing to stay, to understand, to feel what someone is trying to say beyond what they actually say. And somewhere between distractions and assumptions, we stopped doing that. We listen to reply. We listen to react. We listen while checking our phones, while thinking about what we’re going to say next, while forming judgments before the other person has even finished speaking. We catch words, but we miss meanings. And maybe that’s...

We always complain about how our parents control our dreams, our decisions, every single step, and even the path we walk in life. We do know very well that they say these things for our own good, but sometimes, when it gets extreme and out of hand, even that control starts to hurt. Firstly, people who grow up being controlled by their parents every single day are not even allowed to mingle with the world. They become completely dependent on their parents, living their parents’ dreams as their own. And when they are suddenly expected to be independent, they struggle a lot, because they were never allowed to be independent when they should have been. Secondly, even the tiniest activities or hobbies we love doing are often discouraged. They begin to degrade our emotions by saying things like, “This won’t help you in the future” or “This has no value for your career.” Slowly, the things we once loved start to feel unnecessary. They understand that the world runs on money, but sometimes i...

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...

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 ...

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 ...

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...