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Rayan Alami

@rayanalami_

2 months ago

Photo by Rayan Alami on August 16, 2026. May be an image of night and text.

Photo by Rayan Alami on August 16, 2026. May be an image of night and text.

Photo by Rayan Alami on August 16, 2026. May be an image of one or more people, people smiling, night and text.

Photo by Rayan Alami on August 16, 2026. May be an image of one or more people, people smiling and text.

Photo by Rayan Alami on August 16, 2026. May be an image of night and text.

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Posted On: August 16th 2026, 06:14 pm

@bella.canggu nights.

Wearing @authentic.roz unreleased shirt
Releasing full set on SoundCloud!

Comments (17)

mikolajlewandowski_

2 months ago

mikolajlewandowski_

Miss you

dimitrirozefort

2 months ago

dimitrirozefort

💿🔥

bella.canggu

2 months ago

bella.canggu

❤❤❤

berkusku

2 months ago

berkusku

Can’t wait to see you again brother 🫶🥂

natyalami

2 months ago

natyalami

🔥🔥 My fav Dj also! ❤️ Muito bom quando estarmos juntos.🙏🏽

nassamita

2 months ago

nassamita

🙌🔥

arazi2

2 months ago

arazi2

Les plus beaux ❤️❤️😍😍

pedroarmand0

2 months ago

pedroarmand0

👏🔥

uropn

2 months ago

uropn

👏👏

uropn

2 months ago

uropn

Eyyy 🔥

isi_carolina

2 months ago

isi_carolina

My fav dj ❤️

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Dussehra 2026 / scribbled notes

I do not believe in Gods and Goddesses, but I perhaps believe what my grandfather told me on his deathbed - divinity is in you. Creator and Destroyer, both, in you. In us all. How many more versions of myself must I create and destroy, I do not know. I also do not know how many of those versions survived such ugliness. The second photo, I remember was the very first time I had a blouse stitched. The curious tailor had touched me as he pleased, trying to measure my non-existent bust. What a strange creature to have walked into his store, he must have wondered. I felt so ugly, so ugly. But at least he stitched me my first blouse. It fit. Something fit.

Sitting in my boys’ hostel room, beard half-lasered and patchy, hair just about growing out, Old fading away, New taking shape, existence still felt futile. Words like “chakka” and “fag” scratched into my door felt like greetings, reminders of how the world saw me, and I’d accepted my fate. I would never find joy, beauty, aliveness. This prison - both structure and flesh - was my home.

I think my brain has blocked out large portions of the last ten years. I’m routinely accused of forgetting names and people. Every year, good apparently triumphs over evil. Apparently. I do not know if such binaries exist, but I do know that if there is the divine feminine in me, in you, she is many realities. Chaos. Fire. Brutality. Lust. Softness. Nurturance. Love. In this little cosmic dance of darkness and light, she rejoices. As I heal, so many memories flood my system, some that I would rather forget forever, but I must at least try. To hold all of it at once.

This must then be how to live, really. Holding many, many things, all at once, ten arms up in the air, feline companion(s), demons vanquished, one foot on your better half, halves/parts within forming the whole, forever.