#vashyrambles

[vashyrambles]

The only thing I’d recommend revisiting in the past is your old playlists.

[vashyrambles]

Finding yourself in art is the most beautiful experience. The whole point of art is to reveal the truth we try to hide within ourselves. But it bleeds all over like a pen overflowing with ink and no matter how gently you try to handle it, it will make a mess. A beautiful mess.The mystery of life stands right in front of us; we understand it even before it happens. Whatever you love says more about you than it does about the thing itself. If you can love, admire, and even hate a piece of art all of it represents you. And something beautiful transcends there, where the universe directly makes you see yourself, and art simply becomes the medium.

[vashyrambles]

Being an artist means holding the power to make your own experience universal. No matter how niche your story feels, it carries truth, and in this world, nothing is truly original. If you have something to share, share it. At first, it might be hard to find your audience, but you will find them. Art gives people what they want to feel — and sometimes even what they’re running from. It gives voice to pain, love, suffering, and everything else that gets silenced in this fast-moving world. In the end, your art becomes the breath of relief someone desperately needs.

[vashyrambles]

what i write are not just words — they’re my soul, wrapped in something that looks like pretty language. and what’s so beautiful about sharing this is the connection — when someone tells me they related to what i wrote, it's like their soul recognized mine.

there was this drama i watched back in march — i found it on a whim, just saw one edit and got hooked — and god, it was so beautiful. so many of my written pieces have been influenced by it. it’s wild how art inspires art. how it doesn’t care about language or form, it just moves — across boundaries, through feelings — until it finds a home in someone’s heart. that’s the power of storytelling.

the drama was called First Frost — a Chinese drama with such gorgeous songs and an aching story. it showed me how love isn’t just about grand gestures but about timing, about bravery, about being honest with yourself. it made me wonder — everyone wants a love that’s deep, moving, unforgettable… but do we even have the courage to feel that deeply? to risk that much?

first frost was a tearjerker, but also a mirror. i’ve always loved slow burns, the angst-filled, the quiet, aching stories — because that’s where the emotion lives. and maybe that’s what i chase in everything — that ache, that softness, that raw vulnerability that makes art feel like home.

[vashyrambles]

Hardness comes with softness — like rocks with soil. You need the hardness to hold you, because without it, you might just drain away.

Is it a crime to be too soft? Too loving, too caring, too emotional? Because in this fast, forward, strategic world, all of that is seen as weakness. But still, those very people — the calculated, the guarded — seek comfort in the ones who feel. The givers. The soft ones. The ones who love without asking, who hold space without needing credit, who give what others can't even imagine offering. And they give it for free.

The truth is — the weak ones aren't the ones who feel deeply. It's those who run from their own emotions. Those who are terrified of being known, being seen, being vulnerable. Being open — that's not weakness. That’s real strength. And being human enough to feel this much? That’s something not everyone has the courage to be.

[vashyrambles]

Writing is powerful. It is your truth, your way of owning every emotion. Sometimes, it becomes a portal, showing you things you haven’t yet processed but are already there, waiting. Your love, your pain, your happiness—it captures it all before you can even name it. And when you return to it, you find yourself again, hidden in your own words.

[vashyrambles]

holding space for everything is so important. what i want is important — but so is what someone else wants. sometimes, i go deep so easily, but that depth might be overwhelming for someone else. and that doesn't make them bad. maybe that’s all they can ever give. maybe that’s the only language they know. and it's not their fault for offering less — it's mine for expecting more, for staying in a space that could never expand to meet me.

people live entire lives in spaces that feel too small for you — but they call it home. and that's their truth.

but what i can hold, what i can feel, what i can give — it's more than that.

so would i stop holding space for love? for meaning? for someone who can actually meet me?

no. i just have to wait for the right space — one that doesn't ask me to shrink just to fit in.

[vashyrambles]

the one house i thought would be my home — that i cherished, loved, and cared for — every tiny corner of it slowly became my favourite part. to leave that is so difficult, it feels like i’m leaving a part of myself behind… and that maybe, i’ll never feel like this again. but this house — it no longer fits me, my world, my dreams, my belongings. it feels cramped, and no matter how much i hate to leave, no matter how my heart beats out of my body at the very thought of it, no matter how much i’ll miss my little corner — it’s just not enough for me to stay.

but i will always love this house. it gave me everything i once wanted — the comfort, the safety — things that felt so foreign to me back then. i’ll always remember it, even if we don’t stay together. it will always be like a scent i once loved — soft, fleeting, unforgettable.