vashyrambles

thoughts so many thoughts

[vashyrambles]

Not active here anymore.

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vashyrambles | Substack

My digital diary 📸 I write what I feel. New entry every day (or at least I’ll try 🫠). Welcome to Vashy’s entries 🌷 Let your worries rest her

[vashyrambles]

How do you fill the void inside you?

When someone leaves intentionally or not everything suddenly feels a little meaningless. And yet, you still love your life. You still wake up every day, do what’s needed of you, and move through your hours.

Sometimes I wonder why I even write.

What can mere words do, when real actions often fail?

But still, you try to make sense of things.

You pull yourself through the emptiness.

You search for meaning in places where it once existed, and in places where it never did.

You keep moving, not knowing whether any of it is right.

And maybe that’s the core of life that you never truly know. That at any moment, life can prove you powerless.

And still, you try.

[vashyrambles]

There is no meaning in life,but I exist so the reason exists.Like sunlight glinting on my hair as it moves,and the hollow of light behind me.I exist,so the reason exists.

[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]

The problem of knowing how to love and going to every end to make the other person feel it is how difficult it feels to actually receive it.

No matter how hard I try, I fail to let my guard down and let someone shower me with the love I know I deserve.

Everything I do has become an act a performance so practiced it feels real.

And how terrifying it is that I wear it so easily, like a second skin.

To peel it off would feel like an act of betrayal to myself.

But oh, how much I would love to bloom in love.

[vashyrambles]

[vashyrambles]

I find myself in broken dishes,

half-finished lines.

I hide in plain sight

behind the very light that might liberate me.

What do I fear,

when everything I know is already ruins?

~vashy

[vashyrambles]

I hope my memory lapses,

so I can stop my silent destruction

in my own rotten brain,

that just keeps flicking like a broken television,

playing the same scene again and again.

You, existing with yellow glitter covering you,

I, on my knees, eyes hypnotized by it.

And now these two flesh-marred marbles shine with tears,

How insignificant my devotion feels.

[vashyrambles]

Where does remembrance come from, if not love?

Like a familiar scent,

I remember your absence ;

like the pages of my favorite book infused with it.

And when the wind seldom blows,

flicking through those very pages,

I am pulled to the present, brought to my knees,

to memorize my love like a prayer.

[vashyrambles]

Do I remember myself?

My memories are dusted with cobwebs.

I dust them off, a thick layer falling away.

Some are paper-burned, so charred I can’t recognize them.

Why do my memories taste like corrosive ash; black and burned?

Can someone build a life from ruins?

[vashyrambles]

One should be able to keep secrets. It becomes a deciding factor in choosing friends, close ones, even the people we gossip with. We love to know that someone can hold them safe.

But is anything really a secret now?

Today, anything you write outside of a piece of paper isn’t one. We are surrounded by devices. They might not be spying on you, but they are storing everything — what you watch, your favorite pastimes, your thoughts, your writings. And whatever you store, is it really gone with just a delete button?

Convenience is everywhere — the ability to call someone far away, to text in real time and reach loved ones instantly. Our conversations and shared moments are no longer just words exchanged; they are stored, lingering, even if we try to erase them. It feels like a gift to keep them — but at what cost?

Because convenience comes at the cost of privacy. The system has evolved in a way that our privacy keeps shrinking. Sometimes we don’t even know when it’s breached. We may want to hide our secrets, but they are still out there in some void — unseen, yet never truly gone.

Letters once sent to our lovers carried one heart to another. No one knew what was inside, except the two of them. That intimacy might soon remain only in a dystopian memory.

[vashyrambles]

I am so scared — so scared of actually experiencing my life. My excitement shortens and dies, and like a fool I wait for the shoe to drop, for everything to slide away. A black faceless ghost takes my happiness again and again.

I try to make my life beautiful. I try to live. But I have nightmares of that ghost chasing me and stealing it all, and in the end I’m back where I started. I’m afraid to live fully — what if I let my guard down, find peace, and it comes back? It feels safer to freeze time, keep everything at a distance, rather than let my dreams come true and get taken away. When did I become this?

[vashyrambles]

It’s funny how male friendships are always glorified in Indian cinema. Dil Chahta Hai, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, Rock On!! they make you feel like “brotherhood” is the deepest bond there can ever be. Meanwhile, when it comes to women, the closest we get is Veere Di Wedding or Four More Shots Please, which are more about weddings, breakups, or glam city life than about friendship itself.

But here’s the irony: in reality, women often carry richer emotional friendships, and men are the ones struggling with loneliness. If the movies are to be believed, men should be thriving with their “ride-or-die bros.” Yet, we see the opposite the male loneliness epidemic.

Maybe that’s because cinema sells an ideal. Men are socialized to bond over doing things trips, sports, drinking but not always over emotions. So the “bro for life” we see on screen is more aspirational than real. Women, on the other hand, may not get those big-screen stories, but they’re socialized to share, express, and hold onto each other. They thrive in spaces where men often withdraw.

And maybe that’s why watching these films sometimes makes you feel you’re missing something in your own life. But maybe the truth is, most men are missing it too.

[vashyrambles]

Our whole life we are chasing something: one goal after another, with no stopping, as if running through life is the only way. But to truly experience it, I would recommend slow walking through it —savoring the amazing forest full of experiences: the little plant near the tree, the tiny berries, the majestic trees, and even the uprooted ones, or just the trunk still standing. Each one of them deserves your attention. Giving them space in your memory is what will make this walk the best you ever have. And when you look back, you can finally feel that you have experienced it all; the joy of living.

[vashyrambles]

It’s so easy to be angry, to sit with it, to answer its call. In its wake, you forget everything else—it’s only you and the way it made you feel.

It’s so easy to wear this anger like a shield, an armor forged from the very arrows that pierced you.

But the armor grows heavy, crushing the arm that holds it.

And if I put it down—what am I then? A body marred, dragging itself through a war against the very thing it once loved.

[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.