in my head

I ask for the truth, but how much of it do I want to hear. Honesty is crucial but the binary does not seem to exist; instead I find comfort in the things left unsaid. I sit here in isolation as these nameless bodies walk past me, the sadness within reflected outwardly without hesitation, I dismiss the pity knowing that further suppression will only cause greater carnage. I ask for the truth I want to be told, not the truth you want me to listen to. As the two do not coincide, I unconsciously allow for the destruction of my self-esteem- and this pathetic state is as much a consequence of my own failings as it is not.

 The sensitivity or the lack of begets the question of my inability to handle my emotions, afterall it is easier to fault someone than it is to internalize my own shortcomings. At the end of the day it almost feels like I must make a choice between tear-stained notebooks and strength. Yet these tears are the realest thing about me, unfiltered but easily triggered. At this instance, my focus is lost and the day feels ruined, unsure of what to do next, the power of my thoughts dangerously being rationalised. All I wanted was to be someone everyone dear to me can be proud of but instead I find myself acting on my anger and crafting solutions to sour relationships before they are fully formed. The toxicity of my mind is so fucking lethal but I’ve learned to work with the good and dispel the evil on multiple occasions as I will today. I want to tell him to fuck off, politely of course, because he is better off without me but I know so little of the potential I have. Maybe my extra-sensitivity will help establish some sort of neutrality or balance, maybe I can be a value-enhancer and just maybe, someone is alright with getting Vidya with a free side-dish of overemotional.

It’s strange how my immediate reaction to being hurt is to further stab the open wound with debilitating thoughts fueled by insecurities. I wish I could make them feel what I feel and to know how it hurts to be a prisoner of my emotions. But what then will set me apart from them….. Maybe the binary is between being a weak or nasty woman, I’d be obliged to choose weak because I’d have a much harder time dealing with the thought of being the reason behind someone else’s tear stained notebook


grown vidya growing

Sitting in this train on the way to spend a nice weekend with my family unable to decipher exactly what I feel; excitement to have a nice home cooked meal dominates everything else obviously but rather I need to acknowledge the overwhelming sense euphoria I am soaked in. 

12 hours ago, I was prancing around, shaking my booty feeling so bloody hyped from the excessive amount of alcohol and of the energy of my mates who are a proper fun lot. But what is a night without a little drama init 😉 I found myself caught in a situation without a way out of it but at the peak of my night I was convinced that I was truly supervidya and I put my herosuit and was leading the pack!!!! right of course I’m kidding, I did however walk up and down the club trailing behind the girls, throwing comments and insults here and there, you know to let ‘me know where my loyalties lie. 

Fastforward to the after party at everybody’s favorite late night spot: tinseltown, I found myself attempting to stick the fries in my mouth and not my nostrils, gross but the usual drunks will be able to relate. Also being the undeclared queen of take-away, I took the damn fries home as any broke college student would to make it my morning after meal. 

At this point I am too-many-drinks drunk and I stumble into my bed, not that I can remember much of it, I did the nastiest nasty by puking and without having enough time to grab my saviour-bag well let me spare the gross deets. I woke up and almost instantaneously i knew I had to get my shit together, ok maybe waking up to the smell of my puke was my back to reality indicator. 

I am rather proud of myself for handling my careless adulthood endeavors quite well, cleaning up after myself trying not to make an even nastier mess is a true indicator of my progress to becoming a constructive memeber of society where millennials rule. Looking back at the past 24 hours, I can only rejoice in my poor choices that have led to good table conversations. Every attempt at being in control was rejected with my own silliness, from drunk texting T and giving him a glimpse into my thoughts fueled by a heart full of love, to helping a fallen friend and falling straight after. My over enthusiastic self will be quite alright. And as I learn to do more boring chores and clean up after myself, I will gladly take my freedom with whatever costs attached to it 




So I have been thinking about what this day would be like for a while now and now that it is here I seem to be experiencing an insurmountable feeling of melancholy. As my mind wanders, my thoughts linger towards the what ifs. What if I hadn’t gone, maybe I wouldn’t have met all these people and I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling heartbroken over their absence. What if I stayed and never left, how different would my life have been? How normal would it have been? 

As the list accumulates, I am engulfed by the sudden reassurance that my worries are unnecessary, and every decision that I have consciously made has lead to series of events that created my beautiful story thus far. For every what-if, I heave a sigh of relief because the best has come from the fearless choices. Today, I feel my best, not only because everyone I hold dear to me is healthy and happy but also because I am surrounded by people and faces on the screen from half-way across the world, and these are my people and I lucked out. 

More importantly, I am filled with hope and excitement for the future, exploring new territories, opening up to new possibilities  Internet romances, and falling in love with a boy with a face that I could stare at all day and still feel electrified 🐥 

Lastly, I think of my dad today, as I do on most days and the pain seems to have eased. In someways I am more like him than I’d expected myself to be and that realization has been a gift in itself. 
love and kisses,

Vidya Thanvanthri 



Adulthood is fast-approaching and the pressure to have my shit together is mounting. I’m aware that it is imperative that I come to terms with my insecurities but at a glance it seems like I am way more insecure than I hoped to be. There are moments,like yesterday, where I feel the confidence I put in effort to build, dwindling slowly. I look in the mirror and the reality of the excess melanin in my skin feels like dagger to the heart. It is okay to be unfair they say but to have to exist in a society that claims you are beautiful for a dark girl is a challenge in itself especially when you are being fed with beauty standards, albeit unrealistic, but still somewhat achievable as long as you are white or fair or pale skinned or don’t have much melanin. 

Hence, I look elsewhere for validation of the way I look, hoping it will suffice. For the longest time, I relied on the approval of the highest class of the food chain; white cis male, knowing that if I’m wanted by them I am worthy of considering myself beautiful. Yet, even being accepted by the most desired species of male is overpowered by the fear of losing them to someone more beautiful and fairer.

My bestfriend’s reason for not having a social media presence is to avoid having to look at beautiful girls who have everything going for them. I have to admit that there are times where I am on my Instagram stalking random girls thinking damnit how can I compete 😭 but like my bestfriend, many are led to believe that beauty is mutually exclusive. It isn’t though. I mean sure Taylor Swift is gorgeous but so is Michelle Obama, Serena Williams, Laverene Cox and so on. 

You are right though T, I am my own kind of beautiful

Some days I forget that my self-worth should be generated internally; independent of external factors. Unconsciously, I’ve been welcoming a change in perception through small acts such as wearing a bikini, which I wouldn’t have done previously in fear of looking too gross, being at the beach basking in the sun despite possibly becoming darker, embracing my Indian culture through bravely wearing traditional clothes out more often(I mean we are basically covering our crop tops with fancy designed cloths like how trendy is that 🌞), posting pictures of my face without make up on loving the fact that my eyes are huge and despite them being deep-set and causing a darker undertone; ultimately finding ways to enjoy life without any restrictions from myself or those around me. 

So here’s a huge goodbye and good riddance to almost 21 years of having the opinions of others and belittling thoughts raid my mind on the regular. today I am more glad than ever for never having given into the desire to use whitening products heavily marketed by the south asian community nor letting south indian movies with dark actors and the fairest possible actress(usually from the north) get to me, afterall their plots were mostly so bad, getting through three hours without sleeping was a struggle itself.

I love myself and as I rebuild my confidence I am certain it will radiate good vibes. I work towards no longer needing the approval of others to reassure myself and my hope for the future is to be loved for my dark skin instead of inspite it. 

Also!!!! Discovered bitmoji today and how you can create your own avatar!! I finally have emojis that actually represent how I look, how cool is that! Yay to inclusivity amiright lol

my melanin stay poppin’ 



today i feel less than what i am; buckling under the pressure of fighting society’s standards of beauty. it seems silly, i mean how hard can it be to be coloured in a world that is lauded for being progressive.
maybe if i work hard enough, i wouldn’t have to seek validation from the fair and lovely to feel worthy of attention. just maybe..


lost & found

I’m overcomed with emotions as my mind wanders in the realm of future possibilities. Fear overpowered by anger for the lack of action resulting in intense feelings of helplessness; but only I can help myself. Maybe I spend more time dreaming than doing and wishing than working; inspired yet still distracted. 

Spending my time writing seems to further emphasise my point but finding this judgement-free zone might just be an accomplishment on its own. I feel therefore I write but these words feel like reflections instead of directions forward. The privilege I have been afforded to quality education is overshadowed by dissatisfaction of my current trajectory. Yet there are nights I lay awake consumed by guilt for not doing enough to make my career in finance more of a reality and less of a dream. Silly me, I should have realised sooner that I was chasing someone else’s dream that I adopted as my own.

At this instance I feel like I am ten steps back and one foot forward is not going to be of much use. One foot in the right direction however is what I need. This next year is going to be a struggle and if I continue to harbour harsh sentiments questioning my worth at every turn, I am doomed to be the failure I quite often perceive myself to be. The fear is very real, the quest is rather lonely and the courage i need has to come internally. I haven’t struggled enough to appreciate the sweetness of victory but I will get there. 

I do know what I want to do with my life, I have just been redirected by my fear of  failure. The ambition is to work with NGOs to engage and contribute to the betterment of society and the underprivileged. The opportunity to teach and educate girls, moulding them into confident women will be a privilege- one I hope to be afforded with. Fuck the paper-chase I am doing life on my own terms, I’ll deal with the scrutiny and disappointment but I sure won’t be able to live a life without purpose and passion.

This one’s for the dreams I’ve often neglected