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sayruq

toomanyrats

on shame and yearning (pt.2)

gael-garcia

Bye Bye Tiberias (2023, Lina Soualem)

kurja-tales

Rajasthani Architecture #2

macrolit

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”

— Ray Bradbury (b. 22 August 1920)

catchymemes

murrdermaid

How are penguins real?

#animals #funny #penguins

only-tiktoks

fieldbears

Sharing the secrets of your hearth with strangers who will never be able to meet or thank you. Honoring the dead through learning their traditions of the home; emulation and exaltation. A good carrot cake.

kdramafeed

okruee

this is so periodtrackerappcore of them

letthebookbegin

#yes lol #tumblr #period tracker

It's my 7 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

#Wow! #7years?! #oof

#7 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone

gongju6649

An Ode to 'Everything Everywhere All at Once' by David Gate

knightofleo

deviika

Jane Austen // Bao Phi

greatwyrmgold

English is the dominant language in the study of human cognition and behavior: the individuals studied by cognitive scientists, as well as m

As I lay sick on the couch, coughing, sneezing and burning up with a fever, I couldn't stop myself from slowly drifting away with heavy eyes into a dreamland as I usually do.

Only this dreamland is too familiar, I was no longer on the couch in my living room but on the firm gaddi of the diwan in my parents house. I feel the bright sunlight filtering through the muslin curtains my mother likes to hang on the doors in summer, the chandelier above me slowly jostling in the warm air blowing in through the open windows and doors. The crystals twinkling like diamonds creating the most delicate reflections on the high roof. I hear the ecstatic song of the birds outside The gazals my father likes to play as background noise, the wind chimes in the balcony upstairs barely audible. As I lay there eye's closed, I feel their presence around me. My father sitting across in the diwaan khana and reading his newspapers. My dadijaan asleep in her room, snoring away quietly. My Amma moving her frail fingers across her beloved tasbeeh. I can smell the different aromas and scents of oud, musk, wet dirt from the freshly watered plants and baghaar. I feel my mother's hand in my hair, asking me if I need chai. I ask her to just sit with me. And she adjusts herself near my head with a plate full of beans she's de-vining for the cook. She starts to speak something , I don't hear her words...I only listen to their sound. The most beautiful, peaceful sound in my world. I'm immediately relaxed, I feel safe, familiar and calm. There's no stress, no worry. There's no rush, no hurry. She calls my name I look up at her and I see my own face looking down at me, smiling.

I open my eyes and I'm no longer in the dreamland, I look around searching for my daughter, she's right there playing with her father, giggling and shrieking with joy and amusement. She has my mother's smile, my smile. A smile I'll protect with everything I have. I'll make sure she too has a dreamland to drift off to.