shaheenb

Shaheen Bhatt

𝙸 πš”πšŽπšŽπš™ 𝚝𝚘 πš–πš’πšœπšŽπš•πš, πšŠπšŸπš˜πš’πš πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπšžπš— πšŠπš—πš πšŒπšŠπš—πšŒπšŽπš• πš™πš•πšŠπš—πšœ πš πš’πšπš‘ πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πš’πš˜πš—πšŽ.

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β€œMy mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow up and be like her.” Happy Mother’s Day mommy. You are my everything.
From the archives: In conversation about life’s most pressing concerns, love and money - aged 2.
They see me purrin’, they hatin’.
Gloomy Gus.
Windows: Making people moodily contemplate life since 100 AD.
One of London’s many - okay fine, few - okay fine, only - mood.
Missing my fur-face a whole lot today. β€˜Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened’ said Anatole France, and he was right. If you haven’t yet experienced the wholly unconditional love that is loving an animal - try it. It’ll change your life.
25 years ago today, I was just moseying along, minding my own business, when my life changed forever. Alia, Aloo, Bob - My friend, my companion, my personal defence lawyer, my most tireless cheerleader, my paranoid caretaker, witness to all my highs and lows, partner in random midnight hysterics and co-cat parent - I’m so lucky to have you as my sister and I’m so proud of the kind and nurturing soul you have grown to be. Thank you for being you. Happy Birthday my beautiful girl. P.S. I love you so much it hurts.
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy so they’ll understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, & none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got. You'd hope that the physicist would walk to your brokenhearted spouse & tell him/her that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let him/her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her/his eyes, that those photons created within her/him constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever. The physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he’ll tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives. And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy & found it accurate, verifiable & consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence & satisfy themselves that the science is sound & that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly.
Time πŸ”„
All my friends are heathens, take it slow.
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