인스타그램 스토리 뷰어

dog day afternoon (1975)

you look like you need sugar immediately. 🚨🍦
Honor to work with the queen @nas_maq herself.
#flurrysbakenbrew 🤍

Words are really powerful. The kind of shit we say to the people we love especially. Sometimes we are conditioned to talk that way but at some point, we need to take accountability. At some point, we need to be able to say ‘I’m sorry. I want to change this about me. I don’t want to be mean to someone I care about.’ And we need effort for that. And we need to forcefully break that ego within us.

The biggest lie is pretending like we are all god like people. I think as humans, we are both god and satan. We have both in us. Both parts of us. And we spend our lives trying to make sense of these demons within us. (Generational trauma is something else only)

and if you can break through it and apologise, if we can look at the people we love and say ‘I’m sorry. I fucked up. I didn’t want to say all that I did’. Man, how many relationships would have lasted.

People aren’t black and white. We are quite grey, really and I guess we are quite lucky if someone else wants to sit with us through this experience.

I grew up seeing (rather not seeing) a parent who chose his ego than his own family. The biggest lesson I learnt in abandonment - push everyone you love away. Lmao. I did this for years. Then slowly, I learnt - to keep your loved ones close and learn to grow with the ones who want to grow with you. Idk. Still seems like a tough lesson to learn when I’m constantly thinking of the ones who are not around. I’m a bit stubborn also. I fight for the ones I love. I don’t know when to stop holding on. I’m still hopeful.

AnYway, such is life. 👎🏽👍🏾

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I'd rather be whole than good. 🐈‍⬛🧜🏽‍♀️🤍

I read somewhere that “we look at the world once: in childhood. The rest is memory.”

I still remember when the world was new to me, when the pages of a book felt large enough to blanket me in them, when I first learnt that the bridge of a song was called a bridge, and when I first learnt what it meant, and felt, to be an extension of somebody else.

Everything since– every new book, every new song [and its bridge], every new friend, and every new lover, every new heartbreak– simply becomes an impossible attempt to return to a world no longer attainable.

Some [they say] are blessed enough to feel it over and over, either in a place, among unchanged walls, sometimes through the smell of soil after it pours [they say], for here in the south, the month of June means only two things: backpacks, uniforms & and days drowned in endless rain.

Some, blessed enough to have never grown up, feel it every day and they know it not. They long for nothing, and know nothing of longing, for nothing ever really left them.

As for me, I met the world and everything it has to give me in 2009, through a little girl, a whole lot littler than me. I have no memory of my life before that.

I first began to string together words, the alphabets of the English language, in the attempt to describe her, and learnt what it meant to write, to be a writer, to be a being full of words.

I only knew my voice when it sang parallely to hers, when I first picked up the body of a guitar, hardly understanding the sounds it made, hardly understanding what sounds came out of me, only sure of one thing: that it all sounded right as long as she hummed along.

I learnt to dream with her too, because I got used to a sleep that only came to me after her eyes had already [half] closed. To this day, I cannot drift off to sleep before her.

This is all to say: In order to see the world the way I saw it first, in order to return to that unattainable place, I happen to be blessed; for I only need to steal a glance or two of her, and it all comes pouring down to me, just like endless rain in the month of June, in my small sweet hometown, where it all began.

I read somewhere that “we look at the world once: in childhood. The rest is memory.”

I still remember when the world was new to me, when the pages of a book felt large enough to blanket me in them, when I first learnt that the bridge of a song was called a bridge, and when I first learnt what it meant, and felt, to be an extension of somebody else.

Everything since– every new book, every new song [and its bridge], every new friend, and every new lover, every new heartbreak– simply becomes an impossible attempt to return to a world no longer attainable.

Some [they say] are blessed enough to feel it over and over, either in a place, among unchanged walls, sometimes through the smell of soil after it pours [they say], for here in the south, the month of June means only two things: backpacks, uniforms & and days drowned in endless rain.

Some, blessed enough to have never grown up, feel it every day and they know it not. They long for nothing, and know nothing of longing, for nothing ever really left them.

As for me, I met the world and everything it has to give me in 2009, through a little girl, a whole lot littler than me. I have no memory of my life before that.

I first began to string together words, the alphabets of the English language, in the attempt to describe her, and learnt what it meant to write, to be a writer, to be a being full of words.

I only knew my voice when it sang parallely to hers, when I first picked up the body of a guitar, hardly understanding the sounds it made, hardly understanding what sounds came out of me, only sure of one thing: that it all sounded right as long as she hummed along.

I learnt to dream with her too, because I got used to a sleep that only came to me after her eyes had already [half] closed. To this day, I cannot drift off to sleep before her.

This is all to say: In order to see the world the way I saw it first, in order to return to that unattainable place, I happen to be blessed; for I only need to steal a glance or two of her, and it all comes pouring down to me, just like endless rain in the month of June, in my small sweet hometown, where it all began.

I read somewhere that “we look at the world once: in childhood. The rest is memory.”

I still remember when the world was new to me, when the pages of a book felt large enough to blanket me in them, when I first learnt that the bridge of a song was called a bridge, and when I first learnt what it meant, and felt, to be an extension of somebody else.

Everything since– every new book, every new song [and its bridge], every new friend, and every new lover, every new heartbreak– simply becomes an impossible attempt to return to a world no longer attainable.

Some [they say] are blessed enough to feel it over and over, either in a place, among unchanged walls, sometimes through the smell of soil after it pours [they say], for here in the south, the month of June means only two things: backpacks, uniforms & and days drowned in endless rain.

Some, blessed enough to have never grown up, feel it every day and they know it not. They long for nothing, and know nothing of longing, for nothing ever really left them.

As for me, I met the world and everything it has to give me in 2009, through a little girl, a whole lot littler than me. I have no memory of my life before that.

I first began to string together words, the alphabets of the English language, in the attempt to describe her, and learnt what it meant to write, to be a writer, to be a being full of words.

I only knew my voice when it sang parallely to hers, when I first picked up the body of a guitar, hardly understanding the sounds it made, hardly understanding what sounds came out of me, only sure of one thing: that it all sounded right as long as she hummed along.

I learnt to dream with her too, because I got used to a sleep that only came to me after her eyes had already [half] closed. To this day, I cannot drift off to sleep before her.

This is all to say: In order to see the world the way I saw it first, in order to return to that unattainable place, I happen to be blessed; for I only need to steal a glance or two of her, and it all comes pouring down to me, just like endless rain in the month of June, in my small sweet hometown, where it all began.

From Pune to Bombae 👯‍♀️💗

may 23rd, 2012 / Phillip Phillips - Home #phillipphillips #folkrock #home #bestie

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

Namdroling Monastery, 2026

tag your friends - (don’t tag me)

even though we don’t talk as much because you are a busy man, when I see this photo I remember the love I carry for you. I remember how excited I used to get knowing you were with me - killing people in GTA Vice City and playing GTA San Andreas with cheat codes - playing football and kicking your leg instead of the ball in Sharjah with my second grade crush 💀 - playing cricket from Parkala and running behind you to whack you with the bat or - playing monopoly with my high school friends and you manipulating us all to win - eating all my chips and chocolates saying ‘oh I’ll buy them for you again’ … Its been ten years, I’m still waiting for my pack of cheese balls - complaining to umma how I put up Facebook statuses whenever you owed me money 🤣 - the first family member to witness me act (in femi) -
constantly ringing the landline with Akhi knowing I would run from the room to the hall, only to hang up when I pick up. 💀 And don’t forget, you are my forever khayda dance partner. (Inside joke - only vips know)

Along with all this, you also bought Rasha into my life. Finally you did something right by me. The best thing you ever did, really. 🤭 You probably hate these photos because it might remind you of a time you didn’t like. I’m not sure but for what it’s worth, it reminds me of the love I can carry for you even when I hate you because I miss you. Now, don’t cry. Or actually, sob bitch. 🙂#caliboyz

people always referred to me as Umma’s son because of that haircut. Not that I’m complaining. Not that the haircut is limited to boys either. But should have guessed, I guess. 🤭🌈 #peakfashunera

even though we don’t talk as much because you are a busy man, when I see this photo I remember the love I carry for you. I remember how excited I used to get knowing you were with me - killing people in GTA Vice City and playing GTA San Andreas with cheat codes - playing football and kicking your leg instead of the ball in Sharjah with my second grade crush 💀 - playing cricket from Parkala and running behind you to whack you with the bat or - playing monopoly with my high school friends and you manipulating us all to win - eating all my chips and chocolates saying ‘oh I’ll buy them for you again’ … Its been ten years, I’m still waiting for my pack of cheese balls - complaining to umma how I put up Facebook statuses whenever you owed me money 🤣 - the first family member to witness me act (in femi) -
constantly ringing the landline with Akhi knowing I would run from the room to the hall, only to hang up when I pick up. 💀 And don’t forget, you are my forever khayda dance partner. (Inside joke - only vips know)

Along with all this, you also bought Rasha into my life. Finally you did something right by me. The best thing you ever did, really. 🤭 You probably hate these photos because it might remind you of a time you didn’t like. I’m not sure but for what it’s worth, it reminds me of the love I can carry for you even when I hate you because I miss you. Now, don’t cry. Or actually, sob bitch. 🙂#caliboyz

people always referred to me as Umma’s son because of that haircut. Not that I’m complaining. Not that the haircut is limited to boys either. But should have guessed, I guess. 🤭🌈 #peakfashunera

even though we don’t talk as much because you are a busy man, when I see this photo I remember the love I carry for you. I remember how excited I used to get knowing you were with me - killing people in GTA Vice City and playing GTA San Andreas with cheat codes - playing football and kicking your leg instead of the ball in Sharjah with my second grade crush 💀 - playing cricket from Parkala and running behind you to whack you with the bat or - playing monopoly with my high school friends and you manipulating us all to win - eating all my chips and chocolates saying ‘oh I’ll buy them for you again’ … Its been ten years, I’m still waiting for my pack of cheese balls - complaining to umma how I put up Facebook statuses whenever you owed me money 🤣 - the first family member to witness me act (in femi) -
constantly ringing the landline with Akhi knowing I would run from the room to the hall, only to hang up when I pick up. 💀 And don’t forget, you are my forever khayda dance partner. (Inside joke - only vips know)

Along with all this, you also bought Rasha into my life. Finally you did something right by me. The best thing you ever did, really. 🤭 You probably hate these photos because it might remind you of a time you didn’t like. I’m not sure but for what it’s worth, it reminds me of the love I can carry for you even when I hate you because I miss you. Now, don’t cry. Or actually, sob bitch. 🙂#caliboyz

people always referred to me as Umma’s son because of that haircut. Not that I’m complaining. Not that the haircut is limited to boys either. But should have guessed, I guess. 🤭🌈 #peakfashunera

📸 : @sreehari_narikkattiri

📸 : @sreehari_narikkattiri

📸 : @sreehari_narikkattiri

📸 : @sreehari_narikkattiri

📸 : @sreehari_narikkattiri

Dance rehearsals have become my favourite kind of circus. Presenting my new favorite dance partners - queen Dua and thug adhu. ⭐️ @beema_zainab ♥️