He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
I'm some kind of modern-day narcissus myself. 😎
I am indeed a woman in STEM
Women in STEM (Smut, Trauma, Enemies to lovers, Masquerade balls)
Work Song by Hozier / Mahmoud Darwish
"Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one's surprise - in an entirely different world."
-Donna Tartt; The Secret History
after a walk, suddenly realizing what an concept ACTUALLY means
crying when you don't
feeling true joy after solving a difficult problem
remembering an specific equation just because of a interesting story about the scientist who created it
being legitimately impressed by Mendeleev (dude was great)
being pretentious about the amount of work you do
reading centuries old science magazine and writing what's changed on your journal
A concept.
He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
and the nights, bigger than imagining
black and gusty and enormous, disordered and wild with stars ✨
Beware of the barrenness of a busy lifestyle | I write sometimes | 18
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