"Don’t date a girl who travels. She is hard to please. The usual dinner-movie date at the mall will suck the life out of her. Her soul craves for new experiences and adventures. She will be unimpressed with your new car and your expensive watch. She would rather climb a rock or jump out of an airplane than hear you brag about it.

Don’t date a girl who travels because she will bug you to book a flight every time there’s an airline seat sale. She won’t party at Republiq. And she will never pay over $100 for Avicii because she knows that one weekend of clubbing is equivalent to one week somewhere far more exciting.

Chances are, she can’t hold a steady job. Or she’s probably daydreaming about quitting. She doesn’t want to keep working her ass off for someone else’s dream. She has her own and is working towards it. She is a freelancer. She makes money from designing, writing, photography, or something that requires creativity and imagination. Don’t waste her time complaining about your boring job.

Don’t date a girl who travels. She might have wasted her college degree and switched careers entirely. She is now a dive instructor or a yoga teacher. She’s not sure when the next paycheck is coming. But she doesn’t work like a robot all day, she goes out and takes what life has to offer and challenges you to do the same.

Don’t date a girl who travels for she has chosen a life of uncertainty. She doesn’t have a plan or a permanent address. She goes with the flow and follows her heart. She dances to the beat of her own drum. She doesn’t wear a watch. Her days are ruled by the sun and the moon. When the waves are calling, life stops and she will be oblivious to everything else for a moment. But she has learned that the most important thing in life isn’t surfing.

Don’t date a girl who travels as she tends to speak her mind. She will never try to impress your parents or friends. She knows respect, but isn’t afraid to hold a debate about global issues or social responsibility.

She will never need you. She knows how to pitch a tent and screw her own fins without your help. She cooks well and doesn’t need you to pay for her meals. She is too independent and won’t care whether you travel with her or not. She will forget to check in with you when she arrives at her destination. She’s busy living in the present. She talks to strangers. She will meet many interesting, like-minded people from around the world who share her passion and dreams. She will be bored with you.

So never date a girl who travels unless you can keep up with her. And if you unintentionally fall in love with one, don’t you dare keep her. Let her go.”


If ‘everything is temporary’ is permanent,
is everything temporary?
Or permanent?
If the actuality that I only live once
is the only reality that I,
as a conscious being,
why then could the tangible particles of my being
partake in the molecular existence of other things—
things that prevailed before I was born
and will triumph after I die?
If I am not me, then who is?
If I am everything,
then why do I feel like I am nothing?

- شاهانی



My creative writing professor told me to stop writing about love. I asked him why, and he said, “Because you have turned it over and over in your hands, felt every angle, every fault, every inch, every bruise. You have ruined it for yourself.” I spend the next three weeks writing about science and space. Stars exploding. Getting sucked into a black hole. How much I wished I could sleep inside of that nothingness without being annihilated. What an exploding star would taste like. If it would make our stomachs glow like fireflies, or tingle and shake like pop rocks under our tongues.

My creative writing professor told me that those poems weren’t what he was looking for. He tells me to stop writing about outer space. Stop writing about science. Again, I ask him why. Again, he says ,“You have ruined it for yourself.” I spend the next three weeks writing about my mother, how we are told we can’t make homes inside of other human beings. But the foreclosure sign on my mother’s empty womb tells me that women who give birth know a different and more painful truth.

My creative writing professor tells me I am both talented and hopeless, that everything I write is both visceral and empty—a walking circus with no animals inside but a beautiful trapeze artist with a broken hip selling popcorn in the entranceway. He tells me to stop writing about my mother. I don’t ask why. I pick up my books and my notepad, and I leave his office with my war stories tucked under my tongue like an exploding star, like the taste of the last person I ever loved, like my mother’s baby thermometer. And I do not look back.

We are all writing about our mothers, our lovers, the empty space that we will never be able to breathe in. We are all carrying stones in our pockets and tossing them back and forth in our hands, trying to explain the heaviness. And we will never stop writing about love, about black holes, about how quiet it must have been inside the chaos of my mother’s belly, inside the chaos of his arms, inside the chaos of the spaces in every poem I have ever written.

None of this is ruined. Do not listen to them when they tell you that it is.

Caitlyn Siehl

Perhaps we are in this world to search for love, find it and lose it, again and again. With each love, we are born anew, and with each love that ends we collect a new wound. I am covered with proud scars.

Isabel Allende


If this is indeed true,
then I am a living, breathing callus.
Someone’ll peel me over and over again
And I’ll bleed,
And I’ll weep,
And I’ll love
But I’ll never have enough time to heal.
- شاهانی

spiper asked:

Shani, what fucking part of the world are you in these days? What are you doing? I'm in Indonesia finishing up an ESL teaching contract in the next couple of weeks... Give me your latest. -S

I’m back in CA. Moving East again as soon as I get my shit together. Does this mean you’ll be coming in two weeks? Holler when you do.