Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
Goodbye to the love of my life, my heart, my soul, my everything. He left us on sizdeh bedar. There was no limit to what this man would do for me. We would often joke that he would actually kill for me, but thankfully it never came to that. Since I was a kid, we started a tradition called “father and daughter day.” This almost always involved going to the movies (usually Grand Lake Theater), the toy store, museum, Fenton’s, Alcatraz! Whatever I loved, he loved. We shared the same interests, discussed literature, philosophy, science, art. He constantly wrote and recited poetry. We were both deeply moved by language. I am who I am because of him. I have his dark sense of humor, his quirks, his childlike curiosity for the little things (see “Dad” reel). He exposed me to yoga and meditation at a young age, taught me the importance of communicating your feelings and not keeping things inside. Most of my friends had seen him cry at some point because he was so sentimental and easily moved by films. I remember being a kid and thinking “Daddy must be a God,”because he had such a vast breadth of knowledge that he was always sharing with me. He helped me with all of my homework, no matter the subject, and if he didn’t know the material, he’d read my textbooks and then teach me with so much patience. He would make it a point to meet with all my teachers regularly, from kindergarten to high school. “They need to know your father cares.” In high school, I’d convince him to let me cut class. “Don’t tell your mom.” Then we’d spend the day going on adventures around Oakland and Berkeley, with him telling me his life stories. He loved deeply, and worried about me constantly. Friends would joke that he was in the trees following me around, making sure I was safe. And this man never, ever raised his voice at me or punished me. His voice is music to my ears. Since I was a kid, he would always say, “Man, as the Supreme Will manifestation, shall not succumb to fear, fury, fatigue, or frustration.” Okay, Daddy, I’ll try not to. To my favorite person: I love you and will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’ll always be a god to me. Ali Mohammad Khavari Nov 15, 1934-Apr 1, 2023.
One of my favorite photos of me and pops taken by my MIL @gwhang31. It was my going away party for grad school. I was gonna be moving to London for a year and my dad had just surprised me by letting me know that he got a ticket to come “drop me off” in London. He stayed with me for a week and spent most of the time trying to find the best kabobs on Edgware Road and “securing” my dorm room against possible intruders. He figured out how to stick a wire hanger into the lock so that even if someone had a key, they couldn’t enter my room. I made fun of him for it but used that wire hanger every night 🤷🏽♀️.
Thank you @damu_malik_photo for these new headshots that I’ve been avoiding getting since before pandemic. You made it so easy! And shoutout to @pejvahdat for recommending Damu 🙌🏽
Thank you @damu_malik_photo for these new headshots that I’ve been avoiding getting since before pandemic. You made it so easy! And shoutout to @pejvahdat for recommending Damu 🙌🏽
Thank you @damu_malik_photo for these new headshots that I’ve been avoiding getting since before pandemic. You made it so easy! And shoutout to @pejvahdat for recommending Damu 🙌🏽
After several years, I can finally announce that I voiced a few of the characters in the much anticipated @starfieldgame by @bethesda including Amoli Bava (pictured), Sima Charmchi, Cosette, and a marine. As always, very grateful to @cesdvoiceover for this opportunity.
We ate the little white balls in the bowl on the left and they had to tell us it was there for decorative purposes only. That didn’t stop us, though.
Courageous doesn’t even BEGIN to describe the women and girls in Iran. They’re sacrificing their entire existence, often paying a brutal price, for the freedom of their country. We owe them everything. Woman, Life, Freedom. #ژن_ژیان_ئازادی
Shoutout to this man and this dog for getting me through this crazy year.
Excited to announce that I will be in Birmingham, UK for @tfnationltd 2024 in August!
