Well, it's going on 6 months since I last saw my daughter. She a little over 1 year old when my wife and I left her in Yerevan with my in-laws. Words obviously cannot describe how much I miss her, and most parents simply cannot and do not understand why we "left her there". I just wanted to write about the good and bad of this experience, so I hope you enjoy reading.
The Bad: I remember clearly, it was very early on the morning of June 5, 2007 when I last saw my daughter. We had been packing our luggage all night, well at least my wife had. I had been sick and wasn't really able to help too much. We knew the next few minutes could very well have been the hardest of our lives. My daughter Ani was sleeping in her crib next to the bed from which I had recently awoken. My wife and I were both hating and yet trying to cherish every last second with our baby. The hardest part was knowing that Ani lay sleeping, dreaming in a far away place, not realizing that the two people who had spent every second at her side were about to travel no less than 7,500 miles away from her. It's hard even now to describe it without wanting to cry all over again. But I just remember holding her precious little hand and crying, wondering if she would miss me during the many months of separation, and if she'd even remember me when we were reunited, and when that would be?
It may sound funny, but I just remember Aerosmith's "I don't want to miss a thing" playing over and over again in my head at that moment - and does every time I recall those last moments with my daughter. I think the song is more about a man and a woman in love, but trust me it's a tear-jerker for me.
My wife and I cried together over the peaceful shadow of our sleeping daughter and then, as difficult as it was - we left for the airport without looking back. Oh, it may sound like it was a walk in the park, but I assure you I remember it being like someone knocked the wind out of me. I felt, empty, breathless, and miserable for a long time.
The Good: Something good had to come out of the difficulty of being without our daughter for 6 months. There is one general theme to this situation that makes me happy. I grew up without a culture, and I felt that emptiness growing up. So by allowing my daughter to spend the earliest times of her life in her motherland, I'm giving her something that was robbed from me, from my family. I pray these moments, these memories will not be lost on her, I pray they stick with her throughout her life and fill her with warmth, love and happiness, and most of all always remain with her as fond memories of a sense of home. For this, our tears will have paid a legitimate price, our feelings of emptiness filled with the satisfaction of purpose. Our daughter will not have left our home - we're the ones that left home.
May God grant us the strength to continue this until our daughter is in our arms again...
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Sands of Ararat
Strange that I would think about Mt. Ararat when I'm at a Southern California beach on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in August. But there I was, watching my wife burying her feet in a pile of beige granules as she sat on the warm sands of a secluded cove just south of downtown Laguna Beach - and imagining the sand in the shape of my beloved, holy mountain thousands of miles away.
As silly as it may sound, the idea made me want to see the mountains, so I quickly talked my wife into allowing me to modify the mound she was burying her feet in to resemble Masis (the big mountain) and to add a second, smaller "mountain" to it's left that would resemble Sis, and gained her approval and assistance.
We sculpted and then re-sculpted, and tried to get it as close as possible to the images of Ararat that we had saved in our memories. First Sis wasn't upside-down-cone shaped enough, then the lump on the East side of Masis wasn't prominent enough, etc. Finally we smoothed them as close as we could to the real thing and wrote "Ararat" on the front. We were able to snap a few quick photo's of it with a camera phone before the rising tide behind us finally claimed our fleeting moment of pride and longing. Ararat's sands were gone, but her memory continues...
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Ani: The Orphan?
It was always my dream to travel to "The City of 1001 Churches", the city after which I have named my daughter – the city of Ani. Of course without some background on the history of this city, it may be hard for one to imagine even 100 churches existing in what is now a deliberately neglected and destroyed "ghost-town". The fact that the city itself sits inside the military borders of Turkish-occupied Armenia, has been the biggest obstacle in the way of a visit by my wife or myself. Not that it's impossible for Armenians to go there, we just hadn't found a way to work it into our plans. So when we began planning our most recent trip to Hayastan earlier this year, we started considering the second best option: We had been told in 2005 while in Yerevan that there was a spot along a road to Gyumri that you could stop and see the ancient Armenian capital of Ani with the naked eye, while Binoculars or a Spotting Scope would provide an even closer view. Needless to say we jumped at the opportunity to add this little adventure to our plans for this year's trip. Why I wanted to go see a ghost town so bad – I don't know. Needless to say, we added a half-day side-trip to Ani to our growing list of planned activities, which included swimming in the Arax river inside the military Checkpoint and meeting musician "Mister X", and a large number of other amazing activities. The day before we were to leave, a dear friend of ours remarked to us that we were free to do as we chose, but in his mind it didn't seem like the best idea to go see Ani from the border. Upon my inquiry as to why he thought this way, I learned that he was of the opinion that viewing Ani from the border is like Ani being an "orphan" that you know is there but that you know is all alone, and untouchable. His preference, he explained, is to not waste time going to see Ani as long as it's occupied, due to this "orphan" phenomena. I couldn't understand so I let the statement settle for a minute and then asked "So why do you so admire the view of Ararat from the window of your house in Yerevan?" I think my point was accepted by my friend and we had a few laughs about it. We didn't go to see Ani on this trip but it's definitely on the list for next time. Everyone has their own mentality and Armenians are no exception, minor differences in thought and approach are expected when traveling or living abroad, understand and embrace them, they're part of the colorful fabric of our world.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
"Menk enk mer lernere"
May 28th – My first morning in Stepanakert, we woke up early and decided to head to Gandzasar Monastery and Dadivank. And while I'm sure Gandzasar is popular with the tourist crowd due to its close proximity to Stepanakert, Dadivank is surely less visited (though perhaps one of the most enchanting sites in Artsakh). And while I really try to travel the less beaten path and journey to lesser known locations while touring here, I once in a while can't help myself and have to stop at the touristy sites. And so it was that on our way out of town (after purchasing 3 highly detailed maps of Armenia / Artsakh that one simply cannot come by anywhere but Yerevan or Stepanakert) we slammed on the breaks at the Tatik - Papik monument on the outskirts of town.
Now before telling what happened there, I should emphasize one point. The very first thing I noticed the day before when we arrived in Stepanakert was how incredibly clean it was in comparison with Yerevan. Not to say that Yerevan is filthy (after all, I see more trash on the 10 fwy in L.A. and 57 in Orange County during my daily commute) but our friends in Artsakh seem to take an exceptional level of pride in keeping their neighborhoods cleaned up. (I would again confirm this the following morning when taking a 5-6am walk to buy Hatz. As I walked down the side streets parallel to Vazgen Sargsyan St and into Republic Square I saw people everywhere sweeping, shoveling and detailing everything.)
So when we climbed the hill from the parking lot to the rust-colored monument of Tuf I was disappointed to see trash on the ground. Now please don't be mistaken, I don't mean there were garbage bags dumped everywhere and heaps of refuse – that's reserved for the eyes of a driver on Brea Canyon Road in the second wealthiest county in the United States – Orange. No, this was more like bottle caps, empty "Masis Tabak" cigarette boxes and butts, used tissues (which in Armenia are used as table napkins…) and the occasional plastic NOY or Kilikia bottle.
I spent a little time soaking up the beauty and importance of Tatik – Papik, and was inspired by the inscription "Menk enk mer lernere" ("We are our mountains") located at the back of the structure. Those simple yet profound words made an impression on me. If we are our mountains, then why should I walk past a piece of trash on our mountains? So I decided to occupy myself while waiting for the rest of the group, with picking up as much trash as I could. As good spreads quickly it wasn't long before another member of our party decided to help me, then another and another. Before long we had filled several plastic bottles full of trash, and the whole place was, as far as we could tell completely clean. We took pride in leaving Tatik-Papik even better than we found them. Any day you can enjoy your environment and have a positive impact on it, is a good day.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Flight to Yerevan 2007
I wrote this the second day I was in Yerevan, and although I intended to keep a journal the entire time I was there, I didn't have access to a computer, so this is the only bit I wrote "on-site". I've vowed to take a laptop next time I go. I may publish more thoughts from different events on the trip later, for now my trip to Yerevan:
Well I didn't get to write about my first day right away so I'm writing it on the second. Needless to say it was a long trip to Yerevan, with an 8 or 9 hour layover in Munich. Thank God my dear friend from college, Paul is a native of the region, and was so generous to meet me at the airport and show me around Munich. We had the pleasure of starting the afternoon (though for me it was about 1 am) at a biergarten near downtown Munich. When the glass came it looked more to me like a gallon milk jug, but I drank with pleasure. It had been a long walk from where we parked, through wooded trails and open fields along a river in which nude men and women were swimming, students were studying, and laying out under the sun.
Needless to say I was thirsty, and as I was chugging down the massive quencher, couldn't help but notice the flavor of lemon. I asked Paul what it was and he explained that you can buy the beer mixed half lemonade / half beer (called a "Russian") which he did with the hope we wouldn't get smashed (especially since he was driving). We spoke of his work on a golf course in the town of Seeshaupt in the South of Munich and of course friends and family. After we emptied the glasses we headed to the car, this time under more shade trees since the sun was really burning now. We drove into town and Paul showed me the old buildings and what everything means.
After some more walking, drinking and talking we went to the Olympic Park where the summer games were held in 1972. I couldn't help but notice how modern the architecture of the stadiums was, with its open air, but clear glass covered roofs, it looked like something that could've been built yesterday. The most prominent structure however, was the Olympic tower, on the top of which was an antenna, dual-level lookout and restaurant. We took the elevator to the top and explored the lookout. About half-way up the ceiling-height glass windows were white stickers which outlined buildings and other structures in the background and gave a short description, and closer to the top were names of cities around the world which were in the direction you were looking. I saw London, Paris, New York, and so on, and as I continued, almost unexpectedly, jumped out "Istanbul", by whose name I had read a book by Orhan Pamuk on the flight. As I continued walking several steps, I again looked up, but naturally saw no "Yerevan". While these things never surprise me, they somehow always disappoint me. It did however, compel me to wonder what was literally over the horizon, waiting for my arrival in only a few hours.
I dream always about the bright future I believe our Armenia has for itself, and often daydream about what developments are taking place between my visits. I was exhausted and was literally fighting to keep my eyes open. We soon left and headed back to the airport (in places at a swift 160km/h) in Paul's VW. I slept for about an hour before the flight, when I woke up an old Armenian woman who had been sitting across and several seats down from where I was laying next to Gate H46 was standing over me saying "Vergats tgha jan, gnalu zhamanakn e" (Get up dear boy, its time to go). A bit confused I turned to the gate and saw that the last 5 or so people were boarding. I dragged myself on, thankful to that dear soul who saved me from missing my flight home.
As our plane was preparing to take off the pilot informed us that the air conditioning system had problems, by the time we switched planes we were obviously about 2 hours behind schedule, while others were angry I couldn't help but smile inside, thinking this means I'll arrive around 6:30 am, in time to see Mt. Ararat as the sun peaks over the horizon, with this happy thought I again slept...When I woke up the captain was announcing our descent to Yerevan and arrival in about 30 minutes. I watched the lights of villages below, and soon could make out the lights of a larger town. At first I thought Gyumri, but as I gathered my bearings I realized that at our height there was no way Gyumri was that close to Yerevan. Then in the distance I could see those haunting lights. For anyone whose been in Yerevan at night they know that on both sides of Masis (the larger or the two Ararat Mountains) there are 4-6 bright lights shining towards Yerevan. From what I had been told in 2004 when in Yerevan, these were shining from a U.S. Military base on the mountain, a veritable slap-in-the-face (one of many) from her thieves. I now realized the town in the foreground was Etchmiadzin, where later that day both my daughter and my brother would be baptized. It had been a long journey and my emotions swelled, but as the wheels smoked and squealed I was again at peace... it felt good to be back in Armenia.
Well I didn't get to write about my first day right away so I'm writing it on the second. Needless to say it was a long trip to Yerevan, with an 8 or 9 hour layover in Munich. Thank God my dear friend from college, Paul is a native of the region, and was so generous to meet me at the airport and show me around Munich. We had the pleasure of starting the afternoon (though for me it was about 1 am) at a biergarten near downtown Munich. When the glass came it looked more to me like a gallon milk jug, but I drank with pleasure. It had been a long walk from where we parked, through wooded trails and open fields along a river in which nude men and women were swimming, students were studying, and laying out under the sun.
Needless to say I was thirsty, and as I was chugging down the massive quencher, couldn't help but notice the flavor of lemon. I asked Paul what it was and he explained that you can buy the beer mixed half lemonade / half beer (called a "Russian") which he did with the hope we wouldn't get smashed (especially since he was driving). We spoke of his work on a golf course in the town of Seeshaupt in the South of Munich and of course friends and family. After we emptied the glasses we headed to the car, this time under more shade trees since the sun was really burning now. We drove into town and Paul showed me the old buildings and what everything means.
After some more walking, drinking and talking we went to the Olympic Park where the summer games were held in 1972. I couldn't help but notice how modern the architecture of the stadiums was, with its open air, but clear glass covered roofs, it looked like something that could've been built yesterday. The most prominent structure however, was the Olympic tower, on the top of which was an antenna, dual-level lookout and restaurant. We took the elevator to the top and explored the lookout. About half-way up the ceiling-height glass windows were white stickers which outlined buildings and other structures in the background and gave a short description, and closer to the top were names of cities around the world which were in the direction you were looking. I saw London, Paris, New York, and so on, and as I continued, almost unexpectedly, jumped out "Istanbul", by whose name I had read a book by Orhan Pamuk on the flight. As I continued walking several steps, I again looked up, but naturally saw no "Yerevan". While these things never surprise me, they somehow always disappoint me. It did however, compel me to wonder what was literally over the horizon, waiting for my arrival in only a few hours.
I dream always about the bright future I believe our Armenia has for itself, and often daydream about what developments are taking place between my visits. I was exhausted and was literally fighting to keep my eyes open. We soon left and headed back to the airport (in places at a swift 160km/h) in Paul's VW. I slept for about an hour before the flight, when I woke up an old Armenian woman who had been sitting across and several seats down from where I was laying next to Gate H46 was standing over me saying "Vergats tgha jan, gnalu zhamanakn e" (Get up dear boy, its time to go). A bit confused I turned to the gate and saw that the last 5 or so people were boarding. I dragged myself on, thankful to that dear soul who saved me from missing my flight home.
As our plane was preparing to take off the pilot informed us that the air conditioning system had problems, by the time we switched planes we were obviously about 2 hours behind schedule, while others were angry I couldn't help but smile inside, thinking this means I'll arrive around 6:30 am, in time to see Mt. Ararat as the sun peaks over the horizon, with this happy thought I again slept...When I woke up the captain was announcing our descent to Yerevan and arrival in about 30 minutes. I watched the lights of villages below, and soon could make out the lights of a larger town. At first I thought Gyumri, but as I gathered my bearings I realized that at our height there was no way Gyumri was that close to Yerevan. Then in the distance I could see those haunting lights. For anyone whose been in Yerevan at night they know that on both sides of Masis (the larger or the two Ararat Mountains) there are 4-6 bright lights shining towards Yerevan. From what I had been told in 2004 when in Yerevan, these were shining from a U.S. Military base on the mountain, a veritable slap-in-the-face (one of many) from her thieves. I now realized the town in the foreground was Etchmiadzin, where later that day both my daughter and my brother would be baptized. It had been a long journey and my emotions swelled, but as the wheels smoked and squealed I was again at peace... it felt good to be back in Armenia.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Otarakan is Born
The Perpetual Foreigner
Welcome to my blog. You will soon see that I enjoy writing about my personal struggle with my Armenian identity and my American upbringing and environment. I was born into a Diaspora which was created by the Armenian Genocide, yet was not raised as an Armenian. Growing up I always felt that something was missing. Reconciling my identity as an Armenian has been a major help in filling that void. Going from an American mutt (I also have German, Irish, Norwegian and Native American ancestry) from the cornfields of Michigan to marrying a girl from Yerevan, having two kids whose first language is Armenian and spending every spare vacation day in the Republic of Armenia has been a wild ride for me and I love it. Life is an adventure, you meet people along the way, some good, some bad, some who help you and some you can help, but learning along the way never ends.
What does the future hold for me? I don't know but I feel a strong magnetic pull towards Armenia. I know there is some very good work being done there, and I want to help continue that work, so it's a matter of time but I will get there as long as the desire continues to burn. Regardless of all this, I will remain in a perpetual struggle as a foreigner (Otar) no matter where I am. The reason being that in the Diaspora don't identify and feel myself to be a foreigner and in the Motherland I do identify but natives view me as a foreigner, even I myself feel the same with regards to mentality. This is a struggle that will evolve over time, but will probably never cease to exist, so my experiences will be chronicled here and I hope my readers enjoy.
Now - to the posting...
Welcome to my blog. You will soon see that I enjoy writing about my personal struggle with my Armenian identity and my American upbringing and environment. I was born into a Diaspora which was created by the Armenian Genocide, yet was not raised as an Armenian. Growing up I always felt that something was missing. Reconciling my identity as an Armenian has been a major help in filling that void. Going from an American mutt (I also have German, Irish, Norwegian and Native American ancestry) from the cornfields of Michigan to marrying a girl from Yerevan, having two kids whose first language is Armenian and spending every spare vacation day in the Republic of Armenia has been a wild ride for me and I love it. Life is an adventure, you meet people along the way, some good, some bad, some who help you and some you can help, but learning along the way never ends.
What does the future hold for me? I don't know but I feel a strong magnetic pull towards Armenia. I know there is some very good work being done there, and I want to help continue that work, so it's a matter of time but I will get there as long as the desire continues to burn. Regardless of all this, I will remain in a perpetual struggle as a foreigner (Otar) no matter where I am. The reason being that in the Diaspora don't identify and feel myself to be a foreigner and in the Motherland I do identify but natives view me as a foreigner, even I myself feel the same with regards to mentality. This is a struggle that will evolve over time, but will probably never cease to exist, so my experiences will be chronicled here and I hope my readers enjoy.
Now - to the posting...
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