Making Connections

The complexities of our identities never ceases to amaze me. Our lives are so layered; really, where do you begin? I am only beginning to grasp the depth of it all....

There are a few truths though that I have come to realize: in Yerevan, I never have to repeat my name twice (neither my first name nor my family name), no one asks me how to spell it, and people don't forget my name or me the second time they see me. For those of you who know me well, you know how much of a pet peeve this is for me, growing up in English-speaking North America after all.

But of course nothing is that simple and the common-ness (or at least the familiarity) of my name does not mean that all is perfect in this city on ancient land. There is an underbelly to this city and a weight that especially queer women feel --- or really anyone who might be in the slightest way "odd" or "unusual" whether that be in the way they dress or in the choices they make; i.e. choosing not to get married or have kids or pierce your eyebrow if you feel like it. I am "odd" too but not as odd as the last time I was here, if you can believe. The city has changed and I have hope for her yet....

And then there are the women---the queers, the artists, the academics, the writers, the "odd" ones. Their strength inspires me. And the conversations that we've had! The late-night rounds of Kilikia (and occasional shots of vodka), dancing in houses with open windows and all the lights on for the neighbours to see, and as odd as we are, feeling safe and walking carefree in the streets of Yerevan in the middle of the night with the warm breeze carressing our cheeks...

In the past couple of days, however, we've parted ways, most of them off to Lake Sevan with family or friends to enjoy a few days of holidays while they have the chance. I know they will return. And when they do, I hope we can go out dancing and gather in each others' houses and have more amazing late-night conversations....

Until then, I remain with my fellow tourists as we walk these streets during the day and consume our cultural artifacts and the sounds and smells and tastes that this city has to offer in all its complexities... we purchase our Armenian-ness in neatly packaged boxes and spend our money on items to take back with us so that we may display them in our home on stolen land (Canada) and show our non-Armenian friends just how Armenian we are....

Sad but true: just like this city, Yerevan.