Moving soon?

Words I received today from my favorite psychic, my friend's mom (and also a friend) who lives and works on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada:

"I glanced at this new photo of you and had to email you to tell you the feeling I got. You are wiped out, arent you? And I also feel a move for you and your love soon to a French-speaking community. You will be abundant, happy and peaceful."

Wow. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, eh?

What to do when the lights go out

So I came home from work, walked in the apartment, and switched on the lights (as I usually do). And what happened? Nothing. Yes, nothing. No lights, no electricity, no humming sound from the fridge. Oh oh, what did I do? Quietly backing out and closing the front door, I rang the doorbell of my next door neighbor.

Me: “Um, my lights don’t turn on, do you have electricity by any chance?” (Thinking the electricity’s off in the whole building perhaps, but asking a stupid question as I can clearly see the lights are on in her apartment.)

Lovely neighbor that she is, Gayane helps me troubleshoot the situation. After a few questions, she gets to the kicker:

Gayane: “Do you have any outstanding payments on your electricity bill?”

What Happens When You Can't Go Back?

What happens when you can't go back? Not because you physically can't go back, but because you're no longer able to adapt, to that pace, to that lifestyle that is North America. What do you do then?
(some thoughts after meeting with a fellow repat and strolling the streets of Yerevan)

Being the Bridge Connecting Armenia to the Diaspora & Vice-Versa

Probably the hardest thing I find about living in Armenia is being The Bridge. The Bridge between Armenians living in Armenia and those in the Diaspora (interestingly, this feeling of being a bridge doesn’t arise in quite the same way with non-Armenians).

Having just returned from a few weeks visiting family in Toronto, I feel like I have to make time to visit various family members in my first week back. Honestly, I haven’t had a day off from family (and family drama). The expectation of news from abroad and most likely gifts and — ideally — money. I am an unofficial Fed Ex employee, Western Union agent, and carrier pigeon all rolled into one. None of these are roles I particularly enjoy or wished for myself. But, alas, it comes with being Armenian and visiting the homeland (more so if you have family in Armenia).

I have spent the better part of my week back meeting with family and sharing details of family in Toronto. How can I explain to someone who’s never lived or even been abroad how life is not only difficult in Yerevan, but elsewhere too? How it’s colder in Toronto, takes 1–2 hours to get around (especially in traffic) and the sheer volume and variety of products in stores is enough to make your head spin (not in a good way). How it’s not what you imagine it to be, though I understand how life in Yerevan is not perfect either.

Being in Toronto makes me miss Yerevan and being in Yerevan makes me long for the smooth sidewalks and roadways of Toronto, government agencies that function and the availability of eggs (and other items) in stores year round.

But who to tell about the wonderful Yerevan weather (more sun and always much, much warmer than Toronto), the 10 minutes it takes to get around town (and, if you choose to, you can even walk or bike it), and the people who call you ջան (jan) only a minute after meeting you and who make you feel like you’re family.

The important thing I’ve realized is to appreciate the beauty and make the most of wherever you happen to be. The other important thing I’ve realized is though I understand and empathize with my family in Toronto and my family in Yerevan, I find it difficult to explain the experiences and viewpoint of the other to them. Too often I take on the burden of explaining, but no avail. In the end, the only thing I achieve is burn out.

Have you experienced this feeling of being a bridge between two cultures or two communities? If so, how do you deal with the issue? Do you manage or do you feel burned out (like I do)?

It’s Cold... But Not in Yerevan

It’s cold in Toronto and not just physically or literally. People are cold. I want to knock on my chest like Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love and say “Empty!” it’s empty in here, there’s no life here. I am reminded of a blog post I wrote two years ago when I came to Armenia in the summer of 2008, when I met my partner and a whole host of amazing women, and when I decided to try to make the move to live here. I wrote “There is so much life here.” And coming back to Toronto has reminded me why I decided to move thousands of miles across the ocean to another country, not just to be with my partner, but to experience life, with all its hardships and joy.

I am surprised by the level of consumerism in Toronto, how much it permeates people’s lives. I walk down Queen St. West and the word that comes to mind is “hipster.” But Queen St. West has always been hipster, so why should I be surprised? I assume it’s because I’ve been away so long, because I’ve been living another life, a different life, and I am surprised at how much consumer culture defines Toronto.

I ride the subway, overhearing conversations that seem so superficial to me. Maybe it’s because it’s the subway and people don’t want to get into intimate conversations, even with those they love and are close to. But even though couples hold hands and stand close and are comfortable enough on the subway to lock lips for periods of a time, I don’t hear the love. Conversations between friends about the latest gadget or comparing different products, where to get something for the best price really depressed me. Is this what Toronto is? Or is it what it seems to me, being here for a little over two days?

Again, I am reminded of Eat, Pray, Love (not that I thought it was a great film; it’s just the references it brings up): what is the word that describes Toronto? I toy with money, business, grey, cold, lacklustre (another word for grey?). None of the words paints a positive picture of a city that is supposedly the “most multicultural city in the world” and that is the engine that runs the country (i.e. financially).

The roads are so wide, the cars so big, the dizziness too much. I can’t help but feel as if I’m looking at this city through the eyes of someone else. Someone who never lived here, who came here from Europe (“Oh! Un vrai camion américain!” as one French-speaking European once said during his first visit to North America, when I picked him up from the airport and drove him on a highway that he described as being straight from Hollywood films), or from a smaller country such as Armenia.

But I have lived here and if I dig deeper, I will find that the city has never changed, it is what it has always been, it is I who has changed. Or maybe it’s a bit of both?

I was so excited to come back, to taste food that I have missed, the cultural diversity of this city which is one of its best assets. And yet I find the food tasted so much better in my memory than it does in real life and I see the change in my family’s diet, how my mom eats chicken now and avoids all carbs. The way the dishes are prepared with the addition of processed foods, something she swore off years ago and still mostly avoids. But it’s easier you see and adds flavor, she says, and I realize that my palette and hers have become very different. An analogy of our lives.

Artifical. Perhaps another word to describe this city. Superficial — somehow related. Stuck. Speaking to friends and former co-workers over these past two days, I’ve realized the number of people who confess to feeling stuck, the number of people who have decided to make Toronto their home not because they love the city, but because it has opportunities (financial, career-wise). Because they need to be here, not because they want to.

The majority of people I’ve spoken to have confessed to this, have complained about things getting worse in the city, in the country, so much so that it starts to sound familiar. This, however, being only a handful of friends and acquaintances and by no means a conclusive assessment. However, between observing people on public transport and speaking to friends and family, I have been left with a feeling of sadness, of feeling stuck and obsessed with buying all those things that I don’t need but want just to surround (protect?) myself with my “mountains o’ things” (don’t you just love Tracy Chapman?).

And I can see why people go mad. It is insane to live in Toronto. It is insane to live this life, to constantly be chugging ahead, not knowing why you’re going so fast, where you’re even going exactly and why you have to keep moving with the current. You think you’re doing the best thing for you and your family. You think you need this. But the more you move ahead, the faster you go, the more you realize you need more. That what you thought would be enough is not enough. And in the center of it all is this wide, gaping hole of emptiness.

And I am reminded again of my blog post two years ago. What had affected me so deeply in the three weeks I was in Yerevan, the bug that I caught that I have seen so many others catch too, those who decide to move to Armenia: There is life here. Yes, I complain, yes, there is so much that doesn’t work (չի ստացվում :), yes, there is discontent. But we have each other. All of us are in the same boat. None of us (among my friends and my family anyway) are better off than anyone else. We’re not running to the stores to spend all our money on useless things because we don’t have money and there aren’t really THAT many things to buy (well, of course, now there are, but in no way can you compare the small shops of Yerevan to the megastores and shopping malls of North America).

Yes, we want lots of things that we don’t have. But we are not empty inside. I have met some of the most amazing people in my life in Armenia (and I know I’ve said this before). I realized long ago that people are more important that products, that making meaningful connections with another human being(s) is more important than making a connection with your computer or your job, that living life to the fullest means never feeling “stuck,” but feeling passion, what it means to be alive.

I don’t want to delude myself, or you, dear reader: I’m sure there are people who feel stuck in Yerevan, just as there are people who feel alive in Toronto. This cannot be a generalization of two cities. But it is a generalization of experiences, at least my experiences, and maybe my outlook on life. I don’t know if I’ll live in Yerevan forever (in fact, I have dreams of travelling to other places, of living briefly in other cities, in other countries), but I don’t want to live in Toronto forever either. It’s a familiar city, where I grew up, where I lived most of my life — but it’s not my city. I don’t know where I’ll be five, ten years from now, but wherever that may be, I will make sure to remember to live life to the fullest, to at least try not to feel “stuck,” to see the beauty wherever I am.

“Whatever [or wherever, I'd add] you are, be a good one” is the name of my friend Arpik’s blog. A fitting line, I think, on which to end this post.

P.S. I’ve been wanting to change the name of this blog for quite some time now. Yesterday, the phrase “Here is Life” came to me. What do you think, is it too vague for the title of this blog? I like the line, but think perhaps the blog should include “Armenia” or “Armenian” somewhere in the title since it is who I am and where I live. What do you think?

Is Living in Armenia Financially Sustainable?

Lately, I’ve had doubts. Doubts about living here, surviving here, settling here. For let’s be honest, I’m still not quite settled. I remember the big question I had before I made the move to live here: is it sustainable? By sustainable, I don’t mean is it environmentally or ecologically sound to live in Armenia; I mean, can one live and work in Armenia without any outside support (financial or otherwise). Are the resources inside the country sufficient to make a decent living?

To elaborate further: I know that those who have savings and investments built up from a life abroad, those who work for international agencies in Armenia where the money comes from outside the country and those who’ve established businesses in Armenia, but their sole (if not the majority of their) earnings come from clients outside the country — all these groups of people can live in Armenia quite comfortably, but it doesn’t solve the equation: the money is still coming from outside.

The more I’ve looked into this issue, the more depressed I’ve become. Because, if only by surveying the many, many others I know who live and work here, I’ve come to the conclusion that no, living in Armenia is not sustainable.

And that’s what’s gotten me depressed over the past few days.

Conversations with friends and acquaintances have also made me realize that I’m not alone. Perhaps it’s the changing of the seasons, the first signs of winter in the air that’s getting us down. But I think it has to do with more than that.

For instance, a good friend of mine Artur recently published a post on his personal blog that resounded with me: he, a young man in his thirties, married with 2 kids, is finding it more and more difficult to justify staying in Armenia. He works hard (he knows he does — and I know he does too!), he has a fairly good job working in media and he’s quite active online and in the journalistic community. He has offered and attended many trainings and continues to improve his skills/trade/craft by being involved in new projects and continuing his education (in a broad sense).

He is a professional in his field.

And yet he sees no hope in this country. Or, more specifically, he sees no future for his children. To be honest, Artur blogs a lot about local politics and events and, working in news media myself, I too follow the numerous opposition rallies, the struggles for freedom of the press, Armenia’s relationships with its neighbors, the Azerbaijani film festival in Yerevan that seems as if it might never happen, the latest racist remark that either Sargsyan or Ter-Petrossian and his supporters made. I too see no true alternative voice in politics, which really only adds to the bleak picture.

Because as much as I am frustrated at how much importance Armenian citizens put on good government, I understand the need to have good, honest, educated people running the country.

In an earlier post, I had been critical of this and said it was a “leftover Soviet mentality,” and I still think that’s partly true. I argued that revolution never came from top-down: one only needs to examine countless other countries’ histories to know that revolution comes from the people. But I also understand what change — much needed change — could come from having good government in Armenia. And until one sees even a glimmer of hope in this issue, the situation in the country paints quite a depressing picture indeed.

But back to my original point: sustainability. I still don’t see it and even if an ideal government were to be established in Armenia tomorrow, I think that it would take a long time for the country to stand up on its feet and for its citizens to be truly independent.

If only because I like to end on a positive note (!), if there’s any “glimmer of hope” that I see in this country it’s the people. I have met such talented, amazing people while living here that if it were not for them, a lot of the change (even if it’s a drop in the ocean) wouldn’t be happening and the hope that some of us keep would be non-existent. People like Artur, and the countless others whose presence does give me the hope that maybe, just maybe, change will come sooner rather than later.

P.S. I would just like to add shout-outs to fellow blogger Lori, who I met for the first time yesterday, and Kirstin, working in Armenia on contract, who I also met yesterday. Learning that there are people who I don’t know who follow my blog, and knowing what I throw into cyberspace is actually received by someone somewhere, really made my day. Thanks, guys ;)

Ode to Yerevan Nights

I had forgotten. I had forgotten how this city changes at night. How the expression “as different as night and day” takes on new meaning in the Armenian capital. And I have missed it. Oh, how I have missed you, dear Yerevan night.

Walking the streets of this city at night, you see the queers, the foreigners, the misfits. If you never went out at night, you would think that Yerevan is “proper” Armenian girls, young boys laughing in groups, schoolchildren, and older women buying produce, while older men talk politics. During the day, you see the mountains in the distance, parents taking their children to ride 200-dram toys in the square, men in groups in dark-colored clothing talking politics in the park.

In the early evening, you see young pregnant couples strolling the streets, people — young and old — sitting at outdoor cafes (until it gets too cold and the cafes move indoors), young men with fast, flashy cars and gaggles of girls dressed up to go out for the evening.

But it is a night — even better, late at night —, when the “proper” Armenian girls have gone home (after all, they’re not allowed to stay out past midnight), when the young men with their flashy cars have possibly retired for the evening, and when families are fast asleep, that Yerevan wakes up and shows you the possibilities of what this city can be.

I hear more languages at night than I do during the day. I see people I didn’t know live here, doing things I didn’t know people in Yerevan do. I see all manners of people being accepted because the night is different: it allows for certain freedoms (most likely aided by certain amounts of alcohol) that would simply be frowned upon during the day.

Of course, it’s not all rose-coloured glasses: the stereotypes and the conservative opinions are still there, but I suppose they’re not felt as much, or perhaps they simply lose their potency at night.

And I guess I can understand why the foreigners and the diasporan Armenians here on volunteer stints go out at night, crawling the bars, drinking more than they did back home and becoming all manner of silly. It’s their small dose of freedom in a society they haven’t fit into yet (and perhaps never will in the short time they’re here) and it’s a bit of the familiar, surrounded by their diasporan and foreign friends, speaking English and making their foreign-ness known more loudly than they would allow themselves during the day.

And though this might read like I’m painting a negative picture of foreigners and diasporan Armenians in Yerevan (of which I am one), it’s not. I had missed being out in Yerevan at night because I had been too busy working, conforming, living my daytime life, and seeing friends in the early evening in intimate settings, before retiring to bed with my partner (who, by the way, works more than I do!).

This might sound odd, but Yerevan at night reminded me I’m queer. And that I love my queer brothers and sisters. In the past couple of nights, I met many more new misfits and came to the following revelation:

The ratio of queers to straights in Yerevan is probably higher than in Toronto, and maybe even London and New York.

You might find this hard to believe, but trust me: just come to Yerevan. And go out at night. Yerevan is a small city compared to many other capital cities around the world, but it has an infinite amount of possibilities.

For all the stresses of the day, the anger over the nationalism and xenophobia that exists when someone tries to organize an Azerbaijani film festival in Yerevan, the fact that in the Nagorno Karabakh “frozen conflict” there are still dead bodies and prisoners of war, that the price of natural gas to heat homes and food has gone up and now the price of local cheese, and the lack of any proper or legitimate government, it is the night that saved me.

Yerevan at night reminded me why I love this city and its people, and brought to mind this quote:

“With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”

Hatred and Xenophobia is Alive and Well

Poster for the event

A Facebook event page on a film festival in Yerevan has sparked hateful and nationalist comments since it was created a few days ago. Why? Simply because the festival will showcase films by Azerbaijani filmmakers.

Though the event page on Facebook seemed to have been created by Armenian writer and LGBT activist Lusine Vayachyan, the actual event is organized by the Yerevan-based Caucasus Center for Peace-Making Initiatives NGO, with the support of the US Embassy in Armenia. As of this writing, the event FB page shows that it was created by Georgi Vanyan, the president of CCPI.

In fact, Vanyan has since added a note to the event, which also appears on Vayachyan’s wall as well as his own wall, asking individuals who have concerns or complaints regarding the festival to direct them to him: “Each individual concerned about the festival, please leave writer Lusine Vayachyan alone. Lusine simply spread the news about the festival.”

“The festival is organized by Caucasus Center for Peace-Making Initiatives NGO, of which I am the president, and naturally, the person responsible for the festival. Please, step_ccpmi@yahoo.com,” he adds, leaving the email address where to send queries and comments.

Though of course that hasn’t stopped FB users from only adding hateful, discriminatory, nationalist and xenophobic comments on the page — though now not directed at Lusine, but focusing on the nature of the event itself.

As of this writing, one FB user by the name of Sasun Sasunian has added a photograph showing the Armenian flag being burned, as well as a couple of illustrations with the words “I love Azerbaijan” and “F*** you Armenia.” In one image, a child wearing the Azerbaijani flag is shown peeing on the Armenian flag, apparently equating the organizing of a festival to expressing anti-Armenian sentiments.

Of course, he’s not the only one. There’s HoVo Aghajanyan (and really, how do we know these are their real names?) who has posted the link of another FB event on this event page: this time for a protest to take place on the same time and place as the festival of Azerbaijani films. The counter-event seems to have been created by Hrachya Barkhudaryan and already has 178 people attending.

The comments are almost exclusively in Armenian, and of course there are some people thankfully who have other views. These comments mainly seem to try to reach out to people through "Christian values" and humanity, asking users to stop spreading hate. Some comments state that organizing a festival screening of Azerbaijani films or comments which support such an event shouldn't be equated with being "anti-Armenian" or being a "traitor."

Responses to such comments have included accusations of being Azerbaijani, being traitors to the Armenian people and so on, with each additional comment receiving support by another commenter, inciting more hatred and almost camaraderie by fellow racists.

I don’t know what else to say at this point except “disgusting.” Absolutely, wholly, almost-to-the-point-of-ridiculous-if-these-views-weren’t-so-very-deeply-and-unfortunately-sincerely-held-by-these-young-Armenian-nationalist-men-and-women disgusting.

For those who are interested in reading and perhaps responding to the comments (in Armenian), the Facebook event page can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=118393321556010

On Beauty Contests and Violence Against Women

Armenia’s Ministry of Diaspora organizes a beauty contest for local and Diasporan Armenian women, while another woman suffers abuse at the hands of her husband and mother-in-law.

"As you are already informed, on October 1, 2010 in Masis town a shocking murder was committed. A 20 year old Zaruhi Petrosyan was killed by her husband and mother in law as a result of torture and physical violence,” reads an open letter by local NGO Society Without Violence.

The case, covered by local news agency News.am, is getting little attention in other media. The latest news is that Zaruhi’s husband, Yanis Sarkisovi, has been detained and charged with “causing severe bodily harm.” This is as much as has been reported so far. A video on YouTube (in Armenian with English subtitled) in which two women close to Zaruhi talk candidly on camera about the incidents before her death can be viewed here.

"Petrosyan’s case, while unique by the fact that her family has spoken publicly about her ordeal, is common.  Over a quarter of women in Armenia are said to have been hit by a family member, yet authorities failed to prevent, investigate and punish violence against women, according to a 2009 Amnesty International Report,” writes Liana Aghajanian in an article on domestic violence in Armenia Ianyan.

Meanwhile, the country’s diaspora ministry organizes a beauty contest in which contestants are expected to have 'mastered' the Armenian language, to be familiar with Armenian cuisine (including how to cook Armenian food), and to top it off, to "preserve the image of an Armenian woman."

When asked what exactly defines “the image of an Armenian woman,” the minister responded by saying, "To tell you the truth, I don't accept filthy, ill-mannered girls." According to her, a woman must be "modest." (Epress.am, Oct. 8, 2010)

Furthermore, she goes on to say that though she understands there are other many other examples of women around the world, the “traditional Armenian woman” is different: she is a good mother, a good daughter, a good wife (apparently in that order).

And then we wonder why gender stereotypes prevail in our country and why women continue to be abused at the hands of men. When notions of “man” and “woman” get defined and confirmed by government officials, why are we surprised when violence — physical, emotional, financial — prevails in society?

When are we going to say enough is enough?

Namaste, or More Culturally Appropriate and Locally Relevant, Peace

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

It’s been a few weeks since I got out of my routine of going to yoga classes (mainly because of my work schedule), so I decided to get back into my routine by starting with the beginner’s class today. I’ve been to this class many times and can probabaly consider myself no longer a beginner, but I thought just to be on the safe side, I should ease my body back into doing yoga poses with an easy class.

And so, while I’m sitting there on the mat with my legs crossed, I realize I am looking up at my yoga teacher and listening attently, hanging on to her every word, much like I imagine Levon Ter-Petrosyan’s supporters do when they listen to him talk at an Armenian National Congress rally. And this of course reminded me of my recent post and I thought, “My yoga teacher is my god” (sacrilegious, I know, not to mention perhaps offensive to supporters of Ter-Petrosyan, or really any other “political force”).

Because I would rather have my yoga teacher running the country (if she so decided to do so) than a man who’s already had his run of politics. (And please don’t think for a minute that I support Sargsyan — or Kocharian, for that matter.)

Think of it: her words are guided by no other motive other than to have you feel your body, to listen to your body and do only what’s good for it. She speaks of releasing tension and living in a state of calm and gratitude.

She is herself the embodiment of calm.

Words such as conflict, territorial integrity and elections never leave her mouth (well, at least not in yoga class). She greets the students with a smile and ends with a bow, in an unassuming seated position, palms together and with that word of all words, “Namaste.”

Now when was the last time you heard an opposition leader or government official say that?