an invitation

Several Memorial Days ago in Texas i was reminded of how negligence runs rampant in even the sweetest of us. Carl Jung knew a thing about this, mentioning 'indolence' as something of which to be careful.  hence, another passive blog entry.

It was this celebratory day that I had invited a friend from work to join my family to attend a ceremony at the nearest military base. I thought it would be a good opportunity for this person to see a side of American culture that people outside, and inside for that matter, catch only on television.

The fearful and negative reaction of the others who would be coming was shocking, insulting, and just plain heartbreaking.  My co-worker happened to be from Guatemala, under 18 years of age, and without proper documents. I was accused of putting him in danger by taking him to a place full of American soldiers and probably police that would throw him into a jail cell. Please, reader, sit with this for as long as you can. 

The connection to my current home half a world away:  That stinging pain, the reaction to witnessed deep racism, came back in an instant. It was happiness and love that pushed me to think to invite a friend of mine to come and experience Love with a close adopted family outside of Yerevan, and like in a pavlovian dog, the feelings from that particular memorial day made me think twice. 

It IS the case that most conversations end quickly and awkwardly when i talk about the topic of my independent research. I study a migrant community that lives in a place that an incredible percentage of natives dream to leave. This group of immigrants, as in most countries around the world, are resented for unrepresentative reasons - reasons that the media here chooses to run with in order to entertain the masses. Shame on you Yerevan Magazine for your sarcastic article in your monthly print journal's May 2012 (#5(6)) issue.   tourist does not equal resident immigrant

A shameful and unfortunately unsurprising amount of locals are made uncomfortable when they realize i am embarking on a topic they choose to ignore unless it is convenient to point their fingers at 'the other' to blame for their problems. unsurprising because of my experiences with Hispanic migrants in the US, so similar.

please don't talk about something that makes me feel bad. mind your business girl. 

British, Japanese, Argentinian, Russian, i wouldn't feel a bit of hesitation, but even the most 'open minded' of locals will raise an eyebrow at connection with an Iranian. amot.  and like in America, these migrants from Iran can taste this negativity in all they do; taking a taxi, buying from the store, looking for work, using the bank, renting a home, and the list continues.

a person told me that 'life for an immigrant should be hard."   - - why? - -

reading this will offend people on both sides of the ethnic fence. and for this i apologize.

Shared borders bring so much connection between groups while at the same time offer fodder for scapegoating and disdain. Mexico : America :: Iran : Armenia

This family, my Armenian family, over the course of one year has just recently witnessed the abuse of a loved one, who was visually different. The father would walk this person to and from the house to guard them against public mocking.  this experience sadly, prepares me (selfishly so) for such a conversation - an invitation. 

be not afraid.

viva!

хозяин hozain owner

According to a friend, in Armenian when you say someone is 'blue' this is referring to their sexual orientation. So, this friend started nervously laughing when i asked the dentists in front of my window, in my suffering Armenian, if i could get a picture of them because, "They were all blue."  They graciously gave a second to pose.

For most of the population, winter coats are still on hold, compliments the mild autumn, meaning i have full access to the cuteness that is Old Lady Wardrobe. In time between meetings, happenings, and the like i take notes from grand masters of effortless style.

In just a little over a month, year three will begin. Signs apart from those calendarian let me know this is so. One of them is a fattening cat child that now receives offerings from several homes. This plus the frequent nurturing of her dependence on garbage bin food, has now earned her the name 'fat cat,' and has me chasing her away from her sister's food plate. 

ownership. Truth be told, those feelings of property i thought i had shed when it comes to the independence of a cat, those i boasted by saying things like,"They can stay or they can go, it's their decision," have been severely challenged on several occasions. I was sarcastically ordered  by the corner market man that i should take her home if she indeed was mine. The ladies in the neighboring abode told me their name for "my" cat when i informed them of her "given" name ... worthless, a serious slap in the face of m-e-a-n-i-n-g-less (animasta). ha! you can take your leash and shove it. 

Dogs and cats are let loose on the street when a person can no longer house them. A lot of bigger dogs get neglected because they are just intimidating. There is a good portion that end up being graced with a scrap giving family. Thus, this cat that i brought home 2 years ago is now just part of a different neighborhood's property. 

This happens in The States, but for me takes on this different meaning here. In The States, the community rests assured that an organization or state will pick up the majority of strays to have them adopted out, and sure maybe a lot are killed, but there is an effort to save. So, off-the-street adoption by a set of households is less common. mentality: If someone else is feeding, why should I? responsibility thrown out the window.  For this cat example I have, the exact opposite happened.  'fat cat' ensues - pardon the less PC name. 

For others to know that she has had her baby making organs removed is either not relevant on a monetary level (150 USD!) or insulting as the cat had no choice... My argument for a less neglected population of happy cats is dismissed by the idea that they have always fended for themselves. Here, this is the majority of truth. every bin has it's family of feeding cats.  Thus, I have questioned whether or not moving the cats with me is the best choice considering the cultural context.  However, i'm sure my western values will set in at the last minute and both she and her sister will be packed under a plane headed to a new community an ocean away.

public transportation, trash, old ladies, and cats/animals - the content of this blog, do not be mistaken. 

and you don't stop

soundrtack to be opened in the next tab and looped as you read : SURE SHOT

Across the alleyway named Gulbekhyan Street there is a preschool.  To cross over to the school's side you'll step through some white lines. The children who sometimes come to the house to watch movies spray painted a mini football (soccer) field, i suppose in preparation for the Olympics.  When I asked them what the name of the field was they said naturally, "Gulbekhyan Big Field." good name. The next day that name was spray painted on the stone wall that borders the field. rock 'n' roll.

In the evenings and on weekends the preschool is host to those prone to shake a hip or tap a foot, future dancing with the stars contenders - body movers. The room that is used for lessons is close enough to the walk way that all passing by can catch glimpses through the leaves that barely do their job as curtains.  When there are younger students summoning the late mickael jackson you can catch small packs of boys or girls peering over the same-sized stone wall on toes that thematically balance their bodies like ballerinas.

It's an impressive sound system that moves the classes. You'll hear traditional Armenian, loads of Latin, Pop, and interestingly enough the other night, Hip Hop. There were three men practicing some break moves with caps and sneakers apropos of the dance, which makes one wonder if it's just the genre of music to which they prefer to dance. If not, what percentage of their lifestyles have also taken on an activist flare?

I was playing badminton with a friend when the birdie was hit over the wall separating the field and the school. The 2nd time this happened, we had caught the HipHoppers just as they were leaving and locking up the gate. phew!   "I lost the...," and I showed them my racket. "Can you see?" (it was night already, only the street lights guiding the game)  "Sure," I yelped as I ran to the bushes that were literally holding up the game.

As I walked back out the gate I tried to look them in the eyes without being too creepy. I suppose i thought i could catch the HipHop twinkle that certain friends back home could definitely manage to do. All that came to mind was, "Well, they could definitely do some damage within the system," which was a reference to the normal type of vibe i received passing their persons. Of course, I was just so excited about an impending serious HipHop invasion that  i thought something spectacular would be witnessed. All that was caught, and maybe it was enough, was one of the guys doing a quick fling of his right foot to the side before walking away with his posse.

word/palabra/բառ:

humanizing

There are a couple things that get me motivated to write a blog post. Obviously, trash talk is one of them.

Nontraditional jobs get a pretty bad rap, though there are people within most countries that are there to do them. This post is spurred by a physical encounter here in my neighborhood over the issue as well as today's CNN article about a man who collects paper to earn a living.

my own dabble: During a stint in LA, I made my way to the paper recycling place with such a small amount of cardboard that people snickered ... So, there are businesses that have really done well from doing something with product refuse (wrappings and such). I like it, but of course, when they exist it makes it quiet difficult for an individual to go about in the more antiquated ways of earning some cash by collecting bottles or kilos of cardboard.  ah, industrializing, a horse vs. train sort of situation.

Here in Yerevan, there are people who do this for work, S.Vet, in particular, if you remember from earlier posts.  Her bottle collecting schedule is 7 days a week and so intense in fact that even an invite to the house will be met with, "Sorry, I can't I've got work to do." So, yesterday when some young men physically pulled me by the arm to save me from interacting with such a 'lazy' person, I of course was a bit unnerved. Don't get me wrong people will give you funny looks in The States too if you are seen associating with people from tabooed industries.

Near the trash bins, I was in the middle of being introduced to a man fluent in English who said he was from Croatia  (admittedly i was not expecting this - a pleasant surprise), when all of a sudden i realize there are two guys in their early 20s calling to me, which was also a surprise. Then of course, i realized that they were trying to warn me...

The reaction of S.Vet and her friend were incredibly classy:  they had raised arms waving at the two younger (by 20 years at least) men while requesting god bless them as they smiled their biggest. I on the other hand  could barely maintain my composure.  I requested that the men wait while i finish my conversation, but of course, they took to physically remove me. In order to keep the scene low key, I apologized to my acquaintances and went off to see what the problem was. You can imagine the defamation.  Over the 3 minutes I countered with,  "They have family," "No, they actually do work," "They're very nice, have you ever spoken with them?" This didn't resonate.

In the minds of both sides, people were being nice and helpful. Whether it was a conversation in some English that hadn't been used in a while or a heroic saving of a damsel, hearts were in the right place. It's too bad, not everyone would agree on that one. i don't know, what would you do?

ainha here

A super camera - at least that's what i hope the person/s that tore through the mound of apparatuses was hoping to make.  Why these carcasses didn't make it to Vernisazh (the city flea market to which all are referred) is beyond me. It's really not like the trash producers of these parts to leave these sorts of things lying around as such. Luckily, for the sake of the cleanliness of my abode, i've no clue what to make of such discarded items, thus that person's trash will remain something not meant to be hung on my wall (trash) in my eyes.  This mentality along with the fact that i have a new daily visitor to the house that meows for his rightful portion of food,  make for a very cat-lady like situation, to the dismay of some. snowball.

Speaking of the flea market, or place where one goes to get used parts, i was referred there by a clerk in a home appliance store. I was looking to purchase a filter for my vacuum, these things are generally bought 'new' so that they can properly clean (i should have mentioned that). Their Vernisazh suggestion said less about  their understanding of what i was talking about and more about the logic incorporated by most everyone in Yerevan. I myself have also suggested that one try the flea market. If you can't find it in the store, you should peruse the aisle of outdoor usedness for certain things - one not being a filter for a vacuum.

So, the resignation of some brute of a parliament member (after a doctor was beat to death at his restaurant) coincides with the farmer's market sponsor changing from Pepsi Co. to a Russia's Baltika beer.  As a matter of fact, it seems as though Pepsi Co. is being slowly pushed out my neighborhood all together. The 2 local 24-hour snack stands are now serving solely coke products. Atlanta:USA :: Moscow:Russia  .... for these taste buds, the battle is won in this neighborhood.

viva!

youth

Today i exchanged some words with a 17-year-old nazi-dressed boy. He beamed and stated with pride, "so you understand," when he saw me piecing together the bits of his, in my mind, punk rock outfit that were there to scream to others whatever he condered himself to be.

It started out with the typical, "How are you?" to which he typically answered back, "Fine and you?" He asked what i was doing as i set up my t-shirt making post. He asked to see the example t-shirt. I unfolded it as i passed it over. He smiled as he folded it up to give back to me. I unfolded again in order to put it on the hanger to display.

Then he asked for a match and made a motion to throw it at the building i was standing in front of. After some seconds of processing, i said it was a bad joke. This is when the costume examination and recognition took place. "Aaaaaah," i said.

It is and was all too obvious that the boy was looking for love. The only time he was happy, beaming, in the hour our paths crossed was when i 'noticed' him and the identity he was trying so hard to construct for himself. And at that acknowledgement i wanted nothing more than to call the PETA equivalent on his guardians or whichever people around him for not giving enough of this love that he, as so many other children obviously want.

There may be some that are irritated that i wrote about this, to air the dirty laundry, and honestly i normally do something more than writing in a blog that only a special few read. That is to say, instead of complaining or to put it a better way, talking about what i don't like - i do something, like make a shirt - heh!

 I acknowledge these types of hush-hush mentalities to be in every country/culture. They could be construed as pathologically optimistic or tragically self-blinding. Whether the hush-hush be labeled patriotic or unpatriotic, i believe it correct to be at least labeled as 'with loving intent.' I do believe change starts with acknowledgement, for which i thank a past internship i held at an active duty soldiers' substance abuse center. So, in my mind conversing is a good thing because ALL countries need change and who better to help spur that change than people who love it.

I continued to show this white-laced tiny-framed boy attention: "How old are you?"
"Seventeen, and you?"
"Thirty."
Then from the sidelines of the conversation (he had a five friends with him), "I thought you were 25 or something, but not 30."
White Lace interrupted defensively, "Who said she's 30?!"
"She said she's 30!"
While stepping away to continue setting up i said, "Well, thanks, I think that's a good thing, but sometimes in the work place it can be bad because many times people don't listen to younger people."
It's like the world just handed me the opportunity. As I said it, i looked straight into the eyes of White Lace while he returned the favor. all nodded in agreement.

impropriety + eggs = April

So, a grin was put on my face while drinking the morning coffee by the news words "Israel general says Iran atomic bomb unlikely," and  it is now Fiesta in San Antonio. This is my first year to celebrate Fiesta over in this yonder and by 'celebrate' i mean simply to make cascarónes. To many, i'm anything but integrated to Armenian culture, as my Armenian language skills fall short of an actual 'language level,' and are successfully categorized as comic relief or just as easily tear-jerking material. shameful but real and relevant, as THIS is what many an immigration debate are made of.

This show-stopping material aside, i took it upon myself to do something with the expired eggs in the fridge. You see for Zadik (Easter) the neighborhood supermarket i frequent happened to order eggs as if there were no day to follow Easter sunday. In their eyes, the word վաղը (pronounced vaghugh) ( ha! "see how eager she is to show what Armenian she has  picked up," they snarl. )  'tomorrow'  was replaced with the Armenian equivalent of "end of the world."  So, i was finding that the only eggs available were expired or just on the cusp. Thus, fridge eggs were poked, bled, and decapitated; resulting in photo ops such as the one awkwardly placed in the text above. 

During this time there is also the impending, commemorating, and passing of the 1915 Genocide Memorial Day. It's heavy. Talk ensues over America and other countries' dragging of feet on the issue of genocide recognition (it should be noted that it does not increase too much more than other days of the year), facebook profile pictures take on the theme of 'remembrance,'  and in these particular years, the addition of one more year closer to mark the centennial of such a horrible thing. Again, it's pretty heavy... except for one thing. Connection of the accompanying picture and this topic: Preciously enough, that one thing happens to be cotton candy. Yes, you read correctly. Essentially, what one does is walk in mass to the the genocide monument, through it to lay their flowers or pray/think, and down the hill. It is at this finishing base that the commemorators meet head on with vendors packing pink delight.

Honestly, the first year, it didn't really register as i was trying my foreigner's best to be in the 'genocide remembering' moment. The second year, i was pretty outraged. This third April 24th was a little different. i purchased. In my defense:  the guy was making it right in front of my eyes. It's one thing to see it all packaged and artificial looking, but it is without a doubt something else to see the stringed meltedness whirring and building its nest about the holding stick.  shameful? yes. regretful? no. and look! we weren't the only ones! That guy and his cotton candy machine bank at this event and the thousands of Armenians and non-Armenians that cycle through the  area the ENTIRE day EACH year don't seem to mind THAT much - or maybe they're all just that laissez-faire obsessed. I just would have loved to have been there when the pink peddler moseyed up as close as he could possibly get to the actual memorial to set up shop. rotten tomatoes thrown? i think so. However, if one analyze a little closer, well at least the head of the vendor: the commemorators could be symbolically walking towards death, mourning at the eternal flame, then celebrating life WITH sugar. In this case, a rotten tomato would actually be inappropriate. perspective, it's allll perspective.

Shnorhavor/Congratulations to an Armenian friend on receiving permission via visa to work in Hungary. Here's to a world in which all passports are treated equal. Shame on passport discrimination.

viva!

Garun znachet Primavera

I have been swept up by this wave of spring, this is to say that I Have Been Moved, mentally and physically by this Earthly phenomenon. This is not normal as where i'm from fall and summer are the only seasons that actually catch one's attention. This past year's long winter in Armenia is to blame. However, i wonder if what i'm actually feeling is the anticipation of lower electricity bills in This Old House. Winter prices still hang in the market. I passed a box of tomatoes that were marked $4/kilo. Salsa must wait at least one more month. Either way Mr. Gaga, family friend's dog, loves the seemingly endless human activity outdoors that accompanies the passing of seasons into Garden Galore :)

Next month hosts the Armenian parliamentary elections, which will pave the way for next year's new president. On each corner in Yerevan and every small town one can notice poster flyers for this political party or that. These parties are also renting out prime business real estate locations for their headquarters. intense. Also included are campaign concerts in Freedom Square (the opera house) and planned gatherings, such as the one captured in the picture below, in neighborhoods around the capital. This particular gathering, the same location of the farmer's market written about in an earlier post, consisted of what seemed to be close to 1,000+ individuals! Pretty remarkable, and all in the name of Mr. Artur Gevorkyan, he must be proud.

Word around town evidences vote persuasion in the form of 'new elevator for an apartment building' or actual cash-in-hand exchanges. As our house was not visited by the census people late last year, i suppose we were also skipped by the 'vote for me' crew. apsos (too bad). All these things are reminders for all, even those unable to participate in the actual voting process, that decisions are to be made soon.

The Most Outstanding awards go to two new elements within my vicinity: 1) S.vet's (partner in exchange) new hair cut and 2) the fleet of purple buses donated by China to Armenia that hit the streets just last month. Hello Big Red!

viva!

said

Disclaimer: i spend a lot of time on public transportation. this is another entry dedicated to its loveliness.

There was a failed attempt at scanning for news articles that give some credence to the word around town of imminent change in the public transport system, aka death to the minibus (marshutkas). As a matter of fact, listed priorities for 2012 on the ministry of transport's [and communication] website under "passenger transportation" are that of 1) a railway, 2) the North-South road corridor, and 3) general road projects. sorry, marshutkas, better luck next year.

In the mean time, blog posts like mine written by nonArmenian visitors, Diasporans, and natives, will continue the sassy talk about crowdedness, dilapidation, and smell. The last complaint truly irks me a bit, as i feel it unfounded - and i rather enjoy the smell of 'natural' compared to some lysol disinfectant thickness in the air that will leave you wondering how many carcinogens you were ingesting per breath.

Look, the MAJORITY of people use these highly efficient routes, meaning that this idea of festering waste-hole (as some would like you to believe) just doesn't exist! Sure, you may find a letter or two etched next to the shape of a heart on a window or back of a seat, but it is quite UNLIKE the tagging-mess-movers (the.bus.) you find in any urban center in the states. Most passengers have high levels of respect for their fellow riders as well as the driver's vehicle. social contract.

Heh. Let me be clear, i do not approve of what these routes stand for - a monopoly by people in power to spend the least amount of dinero while getting the most profit. Too many tatiks and papiks (grandmas/pas) have slipped their way out of these vans.

hmm, this entire soap box monologue to remind and inform people about the beauty created by the people when they work together with what they are given. The face of kindness will be made up in different hues once the government decides to invest in safety for the people. Bright sides similar to this one of an impromptu group-along, which was captured just after midnight in the middle of the week, will fade into sweet memory.

viva la mashtots park!

visitando