My days fade before me,
Like snowflakes in my hand;
Melted before they land.
Time slips and never lingers,
Like sand through my fingers;
Gone before it's mine.
Therefore, I must care enough,
To not let my life,
End before I have lived it.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Found in the Mist
She recklessly stepped into the unbounded mist,
trampling the dewy grass with her bare feet.
Her face collided with the damp fog,
and the breeze blew into the distance...
...the burdens of her heart.
She felt in the morning air the same
coldness
coldness
that ruled her heart.
No longer did she live with a clouded soul
in a world of heat and sun,
but at last ran freely in the autumn that resembled the weather inside.
Her heart began to dissolve into mere r
a
i
n
d
r
o
p
s,
a
i
n
d
r
o
p
s,
Her voice commingled to the whispers of the wind,
as she prepared to merge with the elements of nature and
as she prepared to merge with the elements of nature and
fade...
...like an unspoken thought.
Oblivion seemed like the easiest path and death
the sweetest,
that engraved her escape from a world where...
...(she did not belong).
But then she heard her name, echoing in the mountains;
its fierceness piercing the ice in the air,
its tenderness...
...breaking the ice of her heart.
And there in the mist she saw
him,
unshaken by the wind,
unwavering from the cold.
She did not recognize his face as he walked closer,
but
he
knew
her
name
and uttered it once more,
and
it
glided through the vast distance between their eyes.
She felt that she had always known him,
as if
time and space
were mere illusions,
as if
love
traveled faster than
light,
as if
she had been
his
before
she was even conceived,
as if
he
had called
her
before she even had
a name.
Face to face they now stood, and her name
once more
echoed
in the mountains.
His love was fierce – surely it would not let her surrender to oblivion
and fade from a world
and fade from a world
where
his
love
dwelt.
He gripped her in his gaze
and held
her hand.
His smile concealed the matter:
she was unspoken no more...
...because he spoke her.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Supernova
If ever it were possible to befriend the stars,
Then I can claim to have tasted friendship’s fire.
If ever it were possible to love a stranger,
Then I've long tied my heart to galaxies beyond my own.
If ever it were possible to belong in a place one had yet to find,
Then I can hope for a place for me in this infinite universe.
I have been a wanderer in my own life,
A stranger to my own self,
With only my dreams, my nightly dreams,
If ever it were possible to love a stranger,
Then I've long tied my heart to galaxies beyond my own.
If ever it were possible to belong in a place one had yet to find,
Then I can hope for a place for me in this infinite universe.
I have been a wanderer in my own life,
A stranger to my own self,
With only my dreams, my nightly dreams,
Whispering secrets to me about my inner world,
Through symbols I fathomed into meaning.
It is the stars I befriended,
Because they are way too far to burn me when they explode,
Their effusion much too small to my eyes to blind them.
And yet, and yet, and yet…
Through symbols I fathomed into meaning.
It is the stars I befriended,
Because they are way too far to burn me when they explode,
Their effusion much too small to my eyes to blind them.
And yet, and yet, and yet…
I find myself silently wishing,
When I witness the death of such a light,
That its loss can be replaced by a love that is returned;
(Because love can only be returned if it's close enough to touch).
But what I should wish,
When such a star fades,
Is that I shall have the courage to claim such a love,
And not run away in fear of burning...
When I witness the death of such a light,
That its loss can be replaced by a love that is returned;
(Because love can only be returned if it's close enough to touch).
But what I should wish,
When such a star fades,
Is that I shall have the courage to claim such a love,
And not run away in fear of burning...
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
This World of Color
Fields of purple and yellow and white,
Commingle into one world of color.
Can you imagine that?
Seeing the waves of the ocean,
Simply by watching the wind's passage through the grass!
It is the inheritance of butterflies,
To fly in the fragrance of those collided colors.
And yet one certain butterfly,
Unrepeated,
Delicately painted,
Chooses me over the flowers continuously!
Never had I known before,
How friendship could be kindled,
In the absence of words.
I hold in my hand a bouquet,
Of shades of purple I had never met before.
I had never known flowers to be so lovable,
I had never known myself to be so capable of belonging.
I find myself,
In a world I had been taught to fear-
But no longer do the buzzing of the bees,
Nor the mysterious movers in the grass,
Nor the fury of the windblown trees,
Frighten me.
For now at last I feel,
How I belong to this world of unfaked words.
Commingle into one world of color.
Can you imagine that?
Seeing the waves of the ocean,
Simply by watching the wind's passage through the grass!
It is the inheritance of butterflies,
To fly in the fragrance of those collided colors.
And yet one certain butterfly,
Unrepeated,
Delicately painted,
Chooses me over the flowers continuously!
Never had I known before,
How friendship could be kindled,
In the absence of words.
I hold in my hand a bouquet,
Of shades of purple I had never met before.
I had never known flowers to be so lovable,
I had never known myself to be so capable of belonging.
I find myself,
In a world I had been taught to fear-
But no longer do the buzzing of the bees,
Nor the mysterious movers in the grass,
Nor the fury of the windblown trees,
Frighten me.
For now at last I feel,
How I belong to this world of unfaked words.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
My Journey to the Atlantic
I remember my
trip to France like a fairytale. I was fourteen at the time and I felt that my
lifelong dream to see the ocean was about to come true. After all, I was closer
to the shores of the Atlantic Ocean than I had ever been before. It was the
final two weeks of August and the weather was mostly sunny with occasional
clouds appearing in the sky. We were staying in a small city right next to
Paris, but quite far from the ocean. As is often the case, my dream did not
happen without some obstacles along the way. The story I am going to tell you
is about how, even when circumstances made it impossible for my dream to come
true, God valued it and made it happen in a more beautiful and exciting way
than I could have asked for!
I had always
felt a special kind of thrill when I heard the recorded sound of the ocean, or
saw a picture of it, and I dreamt of seeing it for myself. Now, as there were
only two more weeks left to the summer, I found myself in France with my mother
and brother. When I shared my dream with my mom and asked her if we could go to
see the ocean, she explained to me that it would be highly unlikely. As I
mentioned before, we were quite far from the ocean and we didn’t know anyone in
France who could take us there. Even if we chose to take the risk of going by
ourselves, we would have to spend all our money on train tickets and expensive
hotels. Would it all be worth it, especially when we would have nothing to do there
but simply watch the ocean? My mom did not mean to disappoint me, but I
understood that we simply could not go. “But,” she added, “You can always pray
for it!” I felt a sudden glimmer of hope as I prayed to God and asked him to
somehow make my dream happen.
As the days
passed and our vacation was almost over, there was no sign that God had even
heard my prayer. I had completely put aside the idea of going to see the ocean
and had simply concentrated on enjoying the rest of my trip. Perhaps, after
all, it was not meant to be. Two days before our flight back to Armenia me and
my mom were sitting in our room, when she suddenly looked up at me from her
computer’s screen. “I think God may have answered your prayer after all!” As I
was trying to understand which prayer she was talking about, she told me what
had happened. Apparently, months ago, a woman named Maral had found her on
Facebook. Maral was my mom’s first grade classmate’s sister, whom she had never
met in real life. Maral’s sister and my mom had gone to the same pre-school in
Lebanon and had lost complete contact with each other when my mom and her
family had moved away. It turned out that Maral and her sister were now living
in France, in the same city that we were in. My mom had told her that we were
in France and she agreed that we had to meet. “How about we take you to Norman
dine?” she suggested to my mom, who had not told her a word about my dream. She
had offered to drive us to the historic place on the shores of the Atlantic. As
I sat there, I felt so astonished and happy. I was speechless at the
realization that my prayer had been heard and answered after all!
When the
cheerful Maral and her kind husband, Armand, came to pick us up with their car,
I finally met my heroes. They were one of the most down-to-earth and warm
people I had ever met and I instantly liked them. As we got to know each other,
I felt like I had known them my entire life. Armand drove us 900 km in total that day,
and we talked and laughed and played games on the way. We really bonded on this
adventure we were sharing. As we arrived at our destination, I stood in awe at
the magnificent sight. I took a deep breath to take it all in; I even pinched
myself a few times to make sure this was really happening. I was standing in
front of the ocean, I could hear the sound of the waves as they hit the shore,
I could smell the freshness of the wind that blew on my face. I raced to the
water with my brother, as we dipped our feet in it and ran around, collecting
sea shells. Then, when we got hungry, we decided to go to Le Mt. Saint Michel,
which became my favorite place in the world as soon as I saw it. It is a small island,
surrounded by the tides in alignment with the moon. On the island, an ancient
town is built like a fortress. It is now a famous tour site, filled with
restaurants, souvenir shops, and Parisian stone streets that lead through the
little town. We ate some “salty sheep”; I mean sheep that were naturally salty
because they ate the grass that the salty ocean tides had washed over.
As our
journey ended and I once again found myself at home, I kept recalling all the
beautiful memories I had made. I had asked God to give me a chance to see the ocean,
and he had given it to me and so much more. He had made it an adventure, an
unforgettable journey, with people that will always stay in my heart. What I
discovered through this experience was how valuable my dreams are to God, and I
honestly don’t know if I was happier about that discovery, or the fact that my
dream had actually come true.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
The Cleaning Man
“Stop! Please! Please!” was all Aaron could yell. He struggled in vain with all his might against the grip of the three boys grabbing him by his arms and legs. All he had done was appear at the boy’s bathroom at the same time as them and now, as a punishment, he was being shoved into the large trashcan.
“That’s what you get for being such a loser, you fat pig!” cried out the formidable Vincente as he spit on him. “Yeah, you fat pig!” echoed David and Drago, as they gave him a final shove and closed the cover of the garbage can. “If you weren’t so damn fat, you might’ve been able to get out!” Aaron heard one of them jeer with the accompaniment of the others’ laughter that soon faded with the slamming of the door. After what seemed like an hour (but what really was only two minutes) of screaming and struggling and kicking and banging on the walls of that dark and smelly place, he heard the door opening and he began to make even more noise. He heard the sound of a pair of running feet headed his way and soon, an overwhelming light dazzled his eyes as the lid of the bin was pulled away. The opening now revealed a face dripping with shock and pity. Dazed by what he saw, the stranger tried to fake a cheerful laugh to brighten the awkward situation.
“Hey there, buddy, what’re you lookin’ for in there?” he asked, but noticing that his humor was even more awkward than the situation, he extended his hand and pulled out the poor little boy. As Aaron stood in front of him, wiping the evidence that he had cried, the stranger tried to quickly come up with a way to comfort him but found no words. He tried to pat his shoulder, but the wounded little boy shrieked and moved away.
“Would you like to sit down?” he offered when the intensity of the situation died down a little, to which Aaron replied by shaking his head and murmuring that he had to go to class. Aaron now recognized this man with the mop and the blue jumpsuit as the cleaning man everyone called Jay. As he began heading for the door, Jay called him to wait. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he said. Aaron, for the first time looking down at his clothes and noticing the yogurt spilled on his shirt and some kind of black liquid on his jeans, felt humiliated at the state in which he was found. But being much more afraid of his classmates seeing him like that, he slowly and hesitantly allowed that kind man to scrub his clothes with a wet napkin.
“Your name is Aaron, right?” Jay tried to break the awkward silence between them.
“Yes,” Aaron replied, quite surprised, “But how did you know?”
“Well, I’ve been working in this school for over seven years now; I remember the names of people I see all the time, although they don’t see me.” At this Aaron smiled a bit embarrassed. “Also, I have an obsession with names!” Jay admitted after a moment of pondering. “There you are! Good as new!” he exclaimed as he stood up (since he had been kneeling down to scrub his jeans) and stepped back to observe Aaron’s clothes for any dirty areas he might have missed. “Maybe you would like to rest after a…a long day?” he asked empathetically, “I could drive you home if you like.” Aaron really did feel exhausted and sad and the idea of escaping school felt very tempting. But suddenly he felt the urge to create the impression that he was tougher than he felt and refused the offer. “I have to go to class.”
“Okay,” the kind man smiled and sincerely wished him a good day.
Before entering the classroom, Aaron stood in front of the door and, against his will, felt terrified of what he knew awaited him on the other side. Perhaps if he was more honest with himself, he would admit how much he wished he could have gone home, but if he had, all the names that the bullies called him-sissy, scaredy-cat-would all be true. So he took a deep breath, or rather held his breath, and entered. Instantly, the painful words began shooting at him like bullets and all he could do was shoot right back. He used the same words as they did, which are not worth writing down, and when a crumpled piece of paper hit his head, he took it and sent it right back to its source-Vincente, who now looked at him with a sneer while the whole class laughed. Actually, not everyone was laughing, but Aaron was too upset to notice it. He felt that something really must be wrong with him; he really must be ugly, fat, weird, and weak, if everyone else thought so.
“Enough!” the teacher yelled for the hundredth time but no one paid attention.
When he finally got home, his mother embraced him, the way she always did when he stepped down from the school bus, and asked him about his day. “It was fine,” was all Aaron offered. In the morning (just like so many other mornings), he tried to act sick to convince her to let him skip school, but his poor acting skills betrayed him.
“Honey,” his mother sat on his bed and gently patted his head, “I know you don’t like school and you find it boring (who doesn’t?), but you have less than two months left before summer! Then, I promise, you can have all the fun you want, okay?”
So there he was in the school bus, for the hundred and eighty-third time that school year (it was his fourth year, to be exact). When he entered the hallway, he saw Jay mopping the floors. As soon as he saw Aaron, he waved at him with such excitement as if he had seen his favorite person in the world. But Aaron, afraid that people would think he was desperate enough to befriend the cleaning man, walked faster and right past him without acknowledging him. He did not even look back to see his reaction; was he hurt? Sad? Did he even care?
But he was not really being himself in that moment and he soon began to regret hurting the man who had only shown him kindness. When his classes finally finished, he walked out towards the school bus, but paused when he saw Jay, carrying out the trash in large plastic bags. Instinctively, he looked around to make sure no one was watching and sneaked his way towards him.
“Hi,” his voice swallowed by his nervousness came out so quietly that no one would have heard him. But the kind man did and he turned around and smiled. But it was a small smile that curved his lips only a little; there was a sadness about his smile and Aaron knew why.
"How was your day?” he asked when Aaron did not speak.
“Good,” Aaron quickly answered, “I-I wanted to-to,” but he couldn’t bring himself to express how sorry he felt. The kind man, though wanting to hear what he had to say, didn’t want to see him struggle and offered a different topic. “Are you hungry?” Aaron shrugged his shoulders in agreement.
“Well, I’m technically finished working for today. How about you wait here while I wash up and change my working clothes and we go to the sandwich place nearby? I’m rather hungry myself.”
Aaron, feeling quite usually shy but quite unusually at ease with his newly found friend, nodded and smiled. Jay was gone and back in no time, now dressed in jeans, sneakers, a black T-shirt and a pair of dark shades. “Ready?”
Despite how much he liked this man, Aaron still tried to avoid being seen with him by the other kids filling the school buses. If Jay noticed how he was trying to walk in perfect coherence with him to create the impression that there was only one person, he certainly did not show it.
After standing in line for ten minutes, their turn finally came to face the cashier and order. Aaron’s friend ordered a combo of a chicken sandwich, a Seven Up and French Fries, while the cashier typed into the screen. Then both of them turned to Aaron, whose eyes widened with nervousness.
“You know what you would like, Aaron?”
The nervous little boy shrugged his shoulders; he knew what he wanted, but something about people looking at him made him unable to speak. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered, as he shifted from one leg to the other. His friend seemed to understand him; he turned to the cashier and told her to double his order. After paying, he put his hand around his little friend’s shoulder and led him to the other side of the counter where they would wait for their food.
“Making decisions on the spot can be tough sometimes, can’t it?” he said and went on to tell him a story about how, when he was younger, he once pondered so long about what ice cream flavor to choose that his mother got so frustrated that she didn’t buy any. Aaron laughed not because he found the story to be particularly funny, but because it felt good to be understood and not teased for his weakness.
“Oh! Perfect timing!” he exclaimed as he took the tray from the counter and winked at Aaron. They found a spot near the window overlooking the parking lot and placed themselves on the opposite sides of the table. As they began talking, Aaron discovered that Jay was an artist and loved making portraits, enjoyed horse-back riding, and that his favorite author was Dr. Suess. Jay began asking questions about him, his interests and dreams, and seemed so interested in every detail of what he said, that Aaron began wondering whether his life really was as boring and insignificant as he had thought it to be.
“I’m sorry!” he suddenly blurted out. “I’m sorry I ignored you when you waved at me! I’m sorry that I was embarrassed of the others thinking that I knew you! I’m so sorry!” When Aaron finally looked at the blurry face of Jay through his wet and teary eyes, he saw no judgement, no disappointment; Jay simply looked at him with eyes full of empathy and a mouth empty of words; he understood, he really understood how Aaron felt.
“You know,” he shifted in his chair and leaned in closer to Aaron, “I also sometimes worry about what people will think about me. You see, they don’t always understand me either; they think I’m strange and inferior and they,” and he paused to ponder whether he should go on, “well, they make fun of me.” At this, Aaron looked up into his eyes, not with the fear that he was exposed, but the surprise that he was not alone. “You know how people view my job,” Jay continued as he felt encouraged by the inquisitive countenance of Aaron’s face, “They treat me like I’m lower than they are simply because I clean up after them. It used to hurt me so much (well, actually, it still hurts) that people I knew - relatives, friends, former classmates, even neighbors - would find out about my job and laugh. They would think that the reason I chose this job is because I was a failed artist. But you know, after a while, I decided that if I live my life in fear of what people might think, I will never do the work that I love!”
Now this puzzled Aaron completely. “So you mean to say that you love your job? I mean, you like to scrub floors and clean toilets and all that?” He realized too late that his words might have been offensive, but before he had time to start feeling guilty, Jay answered without a hint of offense.
“I know this might sound strange, but I do. As I said before, I love to paint portraits and my greatest inspiration comes from watching people. When you are the cleaning man, no one pretends to be something they aren't in order to impress you. Therefore, I get the privilege of seeing people without their masks...and that is what I love to paint. I don't paint people the way I see them on the outside, but on the inside. I can show you some of my paintings if you like! Besides, I've always had this desire to freshen up the world a bit, and I found that I can do that even by cleaning windows and scrubbing floors…” his voice blended into the background as Aaron’s thoughts took over, while he analyzed in awe the wonder with which Jay spoke of dusting lockers and cleaning floors. This man really was strange, but he couldn’t help admitting that he really admired his self-secure and free spirit, and maybe even wished he could be like that, too. But no, he’d much rather be normal, like those other boys whom he so hated.
“But you do all this with so much love, even when people don’t appreciate you and, even worse, look down on you?” Aaron brought up as the image of Vincente, Daniel, and Drago passed before his eyes.
“Yes!” Jay exclaimed as if he had been looking forward to that question, “But like I said, if I allowed their opinions to influence me, I wouldn’t be doing the job that I love. And - ,” he said as he took a big bite of his sandwich, “I wouldn’t be enjoying this wonderful meal with you!”
Though Aaron smiled at how smoothly he made a transition between the topics, he was not quite ready to close the previous one. “But why do they do that?” he asked, unable to hide the pain from his voice. “Why do they make fun of others and cause pain? Even if what they are saying about someone is true, how can it give them pleasure to tease him for it?”
Jay thought about it for a moment. “Do you remember, on the day we met, I told you that I have an obsession with names?” Aaron turned red from the embarrassment that he, in fact, could not recall him saying that, or worse, had probably not heard it in the first place.
“No worries!” Jay reassured him, since he had not intended to make Aaron feel bad at all. “Well, the thing is, I love to discover the meaning behind names. They’re very important, you see; they say a lot about a person and who he really is.” As he spoke, Aaron suddenly noticed a shadow of sadness drooping over his face as he continued. “Well, the problem is, many people don’t know the meaning of their own names. They live their whole lives not knowing who they really are and what they’re really worth.”
A moment of silence followed as they both let the words sink into their minds, until Aaron decided to voice his own thoughts. “So is that why Vincente, David, and Drago make fun of me - I mean, other people?”
“Most certainly,” replied Jay, “I’ve watched them since they first came to this school. They most certainly don’t know the meaning of their names. Mostly because their parents never told them -perhaps, they don’t know it themselves. Drago, for instance, means precious, but in the four years that he has been in this school, not once did I see his parents pick him up from school or come to parent-teacher meetings. They’re too busy, I suppose,” he continued now looking at the table, his voice sad and quiet, almost like a whisper, “too busy to show their son the meaning of his own name.”
Aaron felt like his heart was squeezing inside his chest. He felt pity and strangely even felt guilty for hating Drago, the boy who already was so deprived of love. Almost as if Jay read Aaron’s mind, he replied to his thoughts, “Understanding his reasons does not justify him hurting you. I just want you to understand that it’s not you he doesn’t like - it’s himself.”
As much as Aaron had tried to hide the fact that he was being bullied and ridiculed, he now realized that Jay knew and, perhaps, had known all along. But somehow, he no longer minded feeling transparent and exposed, because this kind man could see him for who he was and didn’t seem to mind.
“What about Vincente and David?” Aaron asked.
“Ah, David,” Jay tried to remember as he leaned back in his seat. “He was such an innocent and kind boy when he first came to this school in the second grade, I remember; perhaps too innocent for his peers. I remember how I would find him crying in a corner because his classmates, mainly following Vincente’s lead, had teased him. He cried for his mother, and they…well, they teased him for that, too.”
This discovery shocked Aaron to the core, and had he not been careful, his mouth would have dropped open. Had David really once been a victim to Vincente…like himself? He didn’t need to hear the rest about how he went from being an Aaron to a Vincente, but he listened anyways as Jay explained. “In time, he stopped crying altogether and began imitating Vincente to be accepted by him. His parents love him dearly, but he rejects their love because it’s not “cool,” and I wonder if the real reason is that he feels unworthy of it. That is why he doesn’t really know the meaning of his own name; he doesn’t know how well-beloved and dear he really is!”
“And Vincente?” Aaron asked with a slight shiver in his tone. Vincente had always been the leader, the main bully, the one he hated the most. But now he found himself faced with the possibility of discovering yet another broken heart and not being able to hate him anymore. It scared him.
“Perhaps you can do your own research on that one,” Jay suggested with a smile, “And discover for yourself who he really is.”
Aaron was thoughtful when he came home (Jay dropped him off) and did not rush to the computer, as he would have if he hadn't been so nervous. When he finally mustered up his courage and googled the name Vincente, this is what he read about its meaning - the one who has conquered. Then, of course, he googled the word conquer, because he was too young to know its definition (in case you are also too young to know, conquer means to overcome and take control of by force). But Aaron didn’t understand why Jay would think that he had not lived up to the true meaning of his name. Surely, he had conquered the whole school; everyone followed him and did whatever he said, whether out of fear or the desire to be like him.
“Jay?” Aaron approached him the next day as he was refilling the soap near the sink. Jay, though recognizing his voice, turned around to see him before greeting him.
“I found out the meaning of his name.”
Aaron now had Jay’s full attention. “But he really is one who has conquered,” Aaron explained.
“And what has he really conquered?” he asked in such a way that urged Aaron to wonder whether the explanation he was about to give really was the right answer; he wondered whether being a successful bully really was much of a grand accomplishment. Aaron remained silent.
“What then?” he asked after a while, truthfully wanting to know.
“He has a lot to conquer,” began Jay as he leaned on the bathroom countertop, and Aaron instinctively walked closer to him. “He has a lot of fears, you know.”
“Fears,” Aaron repeated to himself. The idea of the formidable Vincente having fears did not fit into his brain.
“Yes,” Jay confirmed, “His fear of rejection being the greatest of them. I only saw his father once, and, boy, was that enough. Apparently, he had been caught in some mischief - I don’t know exactly what it was - and his parents had been called to the principal’s office. His father had come, and I will never forget what he told him as they stepped out of the meeting. He looked at him with such fierce eyes and his teeth were clenched as if to withhold his anger and contempt. He said to him, “If you dare do downplay my reputation again, I swear to you, I will send you off to a family whose standards you can meet, you worthless idiot.” If you had seen Vincente that day, you would not recognize him as the conqueror we all think him to be.” Again, as he spoke, Aaron noticed the immense pain that every word caused Jay; he spoke as if he had been talking about his own son, or even someone closer than a son. As strange as it may seem to us normal people, he seemed to love each of those boys that way, as if they were his own flesh and blood. But as you may have noticed, Jay was nowhere near being normal, and Aaron was beginning to not mind the fact that he didn’t mind it.
As the following weeks unfolded, Aaron found him in the same situations as before and yet, nothing was the same. Vincente, Daniel, and Drago continued ridiculing him in front of the whole class, constantly bringing up his excess weight, his tendency to get tongue-tied when nervous, even his outfits (no matter what style he tried); but strangely, instead of feeling hurt, he wished the bullies could understand themselves the way he understood them. He understood that the hurtful words were mere attempts from broken people to not feel so broken themselves by breaking others. And though Aaron did not love them (though he probably would one day if they gave him the chance), he began wondering and dreaming and hoping that somehow he could unveil their true identities to them.
“I wish I could tell them,” Aaron once said out of the blue as they were in the biology classroom. He was sitting on a desk while Jay was kneeling on the windowsill and cleaning the windows.
“Tell them what?” Jay asked.
“All that I know about them; you know, about their names and all,” Aaron explained. Jay smiled because of how proud he felt of Aaron, and how much he loved that little boy. “You really do deserve your name, my dear,” he said.
Aaron was stunned by the sudden realization that the thought of his own name having a meaning had not even occurred to him!
“What is it?” he asked excitedly, “What does my name mean?”
“WHAT? You mean to tell me that you have not looked it up yet? Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Jay teased. Aaron chuckled, but the look of impatience and suspense quickly returned to his face.
“Aaron,” Jay spoke as he put aside his work and jumped down from the windowsill to put his hands on Aaron’s shoulders, “You are the Mountain of Strength. And it takes more strength to sincerely want the best for those who hurt you than it takes whole armies to destroy their enemies!”
Aaron could hear the thumping of his heart in every part of his body as all the things he had believed about himself were being transformed. For as long as he could remember, he had been teased for being weak (simply because he had begun to understand the bullies, didn’t mean he had stopped believing them), but now he found out that his very name meant that he was strong!
“Aaron, the Mountain of Strength,” he repeated to himself with a solemn smile. He liked the sound of it.
Jay admired him for a while longer before resuming his work.
“And about what you said about wanting to tell them,” he said while wiping the windowsill, “You will know when it’s the right time. You will feel it in your heart and it will change their hearts. And I will be here to support you while I’m still working in this school; even after that, I will always be there for you!”
Aaron was thoughtful for a while until another discovery stunned him.
“It just occurred to me,” he began, “I never asked you what your name meant. I never even asked you your name; I just assumed it was Jay. Is that even your real name?”
Jay smiled. “No, jay is just the first letter of my name,” he explained with a chuckle. “There was a little girl, (at the time she was in the first grade, now she is in the 7th grade. Her name is Alma, perhaps you know her? Yes, that’s the one, the caring and cheerful girl). Anyways, she once asked me my name and I told her, but she had difficulty pronouncing it so she just settled with calling me by the first letter of my name; and since then, everyone has called me Jay!”
“Well, what is your full name?” Aaron asked anxiously.
Jay knelt down in front of him so that their eyes were on the same level. “Don’t you know yet?” he asked with a deep smile.
Aaron thought about it for a while, at first trying to recall any memory that might hint him of it, but as soon as he stopped trying to remember, he realized he had known all along.
“That’s what you get for being such a loser, you fat pig!” cried out the formidable Vincente as he spit on him. “Yeah, you fat pig!” echoed David and Drago, as they gave him a final shove and closed the cover of the garbage can. “If you weren’t so damn fat, you might’ve been able to get out!” Aaron heard one of them jeer with the accompaniment of the others’ laughter that soon faded with the slamming of the door. After what seemed like an hour (but what really was only two minutes) of screaming and struggling and kicking and banging on the walls of that dark and smelly place, he heard the door opening and he began to make even more noise. He heard the sound of a pair of running feet headed his way and soon, an overwhelming light dazzled his eyes as the lid of the bin was pulled away. The opening now revealed a face dripping with shock and pity. Dazed by what he saw, the stranger tried to fake a cheerful laugh to brighten the awkward situation.
“Hey there, buddy, what’re you lookin’ for in there?” he asked, but noticing that his humor was even more awkward than the situation, he extended his hand and pulled out the poor little boy. As Aaron stood in front of him, wiping the evidence that he had cried, the stranger tried to quickly come up with a way to comfort him but found no words. He tried to pat his shoulder, but the wounded little boy shrieked and moved away.
“Would you like to sit down?” he offered when the intensity of the situation died down a little, to which Aaron replied by shaking his head and murmuring that he had to go to class. Aaron now recognized this man with the mop and the blue jumpsuit as the cleaning man everyone called Jay. As he began heading for the door, Jay called him to wait. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he said. Aaron, for the first time looking down at his clothes and noticing the yogurt spilled on his shirt and some kind of black liquid on his jeans, felt humiliated at the state in which he was found. But being much more afraid of his classmates seeing him like that, he slowly and hesitantly allowed that kind man to scrub his clothes with a wet napkin.
“Your name is Aaron, right?” Jay tried to break the awkward silence between them.
“Yes,” Aaron replied, quite surprised, “But how did you know?”
“Well, I’ve been working in this school for over seven years now; I remember the names of people I see all the time, although they don’t see me.” At this Aaron smiled a bit embarrassed. “Also, I have an obsession with names!” Jay admitted after a moment of pondering. “There you are! Good as new!” he exclaimed as he stood up (since he had been kneeling down to scrub his jeans) and stepped back to observe Aaron’s clothes for any dirty areas he might have missed. “Maybe you would like to rest after a…a long day?” he asked empathetically, “I could drive you home if you like.” Aaron really did feel exhausted and sad and the idea of escaping school felt very tempting. But suddenly he felt the urge to create the impression that he was tougher than he felt and refused the offer. “I have to go to class.”
“Okay,” the kind man smiled and sincerely wished him a good day.
Before entering the classroom, Aaron stood in front of the door and, against his will, felt terrified of what he knew awaited him on the other side. Perhaps if he was more honest with himself, he would admit how much he wished he could have gone home, but if he had, all the names that the bullies called him-sissy, scaredy-cat-would all be true. So he took a deep breath, or rather held his breath, and entered. Instantly, the painful words began shooting at him like bullets and all he could do was shoot right back. He used the same words as they did, which are not worth writing down, and when a crumpled piece of paper hit his head, he took it and sent it right back to its source-Vincente, who now looked at him with a sneer while the whole class laughed. Actually, not everyone was laughing, but Aaron was too upset to notice it. He felt that something really must be wrong with him; he really must be ugly, fat, weird, and weak, if everyone else thought so.
“Enough!” the teacher yelled for the hundredth time but no one paid attention.
When he finally got home, his mother embraced him, the way she always did when he stepped down from the school bus, and asked him about his day. “It was fine,” was all Aaron offered. In the morning (just like so many other mornings), he tried to act sick to convince her to let him skip school, but his poor acting skills betrayed him.
“Honey,” his mother sat on his bed and gently patted his head, “I know you don’t like school and you find it boring (who doesn’t?), but you have less than two months left before summer! Then, I promise, you can have all the fun you want, okay?”
So there he was in the school bus, for the hundred and eighty-third time that school year (it was his fourth year, to be exact). When he entered the hallway, he saw Jay mopping the floors. As soon as he saw Aaron, he waved at him with such excitement as if he had seen his favorite person in the world. But Aaron, afraid that people would think he was desperate enough to befriend the cleaning man, walked faster and right past him without acknowledging him. He did not even look back to see his reaction; was he hurt? Sad? Did he even care?
But he was not really being himself in that moment and he soon began to regret hurting the man who had only shown him kindness. When his classes finally finished, he walked out towards the school bus, but paused when he saw Jay, carrying out the trash in large plastic bags. Instinctively, he looked around to make sure no one was watching and sneaked his way towards him.
“Hi,” his voice swallowed by his nervousness came out so quietly that no one would have heard him. But the kind man did and he turned around and smiled. But it was a small smile that curved his lips only a little; there was a sadness about his smile and Aaron knew why.
"How was your day?” he asked when Aaron did not speak.
“Good,” Aaron quickly answered, “I-I wanted to-to,” but he couldn’t bring himself to express how sorry he felt. The kind man, though wanting to hear what he had to say, didn’t want to see him struggle and offered a different topic. “Are you hungry?” Aaron shrugged his shoulders in agreement.
“Well, I’m technically finished working for today. How about you wait here while I wash up and change my working clothes and we go to the sandwich place nearby? I’m rather hungry myself.”
Aaron, feeling quite usually shy but quite unusually at ease with his newly found friend, nodded and smiled. Jay was gone and back in no time, now dressed in jeans, sneakers, a black T-shirt and a pair of dark shades. “Ready?”
Despite how much he liked this man, Aaron still tried to avoid being seen with him by the other kids filling the school buses. If Jay noticed how he was trying to walk in perfect coherence with him to create the impression that there was only one person, he certainly did not show it.
After standing in line for ten minutes, their turn finally came to face the cashier and order. Aaron’s friend ordered a combo of a chicken sandwich, a Seven Up and French Fries, while the cashier typed into the screen. Then both of them turned to Aaron, whose eyes widened with nervousness.
“You know what you would like, Aaron?”
The nervous little boy shrugged his shoulders; he knew what he wanted, but something about people looking at him made him unable to speak. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered, as he shifted from one leg to the other. His friend seemed to understand him; he turned to the cashier and told her to double his order. After paying, he put his hand around his little friend’s shoulder and led him to the other side of the counter where they would wait for their food.
“Making decisions on the spot can be tough sometimes, can’t it?” he said and went on to tell him a story about how, when he was younger, he once pondered so long about what ice cream flavor to choose that his mother got so frustrated that she didn’t buy any. Aaron laughed not because he found the story to be particularly funny, but because it felt good to be understood and not teased for his weakness.
“Oh! Perfect timing!” he exclaimed as he took the tray from the counter and winked at Aaron. They found a spot near the window overlooking the parking lot and placed themselves on the opposite sides of the table. As they began talking, Aaron discovered that Jay was an artist and loved making portraits, enjoyed horse-back riding, and that his favorite author was Dr. Suess. Jay began asking questions about him, his interests and dreams, and seemed so interested in every detail of what he said, that Aaron began wondering whether his life really was as boring and insignificant as he had thought it to be.
“I’m sorry!” he suddenly blurted out. “I’m sorry I ignored you when you waved at me! I’m sorry that I was embarrassed of the others thinking that I knew you! I’m so sorry!” When Aaron finally looked at the blurry face of Jay through his wet and teary eyes, he saw no judgement, no disappointment; Jay simply looked at him with eyes full of empathy and a mouth empty of words; he understood, he really understood how Aaron felt.
“You know,” he shifted in his chair and leaned in closer to Aaron, “I also sometimes worry about what people will think about me. You see, they don’t always understand me either; they think I’m strange and inferior and they,” and he paused to ponder whether he should go on, “well, they make fun of me.” At this, Aaron looked up into his eyes, not with the fear that he was exposed, but the surprise that he was not alone. “You know how people view my job,” Jay continued as he felt encouraged by the inquisitive countenance of Aaron’s face, “They treat me like I’m lower than they are simply because I clean up after them. It used to hurt me so much (well, actually, it still hurts) that people I knew - relatives, friends, former classmates, even neighbors - would find out about my job and laugh. They would think that the reason I chose this job is because I was a failed artist. But you know, after a while, I decided that if I live my life in fear of what people might think, I will never do the work that I love!”
Now this puzzled Aaron completely. “So you mean to say that you love your job? I mean, you like to scrub floors and clean toilets and all that?” He realized too late that his words might have been offensive, but before he had time to start feeling guilty, Jay answered without a hint of offense.
“I know this might sound strange, but I do. As I said before, I love to paint portraits and my greatest inspiration comes from watching people. When you are the cleaning man, no one pretends to be something they aren't in order to impress you. Therefore, I get the privilege of seeing people without their masks...and that is what I love to paint. I don't paint people the way I see them on the outside, but on the inside. I can show you some of my paintings if you like! Besides, I've always had this desire to freshen up the world a bit, and I found that I can do that even by cleaning windows and scrubbing floors…” his voice blended into the background as Aaron’s thoughts took over, while he analyzed in awe the wonder with which Jay spoke of dusting lockers and cleaning floors. This man really was strange, but he couldn’t help admitting that he really admired his self-secure and free spirit, and maybe even wished he could be like that, too. But no, he’d much rather be normal, like those other boys whom he so hated.
“But you do all this with so much love, even when people don’t appreciate you and, even worse, look down on you?” Aaron brought up as the image of Vincente, Daniel, and Drago passed before his eyes.
“Yes!” Jay exclaimed as if he had been looking forward to that question, “But like I said, if I allowed their opinions to influence me, I wouldn’t be doing the job that I love. And - ,” he said as he took a big bite of his sandwich, “I wouldn’t be enjoying this wonderful meal with you!”
Though Aaron smiled at how smoothly he made a transition between the topics, he was not quite ready to close the previous one. “But why do they do that?” he asked, unable to hide the pain from his voice. “Why do they make fun of others and cause pain? Even if what they are saying about someone is true, how can it give them pleasure to tease him for it?”
Jay thought about it for a moment. “Do you remember, on the day we met, I told you that I have an obsession with names?” Aaron turned red from the embarrassment that he, in fact, could not recall him saying that, or worse, had probably not heard it in the first place.
“No worries!” Jay reassured him, since he had not intended to make Aaron feel bad at all. “Well, the thing is, I love to discover the meaning behind names. They’re very important, you see; they say a lot about a person and who he really is.” As he spoke, Aaron suddenly noticed a shadow of sadness drooping over his face as he continued. “Well, the problem is, many people don’t know the meaning of their own names. They live their whole lives not knowing who they really are and what they’re really worth.”
A moment of silence followed as they both let the words sink into their minds, until Aaron decided to voice his own thoughts. “So is that why Vincente, David, and Drago make fun of me - I mean, other people?”
“Most certainly,” replied Jay, “I’ve watched them since they first came to this school. They most certainly don’t know the meaning of their names. Mostly because their parents never told them -perhaps, they don’t know it themselves. Drago, for instance, means precious, but in the four years that he has been in this school, not once did I see his parents pick him up from school or come to parent-teacher meetings. They’re too busy, I suppose,” he continued now looking at the table, his voice sad and quiet, almost like a whisper, “too busy to show their son the meaning of his own name.”
Aaron felt like his heart was squeezing inside his chest. He felt pity and strangely even felt guilty for hating Drago, the boy who already was so deprived of love. Almost as if Jay read Aaron’s mind, he replied to his thoughts, “Understanding his reasons does not justify him hurting you. I just want you to understand that it’s not you he doesn’t like - it’s himself.”
As much as Aaron had tried to hide the fact that he was being bullied and ridiculed, he now realized that Jay knew and, perhaps, had known all along. But somehow, he no longer minded feeling transparent and exposed, because this kind man could see him for who he was and didn’t seem to mind.
“What about Vincente and David?” Aaron asked.
“Ah, David,” Jay tried to remember as he leaned back in his seat. “He was such an innocent and kind boy when he first came to this school in the second grade, I remember; perhaps too innocent for his peers. I remember how I would find him crying in a corner because his classmates, mainly following Vincente’s lead, had teased him. He cried for his mother, and they…well, they teased him for that, too.”
This discovery shocked Aaron to the core, and had he not been careful, his mouth would have dropped open. Had David really once been a victim to Vincente…like himself? He didn’t need to hear the rest about how he went from being an Aaron to a Vincente, but he listened anyways as Jay explained. “In time, he stopped crying altogether and began imitating Vincente to be accepted by him. His parents love him dearly, but he rejects their love because it’s not “cool,” and I wonder if the real reason is that he feels unworthy of it. That is why he doesn’t really know the meaning of his own name; he doesn’t know how well-beloved and dear he really is!”
“And Vincente?” Aaron asked with a slight shiver in his tone. Vincente had always been the leader, the main bully, the one he hated the most. But now he found himself faced with the possibility of discovering yet another broken heart and not being able to hate him anymore. It scared him.
“Perhaps you can do your own research on that one,” Jay suggested with a smile, “And discover for yourself who he really is.”
Aaron was thoughtful when he came home (Jay dropped him off) and did not rush to the computer, as he would have if he hadn't been so nervous. When he finally mustered up his courage and googled the name Vincente, this is what he read about its meaning - the one who has conquered. Then, of course, he googled the word conquer, because he was too young to know its definition (in case you are also too young to know, conquer means to overcome and take control of by force). But Aaron didn’t understand why Jay would think that he had not lived up to the true meaning of his name. Surely, he had conquered the whole school; everyone followed him and did whatever he said, whether out of fear or the desire to be like him.
“Jay?” Aaron approached him the next day as he was refilling the soap near the sink. Jay, though recognizing his voice, turned around to see him before greeting him.
“I found out the meaning of his name.”
Aaron now had Jay’s full attention. “But he really is one who has conquered,” Aaron explained.
“And what has he really conquered?” he asked in such a way that urged Aaron to wonder whether the explanation he was about to give really was the right answer; he wondered whether being a successful bully really was much of a grand accomplishment. Aaron remained silent.
“What then?” he asked after a while, truthfully wanting to know.
“He has a lot to conquer,” began Jay as he leaned on the bathroom countertop, and Aaron instinctively walked closer to him. “He has a lot of fears, you know.”
“Fears,” Aaron repeated to himself. The idea of the formidable Vincente having fears did not fit into his brain.
“Yes,” Jay confirmed, “His fear of rejection being the greatest of them. I only saw his father once, and, boy, was that enough. Apparently, he had been caught in some mischief - I don’t know exactly what it was - and his parents had been called to the principal’s office. His father had come, and I will never forget what he told him as they stepped out of the meeting. He looked at him with such fierce eyes and his teeth were clenched as if to withhold his anger and contempt. He said to him, “If you dare do downplay my reputation again, I swear to you, I will send you off to a family whose standards you can meet, you worthless idiot.” If you had seen Vincente that day, you would not recognize him as the conqueror we all think him to be.” Again, as he spoke, Aaron noticed the immense pain that every word caused Jay; he spoke as if he had been talking about his own son, or even someone closer than a son. As strange as it may seem to us normal people, he seemed to love each of those boys that way, as if they were his own flesh and blood. But as you may have noticed, Jay was nowhere near being normal, and Aaron was beginning to not mind the fact that he didn’t mind it.
As the following weeks unfolded, Aaron found him in the same situations as before and yet, nothing was the same. Vincente, Daniel, and Drago continued ridiculing him in front of the whole class, constantly bringing up his excess weight, his tendency to get tongue-tied when nervous, even his outfits (no matter what style he tried); but strangely, instead of feeling hurt, he wished the bullies could understand themselves the way he understood them. He understood that the hurtful words were mere attempts from broken people to not feel so broken themselves by breaking others. And though Aaron did not love them (though he probably would one day if they gave him the chance), he began wondering and dreaming and hoping that somehow he could unveil their true identities to them.
“I wish I could tell them,” Aaron once said out of the blue as they were in the biology classroom. He was sitting on a desk while Jay was kneeling on the windowsill and cleaning the windows.
“Tell them what?” Jay asked.
“All that I know about them; you know, about their names and all,” Aaron explained. Jay smiled because of how proud he felt of Aaron, and how much he loved that little boy. “You really do deserve your name, my dear,” he said.
Aaron was stunned by the sudden realization that the thought of his own name having a meaning had not even occurred to him!
“What is it?” he asked excitedly, “What does my name mean?”
“WHAT? You mean to tell me that you have not looked it up yet? Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Jay teased. Aaron chuckled, but the look of impatience and suspense quickly returned to his face.
“Aaron,” Jay spoke as he put aside his work and jumped down from the windowsill to put his hands on Aaron’s shoulders, “You are the Mountain of Strength. And it takes more strength to sincerely want the best for those who hurt you than it takes whole armies to destroy their enemies!”
Aaron could hear the thumping of his heart in every part of his body as all the things he had believed about himself were being transformed. For as long as he could remember, he had been teased for being weak (simply because he had begun to understand the bullies, didn’t mean he had stopped believing them), but now he found out that his very name meant that he was strong!
“Aaron, the Mountain of Strength,” he repeated to himself with a solemn smile. He liked the sound of it.
Jay admired him for a while longer before resuming his work.
“And about what you said about wanting to tell them,” he said while wiping the windowsill, “You will know when it’s the right time. You will feel it in your heart and it will change their hearts. And I will be here to support you while I’m still working in this school; even after that, I will always be there for you!”
Aaron was thoughtful for a while until another discovery stunned him.
“It just occurred to me,” he began, “I never asked you what your name meant. I never even asked you your name; I just assumed it was Jay. Is that even your real name?”
Jay smiled. “No, jay is just the first letter of my name,” he explained with a chuckle. “There was a little girl, (at the time she was in the first grade, now she is in the 7th grade. Her name is Alma, perhaps you know her? Yes, that’s the one, the caring and cheerful girl). Anyways, she once asked me my name and I told her, but she had difficulty pronouncing it so she just settled with calling me by the first letter of my name; and since then, everyone has called me Jay!”
“Well, what is your full name?” Aaron asked anxiously.
Jay knelt down in front of him so that their eyes were on the same level. “Don’t you know yet?” he asked with a deep smile.
Aaron thought about it for a while, at first trying to recall any memory that might hint him of it, but as soon as he stopped trying to remember, he realized he had known all along.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
The Veiled Light
Part 1
“Hey guys, I’m Shushan,” I introduced myself to my new group members, with whom I was to give presentations for the “Introduction to Clinical Psychology” course. Had the students been given the chance to form the groups themselves, I might have found myself among some familiar faces, but as you may have guessed, the professor did it himself. And now, introducing myself to these new students proved itself to be harder than I had anticipated. “It’s an Armenian name,” I attempted to answer the puzzled faces before me, but it seemed I complicated things more; now I had to explain where that mysterious and unknown country was. As I began describing the location, I became too passionate to resist talking about the uniqueness and warmth of my people. I was especially emotional now, as I missed my home so much; it had been two months since I left Armenia in pursuit of my dream of studying psychology in the University of Geneva. My audience seemed to be almost as enthusiastic as I was while speaking; all but one-a dark skinned and serious faced young man sitting two seats away from me. I had yet to find out who he was. He kept shifting in his seat and his eyes looked everywhere else but at me. As is often the case with the speaker, I felt insecure that it was somehow me that was making him uncomfortable, so I made a wider leap towards my conclusion.
As the rest of the members continued presenting themselves, I discovered once again what an international and culturally rich university I was a part of; I was preparing to give a presentation on Bipolar personality disorder alongside Juliette from France, Dimitri from Russia, Martin and Johanna from Switzerland, and- “Kadir,” at last spoke the mysterious young man, “from Turkey,” he continued after a pause, gripping my eyes with his gaze as if to check my reaction. My pulse quickened and I felt my heart beating like a drum inside my chest. Suddenly all the anger and hatred that had accumulated in me towards the Turks began rising up. They had attempted to eradicate my nation, killed so many of my people, almost succeeded in destroying my own ancestors, and, on top of that, denied that such a thing happened! I knew that Kadir could not be held responsible for the deeds of his ancestors, just as I had not been directly affected by their brutality, but there is something about pain that creeps into our DNA and secretly passes on from one generation to the next.
“Are you all right?” whispered the girl sitting next to me, whose name I had missed, bringing me back to the room.
“Yes!” I quickly answered, noticing my sweaty palms, and assuming that my emotions had made themselves visible in the redness of my cheeks. “I’m all right,” I reassured her just to get out of the spotlight.
“Well then, shall we begin?” brought up Johanna, who seemed to be growing impatient. Everyone’s gaze turned to her as she began proposing an outline for the presentation, and I felt thankful for the chance to breathe. When I felt certain that Kadir’s eyes were no longer on me, I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eyes. He seemed to be unshaken by my reaction; he sat there with his arms crossed and his legs firmly set on the floor. He was motionless-too motionless. His face was stern and strong; if he felt any shock or discomfort to be near me, his face did not betray him. I tried my hardest to concentrate on Johanna’s voice and have a contribution to the ongoing discussion about what to include in the presentation, but I failed miserably. Towards the end of the class, I observed that I had heard a thousand words but understood none. If this was how all our meetings were going to pass because his presence would not allow me to concentrate, I needed to change the group.
Part 2
“Hey, a few of us are going to have lunch,” said the same girl who was sitting next to me. “Would you like to come?”
“Thank you,” I replied, “But there’s something I have to do now.” She nodded and, with a smile, joined her friends.
“Wait!” I called out as she was walking away and ran after her. “I’m sorry. I was a bit distracted. I missed your na-”
“It’s Hadassah. Call me Hadass.” She smiled understandingly.
“Thank you,” I blushed a little out of embarrassment but smiled anyways as I continued my search for the professor’s office. I knocked on the door and, receiving the permission to enter, I stepped in. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was Kadir standing across the room!
“I suppose you came here to change your group, too?” the professor predicted sarcastically, but receiving no refutation from me, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and made a deep sigh. “I thought I had made it pretty clear that the groups were final, and the only exceptions would be made in urgent and necessary circumstances.” Noticing that he had not quite convinced either of us, he turned to Kadir and asked him to explain why he should be granted his wish. Clearly wishing he could have explained himself without my presence, the latter proceeded anyways. “There are certain complications,” he said glancing at me, “that would reduce my chances of getting a good grade on the assignment. I was hoping to be given the chance to work in an environment where I would be comfortable enough to do my best.”
I felt the heat of frustration boiling inside of me. If one of us had the right to complain about the presence of the other, it was me! Surely, it was his nation who had wounded mine, not the other way around.
“What kind of complications might those be?” the professor investigated further. “I’m afraid I cannot say.”
“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you!”
“But-”
“What about you?” the professor turned to me. “Me?” I asked sheepishly, buying myself more time to come up with an answer that would achieve for me a better fate than Kadir’s. By the look on the professor’s face I understood that I was testing his patience. “I-I don’t know,” was the best I could do. Kadir, who had been avoiding eye contact with me at all costs, now turned to me in surprise. The professor found my reply amusing, but I was too preoccupied by Kadir’s soundless facial expression to notice. For a moment, when I forgot all the preconceived ideas I had believed about the Turks, I almost saw a shade of innocence and exhaustion, and even a little sadness buried in the blackness of his eyes. In that instant I wanted to hate him less, but every voice in my head resisted the possibility of a Turk and innocence to be compatible, so I dismissed the idea.
The professor startled us both with his “unexpected” refusal of our requests and invited us to leave his office. “I hope you find a way to cope with whatever is bothering you and succeed in the assignment.”
Neither of us said a word as we stepped out of the office. I may have attempted to speak with him, but he walked straight on ahead of me without looking back.
Part 3
I wanted to find out why he wanted to quit the group, what possible reason could he have for wanting to avoid me; but he never gave me the chance. Whenever I approached him in the hallway or during our group meetings to have a simple conversation, he would cut it short and move on with whatever he was doing, almost as if I became invisible the moment he decided not to see me anymore. A week of such failed attempts passed when I could no longer balance my anger with self-control, and so I approached him when he was standing in front of his opened locker and got straight to the point. “Why do you hate me so much?” I demanded. “What have I done to you? Isn’t it me who should be avoiding you and hurting you?”
Startled by my sudden outburst, he spoke anyways. “I don’t hate you,” I thought I heard him say. My heart beat faster as I anxiously waited for him to go on. But he just stood there, still and silent, his eyes never parting from mine. It seemed as if he was battling with himself about whether or not he should voice his thoughts. “It’s your name,” at last he spoke, “It reminds me of someone. Or rather, being around you reminds me of something.” My eyes took the role of my mouth when it was too stunned to speak and invited him to go on. After conquering another battle in his mind, he explained further. “My great grandmother was named Shushan.” He gave me a moment to take it in. “She was Armenian.”
I stood there motionless and, for an instant, breathless. “She told my grandmother that a genocide happened and that she survived it. I wish my grandmother had never told me about it, I wish I had never heard that story!” His face became stiff and darkened again, and the faint glimmer of light that had appeared in his eyes vanished instantly.
“Wow,” I cleared my throat to bring myself back to consciousness. “But why do you keep saying “story”? Don’t you believe it to be a reality?”
“I can’t,” was all he offered me.
“But why?” I felt the anger raging in me again. “So many people were killed, there is so much evidence for it! I would not have been born had my great grandparents not escaped!” My voice was getting louder and fiercer. I took a moment to calm down. “How can you deny it when your own veins carry Armenian blood?” I shut my eyes to hold back the tears, and had it not been for my inability to believe him to be capable of feelings, I might have admitted to noticing a sparkle in his own eyes.
“Because I can’t!”
“Why not?” I demanded.
“Because if I do,” he stepped closer and grabbed me with his eyes, “How can I survive the guilt and the shame I will feel? How can I face the reality of not being able to change what happened but wishing with every part of my soul that I could? How can I ever live with what my people did to yours-what I did to you?”
He walked away, perhaps to escape to a place where he could freely let his tears flow. I stood there, paralyzed and aghast, my knees weakening from nervousness. I grabbed on to the locker he had left open and tried to take in all that I had heard him say.
Part 4
For the next week, he seemed to have disappeared, not showing up to class, not even to our group meetings. I looked for him in all his usual places in the cafeteria, the library, but he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know why I longed to see him, or even what I would say if I did; but I was sure the words would come.
“Is everything okay?” Hadass once again invited me back from my thoughts to my group members.
“I guess I’m a little distracted.”
“Can I help somehow?” she whispered as she leaned towards me. I hesitated at first, but her kind smile and my desperation to share my burden urged me to open up. “Well, there’s something I want to forgive, but I feel as though forgiving it would somehow make it seem okay and justifiable.”
“But if it was justifiable,” she said, “You wouldn’t need to forgive, would you?”
That one sentence put together the scattered puzzle pieces in my mind and formed an image that made perfect sense. All my life I had believed forgiving to be the equivalent of forgetting or excusing, and it never made sense to me how such an exquisite pain could be expected to be forgotten. It cannot be forgotten. I could not forget it. But if I forgave, the memory of it would stop killing me every time I recalled it; and perhaps, it would stop killing him, too. I had always thought of forgiveness as a characteristic of the weak, but now I realized I could only forgive if I was strong enough. If ever we were to heal of this poison of hostility, I had to be strong. I knew what I had to do.
After a long investigation, I finally found his dorm room and knocked on the door. Clearly he was not expecting to see me, but his uneasiness did not stop me from jumping straight to the point. “What happened a century ago was not your fault, and I am no one compared to a whole nation holding on to the pain and the hurt caused by it.” I stepped forward and looked him straight in the eyes with all the boldness I could muster. “But I forgive you! What happened was inexcusable, inhumane, unforgettable, and unjustifiable, but I extend forgiveness from my nation to yours, hoping that one day you can accept it.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because it is the only way we will ever heal.” I waited for him to take it in and, when I myself was ready, I extended my hand to him in offer of reconciliation. A tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at my hand, but a smile curved on his lips nevertheless, as he gently took my hand in his, and to my absolute surprise, leaned down and planted a kiss on it. I cannot truthfully claim that my own eyes remained dry as I watched him and experienced the beauty of it all.
Over the next few weeks, I discovered a whole new side of Kadir-perhaps it was a discovery for him as well. He seemed lighter and happier, almost as if an invisible yet unbearable burden had fallen off his shoulders, and a curtain that had veiled the light in his eyes was now torn and cast aside. One morning, as I was getting my books from my locker, a smiling Kadir stopped by to tease me. He took one of my notebooks and began reading it, and then made me chase him in order to get it back. We laughed together like we never had before. I stood there watching him and contemplated in awe at how powerfully redeeming forgiveness was-and I don’t mean only for him.
“Aren’t you coming?” he stood by the door of the lecture-hall, waiting for me. “I’m coming!” I laughed as I ran to enter the class side by side my friend; or maybe, side by side my brother.
“Hey guys, I’m Shushan,” I introduced myself to my new group members, with whom I was to give presentations for the “Introduction to Clinical Psychology” course. Had the students been given the chance to form the groups themselves, I might have found myself among some familiar faces, but as you may have guessed, the professor did it himself. And now, introducing myself to these new students proved itself to be harder than I had anticipated. “It’s an Armenian name,” I attempted to answer the puzzled faces before me, but it seemed I complicated things more; now I had to explain where that mysterious and unknown country was. As I began describing the location, I became too passionate to resist talking about the uniqueness and warmth of my people. I was especially emotional now, as I missed my home so much; it had been two months since I left Armenia in pursuit of my dream of studying psychology in the University of Geneva. My audience seemed to be almost as enthusiastic as I was while speaking; all but one-a dark skinned and serious faced young man sitting two seats away from me. I had yet to find out who he was. He kept shifting in his seat and his eyes looked everywhere else but at me. As is often the case with the speaker, I felt insecure that it was somehow me that was making him uncomfortable, so I made a wider leap towards my conclusion.
As the rest of the members continued presenting themselves, I discovered once again what an international and culturally rich university I was a part of; I was preparing to give a presentation on Bipolar personality disorder alongside Juliette from France, Dimitri from Russia, Martin and Johanna from Switzerland, and- “Kadir,” at last spoke the mysterious young man, “from Turkey,” he continued after a pause, gripping my eyes with his gaze as if to check my reaction. My pulse quickened and I felt my heart beating like a drum inside my chest. Suddenly all the anger and hatred that had accumulated in me towards the Turks began rising up. They had attempted to eradicate my nation, killed so many of my people, almost succeeded in destroying my own ancestors, and, on top of that, denied that such a thing happened! I knew that Kadir could not be held responsible for the deeds of his ancestors, just as I had not been directly affected by their brutality, but there is something about pain that creeps into our DNA and secretly passes on from one generation to the next.
“Are you all right?” whispered the girl sitting next to me, whose name I had missed, bringing me back to the room.
“Yes!” I quickly answered, noticing my sweaty palms, and assuming that my emotions had made themselves visible in the redness of my cheeks. “I’m all right,” I reassured her just to get out of the spotlight.
“Well then, shall we begin?” brought up Johanna, who seemed to be growing impatient. Everyone’s gaze turned to her as she began proposing an outline for the presentation, and I felt thankful for the chance to breathe. When I felt certain that Kadir’s eyes were no longer on me, I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eyes. He seemed to be unshaken by my reaction; he sat there with his arms crossed and his legs firmly set on the floor. He was motionless-too motionless. His face was stern and strong; if he felt any shock or discomfort to be near me, his face did not betray him. I tried my hardest to concentrate on Johanna’s voice and have a contribution to the ongoing discussion about what to include in the presentation, but I failed miserably. Towards the end of the class, I observed that I had heard a thousand words but understood none. If this was how all our meetings were going to pass because his presence would not allow me to concentrate, I needed to change the group.
Part 2
“Hey, a few of us are going to have lunch,” said the same girl who was sitting next to me. “Would you like to come?”
“Thank you,” I replied, “But there’s something I have to do now.” She nodded and, with a smile, joined her friends.
“Wait!” I called out as she was walking away and ran after her. “I’m sorry. I was a bit distracted. I missed your na-”
“It’s Hadassah. Call me Hadass.” She smiled understandingly.
“Thank you,” I blushed a little out of embarrassment but smiled anyways as I continued my search for the professor’s office. I knocked on the door and, receiving the permission to enter, I stepped in. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was Kadir standing across the room!
“I suppose you came here to change your group, too?” the professor predicted sarcastically, but receiving no refutation from me, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and made a deep sigh. “I thought I had made it pretty clear that the groups were final, and the only exceptions would be made in urgent and necessary circumstances.” Noticing that he had not quite convinced either of us, he turned to Kadir and asked him to explain why he should be granted his wish. Clearly wishing he could have explained himself without my presence, the latter proceeded anyways. “There are certain complications,” he said glancing at me, “that would reduce my chances of getting a good grade on the assignment. I was hoping to be given the chance to work in an environment where I would be comfortable enough to do my best.”
I felt the heat of frustration boiling inside of me. If one of us had the right to complain about the presence of the other, it was me! Surely, it was his nation who had wounded mine, not the other way around.
“What kind of complications might those be?” the professor investigated further. “I’m afraid I cannot say.”
“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you!”
“But-”
“What about you?” the professor turned to me. “Me?” I asked sheepishly, buying myself more time to come up with an answer that would achieve for me a better fate than Kadir’s. By the look on the professor’s face I understood that I was testing his patience. “I-I don’t know,” was the best I could do. Kadir, who had been avoiding eye contact with me at all costs, now turned to me in surprise. The professor found my reply amusing, but I was too preoccupied by Kadir’s soundless facial expression to notice. For a moment, when I forgot all the preconceived ideas I had believed about the Turks, I almost saw a shade of innocence and exhaustion, and even a little sadness buried in the blackness of his eyes. In that instant I wanted to hate him less, but every voice in my head resisted the possibility of a Turk and innocence to be compatible, so I dismissed the idea.
The professor startled us both with his “unexpected” refusal of our requests and invited us to leave his office. “I hope you find a way to cope with whatever is bothering you and succeed in the assignment.”
Neither of us said a word as we stepped out of the office. I may have attempted to speak with him, but he walked straight on ahead of me without looking back.
Part 3
I wanted to find out why he wanted to quit the group, what possible reason could he have for wanting to avoid me; but he never gave me the chance. Whenever I approached him in the hallway or during our group meetings to have a simple conversation, he would cut it short and move on with whatever he was doing, almost as if I became invisible the moment he decided not to see me anymore. A week of such failed attempts passed when I could no longer balance my anger with self-control, and so I approached him when he was standing in front of his opened locker and got straight to the point. “Why do you hate me so much?” I demanded. “What have I done to you? Isn’t it me who should be avoiding you and hurting you?”
Startled by my sudden outburst, he spoke anyways. “I don’t hate you,” I thought I heard him say. My heart beat faster as I anxiously waited for him to go on. But he just stood there, still and silent, his eyes never parting from mine. It seemed as if he was battling with himself about whether or not he should voice his thoughts. “It’s your name,” at last he spoke, “It reminds me of someone. Or rather, being around you reminds me of something.” My eyes took the role of my mouth when it was too stunned to speak and invited him to go on. After conquering another battle in his mind, he explained further. “My great grandmother was named Shushan.” He gave me a moment to take it in. “She was Armenian.”
I stood there motionless and, for an instant, breathless. “She told my grandmother that a genocide happened and that she survived it. I wish my grandmother had never told me about it, I wish I had never heard that story!” His face became stiff and darkened again, and the faint glimmer of light that had appeared in his eyes vanished instantly.
“Wow,” I cleared my throat to bring myself back to consciousness. “But why do you keep saying “story”? Don’t you believe it to be a reality?”
“I can’t,” was all he offered me.
“But why?” I felt the anger raging in me again. “So many people were killed, there is so much evidence for it! I would not have been born had my great grandparents not escaped!” My voice was getting louder and fiercer. I took a moment to calm down. “How can you deny it when your own veins carry Armenian blood?” I shut my eyes to hold back the tears, and had it not been for my inability to believe him to be capable of feelings, I might have admitted to noticing a sparkle in his own eyes.
“Because I can’t!”
“Why not?” I demanded.
“Because if I do,” he stepped closer and grabbed me with his eyes, “How can I survive the guilt and the shame I will feel? How can I face the reality of not being able to change what happened but wishing with every part of my soul that I could? How can I ever live with what my people did to yours-what I did to you?”
He walked away, perhaps to escape to a place where he could freely let his tears flow. I stood there, paralyzed and aghast, my knees weakening from nervousness. I grabbed on to the locker he had left open and tried to take in all that I had heard him say.
Part 4
For the next week, he seemed to have disappeared, not showing up to class, not even to our group meetings. I looked for him in all his usual places in the cafeteria, the library, but he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know why I longed to see him, or even what I would say if I did; but I was sure the words would come.
“Is everything okay?” Hadass once again invited me back from my thoughts to my group members.
“I guess I’m a little distracted.”
“Can I help somehow?” she whispered as she leaned towards me. I hesitated at first, but her kind smile and my desperation to share my burden urged me to open up. “Well, there’s something I want to forgive, but I feel as though forgiving it would somehow make it seem okay and justifiable.”
“But if it was justifiable,” she said, “You wouldn’t need to forgive, would you?”
That one sentence put together the scattered puzzle pieces in my mind and formed an image that made perfect sense. All my life I had believed forgiving to be the equivalent of forgetting or excusing, and it never made sense to me how such an exquisite pain could be expected to be forgotten. It cannot be forgotten. I could not forget it. But if I forgave, the memory of it would stop killing me every time I recalled it; and perhaps, it would stop killing him, too. I had always thought of forgiveness as a characteristic of the weak, but now I realized I could only forgive if I was strong enough. If ever we were to heal of this poison of hostility, I had to be strong. I knew what I had to do.
After a long investigation, I finally found his dorm room and knocked on the door. Clearly he was not expecting to see me, but his uneasiness did not stop me from jumping straight to the point. “What happened a century ago was not your fault, and I am no one compared to a whole nation holding on to the pain and the hurt caused by it.” I stepped forward and looked him straight in the eyes with all the boldness I could muster. “But I forgive you! What happened was inexcusable, inhumane, unforgettable, and unjustifiable, but I extend forgiveness from my nation to yours, hoping that one day you can accept it.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because it is the only way we will ever heal.” I waited for him to take it in and, when I myself was ready, I extended my hand to him in offer of reconciliation. A tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at my hand, but a smile curved on his lips nevertheless, as he gently took my hand in his, and to my absolute surprise, leaned down and planted a kiss on it. I cannot truthfully claim that my own eyes remained dry as I watched him and experienced the beauty of it all.
Over the next few weeks, I discovered a whole new side of Kadir-perhaps it was a discovery for him as well. He seemed lighter and happier, almost as if an invisible yet unbearable burden had fallen off his shoulders, and a curtain that had veiled the light in his eyes was now torn and cast aside. One morning, as I was getting my books from my locker, a smiling Kadir stopped by to tease me. He took one of my notebooks and began reading it, and then made me chase him in order to get it back. We laughed together like we never had before. I stood there watching him and contemplated in awe at how powerfully redeeming forgiveness was-and I don’t mean only for him.
“Aren’t you coming?” he stood by the door of the lecture-hall, waiting for me. “I’m coming!” I laughed as I ran to enter the class side by side my friend; or maybe, side by side my brother.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Guilt vs. Love: Tough Choice
Guilt replaces love. When all you want is to not feel guilty, you rejoice when someone does something nice for you, not because you feel loved, but because you don't feel blamed. When someone, for whom you haven't done anything, does something nice to you, you feel like you have to do something quickly to pay them back. When someone doesn't do anything for you, you feel a relief (not at all hurt by their indifference), because that means you don't owe them anything and, therefore, don't have to feel guilty for not being able to pay them back. It gets even better when someone does something bad to you; then you are not only guilt-free, but way above that person - it's them that owe you atonement. But when it happens that you do something wrong or don't do something right (and it does happen, as perfect as you'd like to think you are), when you clearly have no escape from your guilt and no justification to calm you down, you resort to blaming someone else. You blame the person for deserving the treatment you gave them or reassuring yourself that since everyone else was doing it, you must have been right. And when you can't love someone (because clearly you have left no room for love), you blame the other person for not being lovable or not doing their part to win your heart. You see, there's such a great comfort in blaming others - the comfort of not being blamed yourself. But that comfort seems to be very short-lived, because soon enough, of course, you start to feel guilty for being judgmental of others, and the cycle goes on and on and on.
As you can see, looking at the world through the eyes of guilt leaves you deprived of love, because you are able to neither give nor accept love. Even if you manage to justify yourself, all you obtain is the status of a faultless miserable person. And when you don't, you become a self-beating miserable person. The only way to live a misery-less life and have a heart that knows how to accept love (without trying to deserve or earn it), is to stop doing guilt. Stop looking for someone to blame by understanding that there doesn't have to be a person to blame in the first place. Life isn't about who is right and who is wrong, who should be punished and who should be excused. Life is about Love, and Love doesn't blame, but seeks and understands.
To illustrate my point, I will describe to you a scene from the movie Testament of Youth. It takes place on the shores of the ocean, when Roland has just come back on home-leave from fighting at the front. As soon as Vera, his sweetheart, finds out where he is, she runs to him, only to receive a cold and indifferent attitude from him. He doesn't even greet her, but says, almost to himself, that he has to go back in three days. Before Vera can say something, their friends catch up with her to see Roland, who jumps up with excitement, embracing each of them with enthusiasm and joy. Roland, still ignoring Vera, is talking and laughing with the others, who, after a while, notice the tension growing between the couple and leave them alone. After a moment, however, Roland gets up and starts walking towards the others, while Vera runs after him. It is evident that Roland is trying to escape her and at some point pushes her stronger than he intended, causing her to fall. "I'm sorry - I'm sorry!" he begs as he is shaken with the realization of what he has done. For a moment, I expected and deeply hoped that Vera would do what I would have done in her case - get up, look at him with resentment, walk away, and never speak to him again, leaving him to suffer in his guilt. But what she does shocked me and revolutionized all my ideas about love and guilt. She gets up and grabs him, and, placing his arms around herself, reminds him of what is real. "This part of you," she begs him, "Don't let war destroy it!" She voices the cry for help that Roland could not express. "It might be gone already," Roland whispers. "No! It's not! I promise you!" Vera replies. Desperately, Roland hugs her and buries his face in her shoulder, while Vera tightly holds him. In the next scene, they are sitting side by side, and Roland explains to Vera how home-leave makes people soft - that after being home with their loved ones, they cannot survive the war once they return. But Vera's unconditional love gives him the courage to let down his guard and let her into his heart.
You see, there was no judgement towards him, no guilt trip: only understanding. She didn't blame him because she wasn't looking for someone to blame. She loved him and was not competing with him to find out who was more guilty. If Roland had pushed me, the reaction of my insecure nature would have been to make him feel guilty and walk away, quite satisfied with myself for being the "good" one in the relationship and having done my part, being able to rightfully blame him for the doom of our relationship. You see, I would not have felt loss for the relationship, because for me it would never have been about love, but about becoming even - paying back my debts for all the good things he had done for me. But in that moment when I clearly would have had the upper hand, I could have walked away with a clear conscience. But you see, Vera pursued him relentlessly and urged him to talk to her, not because she was making sure that later on she would be able to blame him for the end of their relationship (proudly remembering that she did try to fix things), but simply because she loved him and was not going to let him go. And because of that, they created a love story that will never die, at least in my heart.
As you can see, looking at the world through the eyes of guilt leaves you deprived of love, because you are able to neither give nor accept love. Even if you manage to justify yourself, all you obtain is the status of a faultless miserable person. And when you don't, you become a self-beating miserable person. The only way to live a misery-less life and have a heart that knows how to accept love (without trying to deserve or earn it), is to stop doing guilt. Stop looking for someone to blame by understanding that there doesn't have to be a person to blame in the first place. Life isn't about who is right and who is wrong, who should be punished and who should be excused. Life is about Love, and Love doesn't blame, but seeks and understands.
You see, there was no judgement towards him, no guilt trip: only understanding. She didn't blame him because she wasn't looking for someone to blame. She loved him and was not competing with him to find out who was more guilty. If Roland had pushed me, the reaction of my insecure nature would have been to make him feel guilty and walk away, quite satisfied with myself for being the "good" one in the relationship and having done my part, being able to rightfully blame him for the doom of our relationship. You see, I would not have felt loss for the relationship, because for me it would never have been about love, but about becoming even - paying back my debts for all the good things he had done for me. But in that moment when I clearly would have had the upper hand, I could have walked away with a clear conscience. But you see, Vera pursued him relentlessly and urged him to talk to her, not because she was making sure that later on she would be able to blame him for the end of their relationship (proudly remembering that she did try to fix things), but simply because she loved him and was not going to let him go. And because of that, they created a love story that will never die, at least in my heart.Thursday, May 19, 2016
Fading Stars
Sometimes my existence like a sighing darkness,
Droops over me as I lie awake.
I feel its every sigh, every memory it breathes onto me,
Like the unpleasant heat of summer.
The hours of the night stretch before me like an endless rode;
Is there no escape from their silence?
I cannot escape myself in that silence...the regrets, regrets, regrets;
I cannot escape into a pleasant dream. Any dream.
I cannot escape.
And then I see it - traces of light on the floorboards.
I feel it - warmth on my toes and then my feet.
My tired eyelids burn as I close them,
But through them I feel the light of the awakening sun,
Creeping in through the window that once revealed the stars to my daunted eyes;
The stars, which so oft I confided in,
While the world slept in stillness.
But now the stars begin to fade,
As the light of the sun, though solemnly delayed,
At last illuminates the sky.
Droops over me as I lie awake.
I feel its every sigh, every memory it breathes onto me,
Like the unpleasant heat of summer.
The hours of the night stretch before me like an endless rode;
Is there no escape from their silence?
I cannot escape myself in that silence...the regrets, regrets, regrets;
I cannot escape into a pleasant dream. Any dream.
I cannot escape.
And then I see it - traces of light on the floorboards.
I feel it - warmth on my toes and then my feet.
My tired eyelids burn as I close them,
But through them I feel the light of the awakening sun,
Creeping in through the window that once revealed the stars to my daunted eyes;
The stars, which so oft I confided in,
While the world slept in stillness.
But now the stars begin to fade,
As the light of the sun, though solemnly delayed,
At last illuminates the sky.
Monday, April 25, 2016
Words Unspoken
Can the weight of the unspoken words I carry inside of me,
Drag me down like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the sea?
Can I ever die of regret for all the truths I should have revealed,
And all the insights I should have shared,
But listened to my fears,
And sat quietly?
Could the knowledge I selfishly kept,
Have been a droplet of hope,
For someone who was unjustly divested of the right to know?
Can I ever forgive myself for biting my tongue,
When I should have let it flow,
Like a river breaking free from the ice?
Drag me down like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the sea?
Can I ever die of regret for all the truths I should have revealed,
And all the insights I should have shared,
But listened to my fears,
And sat quietly?
Could the knowledge I selfishly kept,
Have been a droplet of hope,
For someone who was unjustly divested of the right to know?
Can I ever forgive myself for biting my tongue,
When I should have let it flow,
Like a river breaking free from the ice?
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Cologne
I longed to feel,The safety that is real,
When someone stronger than you holds you near.
So I bought a cologne,
Sprayed it on the blanket I had sown,
And held myself tight as I slept on my own.
I remember,
Old days of December,
That felt warmer. Now there's just ember.
My face pressed,
Against the warmth of his chest,
I don't regret it, though he left like the rest.
I'd rather know,
I'd rather have it and never see it grow,
Then not have it at all and never know the meaning of home.
The Fragrance of Your Presence
Even if the whole world I cannot trust, it's you I cannot resist,
The fragrance of your presence is the proof that you exist.
Your voice is the definition of gentleness,
Your touch a healing for the brokenhearted,
Your love as invariant as light.
I wish I had understood earlier,
How powerless I am,
And how insignificant my deeds are,
In altering your adherence to me.
You don't simply love; you are Love-
The source that doesn't run out.
The essence of your eyes is only affection,
Never disappointment or rejection.
You are my home,
The most intimate of friends,
I know you won't let me go,
Even if the world ends.
The fragrance of your presence is the proof that you exist.
Your voice is the definition of gentleness,
Your touch a healing for the brokenhearted,
Your love as invariant as light.
I wish I had understood earlier,
How powerless I am,
And how insignificant my deeds are,
In altering your adherence to me.
You don't simply love; you are Love-
The source that doesn't run out.
The essence of your eyes is only affection,
Never disappointment or rejection.
You are my home,
The most intimate of friends,
I know you won't let me go,
Even if the world ends.
Friday, March 25, 2016
My Little Cottage
I saw this painting of a little cottage,
Warm and cozy,
With smoke rising from its chimney.
It is right next to a river,
Secluded somewhere in nature,
Surrounded with trees,
With a thousand shades of color!
How often do I ache to go there,
To be alone,
And to be free;
Free of the burden of loving and caring,
Free from the pain of being loved and seen.
How I long to be bored,
With no meaningless activities to fill my life,
And no empty distractions to pull me aside.
With all my time devoted to my pursuit of dreams,
I can finish what I start,
And reap what I sow.
I wish to simply lie in the grass completely naked,
And soak in the sun as nature intended,
And not be intimidated by the imperfectness of my body.
I wish to stop seeing myself as a bundle of faults,
But a masterpiece of a craftsman,
A beauty set apart.
I long to wander as if I'm lost,
As if I'm looking for something still unfound.
I wish to walk without rushing anywhere,
Without making haste,
Without worrying one bit.
Perhaps then I might discover a cave,
Hidden behind the waterfall,
That echoes my voice as I sing to the nightfall.
I will read a thousand books
And why not write one myself?
Learn how to cook,
And grow my own food.
I will drink tea as I sit on my porch,
And carry the moonlight as my torch.
I will listen to the music of such peace and harmony,
That only nature can compose and sing to me.
I will dream a little and then a little more.
In my little cottage I will be safe with me and myself,
No one to hurt me and no one to hurt.
I will love myself fully,
And express myself freely,
And live as if I were invisible...
How I long for my little cottage that doesn't exist.
But then, why on earth does the imagination persist?
It is in the mind of the heart,
Where I can do things unfathomable,
Be with people unreachable,
And own places unobtainable!
So in my little cottage is where I am every night,
When I close my eyes and snuggle in tight.
And it feels better and even more real,
Than if it was any more than just a dream.
Warm and cozy,
With smoke rising from its chimney.
It is right next to a river,
Secluded somewhere in nature,
Surrounded with trees,
With a thousand shades of color!
How often do I ache to go there,
To be alone,
And to be free;
Free of the burden of loving and caring,
Free from the pain of being loved and seen.
How I long to be bored,
With no meaningless activities to fill my life,
And no empty distractions to pull me aside.
With all my time devoted to my pursuit of dreams,
I can finish what I start,
And reap what I sow.
I wish to simply lie in the grass completely naked,
And soak in the sun as nature intended,
And not be intimidated by the imperfectness of my body.
I wish to stop seeing myself as a bundle of faults,
But a masterpiece of a craftsman,
A beauty set apart.
I long to wander as if I'm lost,
As if I'm looking for something still unfound.
I wish to walk without rushing anywhere,
Without making haste,
Without worrying one bit.
Perhaps then I might discover a cave,
Hidden behind the waterfall,
That echoes my voice as I sing to the nightfall.
I will read a thousand books
And why not write one myself?
Learn how to cook,
And grow my own food.
I will drink tea as I sit on my porch,
And carry the moonlight as my torch.
I will listen to the music of such peace and harmony,
That only nature can compose and sing to me.
I will dream a little and then a little more.
In my little cottage I will be safe with me and myself,
No one to hurt me and no one to hurt.
I will love myself fully,
And express myself freely,
And live as if I were invisible...
How I long for my little cottage that doesn't exist.
But then, why on earth does the imagination persist?
It is in the mind of the heart,
Where I can do things unfathomable,
Be with people unreachable,
And own places unobtainable!
So in my little cottage is where I am every night,
When I close my eyes and snuggle in tight.
And it feels better and even more real,
Than if it was any more than just a dream.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Through the Bridge of Changes
Part 1
Soon enough, we heard the sound of the gates opening and the whole crowd raced to enter. When my turn finally came, I saw the endless row of the colorful ticket check points. I wasn’t even aware that so many colors existed! After a bit of searching and making my way through the crowd, I finally found myself passing through the turquoise ticket check point. My heart beat fast at the realization that I was officially on the Bridge of Changes! As promised, I had no difficulty finding my team gathered around our turquoise tour guide, who warmly greeted us and introduced himself as Clark. He introduced us to the rules; like we had to wait in line-ups and could go through each procedure only once. He then presented the stages of the Bridge, which, in order to save time, I will present to you as we get to them. Although I think that no one in their excitement heard a word he said, they nevertheless nodded to indicate that they understood everything and were ready to begin.
Part 2
I nervously began browsing on the screen for the colors I wanted and found the exact shade of blonde, the Caribbean blue that I wanted, and a perfectly tanned skin-tone. I was one button away from getting the liquids I needed. I held my hand over the “submit” button but I just couldn’t bring myself to press it. Do you really want to become what you’ve been told is beautiful? I heard a voice echoing inside my head. “Ms.?” The crowd behind me was getting impatient. What you’ve been told is beautiful. I looked back and smiled at the guy behind me. “I’m done.” He looked at me as if I was crazy (I can’t say I wasn’t used to that look). “Good luck.” I told him as I walked away, not having pressed the button.
Part 3
There were so many things about me that I wished I could
change. I used to wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and notice all the
disappointing details about me that I hated; such as my nose that curved
downwards instead of upwards, my overly curly and puffy red hair, my big round
black eyes, and, to my utmost disgrace, my weight that could not keep up with
the beautiful models in magazines. As if my physical appearance was not bad
enough, everything else non-physical about me was flawed. There was something
about the way I spoke, or perhaps thought, that somehow no one seemed to
understand. Every time I made a comment during an ongoing discussion between my
friends or family, everyone’s gazes would suddenly freeze on me, trying to
figure out what planet I had fallen from. I was tired of disappointing people
and not being able to fit in. My style, opinions and ideas always seemed normal
and logical to me, but somehow, I also came to think of myself as a Martian
living on the wrong planet. I kept wishing I was more outgoing and fun to be
with, that I could talk about everyday things like normal people, and most of
all, that I could have friends who understood me and accepted me, rather than
convinced themselves to endure my weirdness because “I had many good sides
too”. But that was me before going to the magical place called “The Bridge of
Changes”.
The Bridge of
Changes was an extremely long and colorful bridge, located in the Southern
hemisphere, that connected two islands-Before and After. For people like me, it
was a place where dreams came true, a place where we could literally become
anyone we wanted; our physical appearance could be adjusted, even our
personality types and talents could be altered. To go there, we would have to
be at least 18, buy some really expensive tickets for a cruise that would take
us to Before Island. From there we would enter the Bridge and eventually come
out onto After Island, from where the cruise would take us back. The place was
so popular, that millions of people visited it every year, which created the
necessity for long waiting lists. So after waiting for what felt like a
lifetime, at last I found myself aweing at the magical sight of The Bridge of
Changes. The entrance was enormous and on top of it there were large letters
that formed the words,
“Enter as the person you are,
Leave as the person of your dreams!”
The words thrilled me, as I’m sure it did to each and every
person in the enormous crowd gathered there, waiting for the glorious moment
when the gates would open. There began to arise a new hope and excitement in me
that soon I would become someone people would love and accept; someone I would
love and accept.
Suddenly, a
beautiful and elegant woman with long silky hair rose up to the stage near the
entrance and began to speak. “Greetings, my friends. I know how long you have
all been waiting for this moment, for I was once where you are now, anxious to
become irresistibly beautiful and successful, popular and well-liked by others.
I dreamed of coming to the Bridge of Changes, and now,” she paused for a smile,
“I run this place.” Everyone cheered and applauded. “I will not delay this long
anticipated moment for any of you, so I will begin with a few instructions. You
will notice that your tickets have different colors.” Mine was turquoise. “As
you enter the Bridge, please find the ticket check points that have the color
of your ticket. When you pass through it, you will find your group leader, who
will guide you on this life-changing journey. Don’t worry about recognizing
them; they will be completely dressed in the color of your ticket! You may
begin this journey as soon as the gates open. May you enter as the person you
are and leave as the person of your dreams!” As she said that, she smiled once
again and stepped down from the stage, accompanied by the cheers and applaud of
a most excited and happy crowd. Soon enough, we heard the sound of the gates opening and the whole crowd raced to enter. When my turn finally came, I saw the endless row of the colorful ticket check points. I wasn’t even aware that so many colors existed! After a bit of searching and making my way through the crowd, I finally found myself passing through the turquoise ticket check point. My heart beat fast at the realization that I was officially on the Bridge of Changes! As promised, I had no difficulty finding my team gathered around our turquoise tour guide, who warmly greeted us and introduced himself as Clark. He introduced us to the rules; like we had to wait in line-ups and could go through each procedure only once. He then presented the stages of the Bridge, which, in order to save time, I will present to you as we get to them. Although I think that no one in their excitement heard a word he said, they nevertheless nodded to indicate that they understood everything and were ready to begin.
Part 2
Apparently, the Bridge consisted of two main sections-the
Alterations of the Outer Looks and the Alterations of the Inner-Self. As we
found ourselves in the first stage of the Outer Alterations, I stood in awe at the
size of the hall filled with hundreds of people forming line-ups in front of
human-shaped machines that served colored liquids. Clark explained that this
was the place where we could choose the exact color we wanted for our hair,
eyes, and skin. All we had to do was insert our choices into the machines and
we would receive glass cups that were divided into three parts. Each part would
be filled with a liquid with the exact color of our choice-one would be the
color of the eyes, the other the color of the hair, and the other of the skin.
As we drank the liquids, those colors would be applied onto our bodies and the
results would remain permanently (unless, of course, we decided to come back to
the Bridge and undergo the process again). How exciting was that! As I was
anxiously waiting in a line, I dreamed of being redeemed of the redness of my
hair. I imagined myself with beautiful straight blonde hair. As I observed the
other people finally getting to the machines that would make their dreams come
true, I began to notice some patterns in their choices. Many came with black,
different shades of brown and occasionally with red hair, and almost all left
with blonde, and rushed with excitement to the self-reflecting walls to admire
their new looks. They came with hazel, brown or black eyes, and left with
different shades of blue and green; always blue and green. That is when I began
to pay attention to the fact that all the enormous advertisements throughout
the room presented blonde and blue-eyed models, looking so perfect and
confident in their looks. And only then did I begin to wonder whether the
similarity in our preferences and the source of our standards for beauty were
highly influenced by them.
“Ms.?” Someone
behind me cut the line of my thoughts. I turned around and saw a young man
looking at me. “It’s your turn,” he said. I couldn’t believe it! Had my turn
really come? Was I really standing in front of the machine that could make me
love myself every time I looked into the mirror? Was the chance for me to
become beautiful really in my grasp?I nervously began browsing on the screen for the colors I wanted and found the exact shade of blonde, the Caribbean blue that I wanted, and a perfectly tanned skin-tone. I was one button away from getting the liquids I needed. I held my hand over the “submit” button but I just couldn’t bring myself to press it. Do you really want to become what you’ve been told is beautiful? I heard a voice echoing inside my head. “Ms.?” The crowd behind me was getting impatient. What you’ve been told is beautiful. I looked back and smiled at the guy behind me. “I’m done.” He looked at me as if I was crazy (I can’t say I wasn’t used to that look). “Good luck.” I told him as I walked away, not having pressed the button.
I found Clark and
joined him in waiting for the rest of our group to gather up. I don’t think he
remembered me or what I used to look like; nevertheless, he looked quite
surprised that someone had passed this stage and came out as a red-head. By the
look on his face, I could tell he was thinking that whether I was crazy enough
to leave my hair red or turn it into red, the fact was, I was crazy. But he
said nothing to me and I thought it pointless to bring it up. As soon as all
the members of our group, no longer recognizable, gathered up, we moved on to
the next stage. We climbed up a few stairs, walked through a large pink door
and found ourselves in another hall with the words
“Get the body you want
In the time that you have”
written on its walls. Clark no longer needed to explain the
purpose of this stage, but some instructions would be necessary. He drew our
attention to the long line of booths. He explained that we would all get a
device on which we would create the model of the body we wanted as we waited in
line. We would be able to create everything-from the shape of our nose to the
size of our body. As soon as our turn would come to enter the booth, we would
install the device into the booth and enter. In no more than ten minutes, we
would step out of the booth looking like the models on our devices. Part 3
As I was standing
in line, I remembered how excited I had been at the thought that I could
actually have a beautifully slim body with long wavy hair and a cute little
nose that gently curved upwards. And now the device to obtain those looks was
in my hands and I just couldn’t bring myself to turn it on. Why is it that being skinny is considered
attractive? I heard a voice in my head say. Who decided that having a down-curve on your nose is a defect? Who says
that you are imperfect because you are not a copied version of what society
praises? And then the final question that came to me was all I needed to
make up my mind. Do you really want to
sacrifice your uniqueness to fit into some standard of beauty that has been
decided for you? That was the final push that I needed. I dropped the
device and began running against the line-up and somehow succeeded in finding
Clark. “Excuse me,” I
managed to say as I tried to catch my breath. “Can you show me the way out?”
“Do you need to use the washroom, Ms.?” He asked.
“No, sir. I want to exit the Bridge. I am finished.”
His eyebrows rose up as he took a moment to check if I was serious. “Are you sure? I mean, we haven’t even gone to the Inner Alterations yet and-“
"I’m sure.” I
smiled. He took another moment to overcome his shock before explaining to me
how to find my way to the exit. It was a long walk. I passed by all the stages
that I was going to miss out on and occasionally I began to wonder if I was
making the right choice. But I felt such freedom and happiness inside! After
asking around for directions and getting a million staring faces, I took my
first step out of the Bridge and unto After Island. I came out of the Bridge of
Changes a completely new person. It’s true, nothing physical or visible had
changed in me, but the way I saw myself had been revolutionized, and that’s the
only change that I really needed. I decided that from that point on, I would be
my own criteria of beauty, I would not sacrifice my uniqueness to fit into some
social standard, and, most of all, I would love myself, because if I didn’t, no
amount of alterations and “improvements” would change that!“Do you need to use the washroom, Ms.?” He asked.
“No, sir. I want to exit the Bridge. I am finished.”
His eyebrows rose up as he took a moment to check if I was serious. “Are you sure? I mean, we haven’t even gone to the Inner Alterations yet and-“
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Կյանքը Հայաստանի Մարշուտկաներում
Բացի Հայաստանից, էլ ո՞ր երկրում կարաս պանիկայի մեջ չընկնես, երբ մարշրուտկայից իջնելուց նկատում ես, որ պորտմանդ մոռացել ես տանը ու հիմա չես կարա վճարես, քանի որ գիտես, որ երբ վարորդին բացատրես իրավիճակը, խոսքդ չվերջացրած` կասի. «Ոչի՜նչ, ազիզ ջա՜ն, պատահու՜մ ա»: Ու նույնիսկ էն դեպքում, երբ պարզվում ա, որ վարորդը էդ օրը ձախ ոտի վրա ա արթնացել, ու դու հասկանում ես, որ չպետք ա հետը անկեղծանայիր, ո՞ր երկրում ա, որ էդքան շատ 100 դրամանոցով ձեռքեր կպարզվեն քեզ ու ամեն կողմից կլսես. «Ոչի՜նչ, ես Ձեր տեղը կստանամ, Դուք իջե՛ք»: Ու քեզ մնում ա որոշել, թե ո՞ր մեկի լավությունը ընդունես, որ մյուսները չնեղանան:
Բացի Հայաստանից, էլ ո՞ր երկրում ա, որ երբ մարշրուտկայի մեջ ձիու քարի պես կանգնած ես, մարդիկ կան, որ խտանում են, որ դու էլ նստես: Ու եթե մեկը չաղ ա ու չի կարա խտանա, կամ ուղղակի հավես չունի, առանց բան ասելու քո ձեռքից վերցնում ա պայուսակդ, տոպրակներդ կամ իմ դեպքում՝ ջութակս, ու դու առանց անհանգստանալու շարունակում ես ձիու քար լինել, քանի որ գիտես, որ քո իրերը ապահով են քո հարազատ անծանոթի ձեռքերում:
Դե ասա, էլ ո՞րտեղ կգտնես նման անհիմն, բայց միշտ արդարացված ազգային վստահություն: Ճիշտ ա, ինչպես մեր հին, մաշված, դարը ապրած ու լքված մարշրուտկաները, էնպես էլ մեր մի կտոր Հայաստանը շատ թերություններ ունի. մի գուցե ավելի շատ քան լավ կողմեր: Բայց հրաժարվելով մեր երկրից այդ թերությունների պատճառով, կորցնում ես նաև լավ կողմերը, որոնք էլ ուրիշ երկրում չես գտնի: Հայաստանը ունի քո կարիքը, բայց մի գուցե հիմա չգիտակցես, բայց դու ավելի շատ ունես Հայաստանի կարիքը:
Դե ասա, էլ ո՞րտեղ կգտնես նման անհիմն, բայց միշտ արդարացված ազգային վստահություն: Ճիշտ ա, ինչպես մեր հին, մաշված, դարը ապրած ու լքված մարշրուտկաները, էնպես էլ մեր մի կտոր Հայաստանը շատ թերություններ ունի. մի գուցե ավելի շատ քան լավ կողմեր: Բայց հրաժարվելով մեր երկրից այդ թերությունների պատճառով, կորցնում ես նաև լավ կողմերը, որոնք էլ ուրիշ երկրում չես գտնի: Հայաստանը ունի քո կարիքը, բայց մի գուցե հիմա չգիտակցես, բայց դու ավելի շատ ունես Հայաստանի կարիքը:
Friday, January 8, 2016
Hidden
She passes through life like a silent shadow, Prefers to be invisible than in pain and sorrow.
She'd rather hide in a corner,
Watch you from where you can't see her,
Be safe from your criticizing hatred
and indifferent rejection.
She'd rather be invisible than hurt,
Unknown than rejected,
Unseen than ignored.
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