This photo was taken on March 26, 2011

                     Today is my mom's birthday. 

She was born on March 26, 1933.  

She left us way too soon.  

She passed away from cancer at the age of 56. 

It affected all of us deeply.

            It is spring, a cold and unusual spring.  The whole world is devastated with the pandemic of coronavirus. Most people are staying home as directed by officials.  We can only go out to buy food and essentials. I have been a teacher for many years and for the first time in my career I am having to work from home. Just like my friends and many others, we are adjusting to a new way of life.

            I wonder what my mom would have said about this situation.  She was always looking for the good in every stressful situation. When she lived in Los Angeles area for a year and half, she wrote articles in Farsi which were published at Fogholadeh Persian Weekly Magazine. She gave suggestions in her articles as to what was the best way for parents to raise and deal with their children.  She believed that we have two channels of thoughts in our minds, a negative and a positive one.  She promoted for people to be more in tuned with positive channels through self-awareness. She believed by switching to positive thoughts we could suppress the negative thoughts and worries. She had gone through many challenges in her life.  Her parents were survivors of the Armenian Genocide, so she had to witness and endure the pain and suffering of her parents. Later in her life, she had to endure the pain of  several unexpected deaths in her family. The revolution in Iran and the ensuing political situation, and the war with Iraq didn’t help matters. About this same time she also had to deal with the distance of her two children who were residing in the U.S. at the time. Yet she was able to see the beauty in everything by choosing her mental focus.

            She was spiritual. She was never a judgmental person.  She talked and associated with people from all walks of life, with different backgrounds and means.  She truly loved people, especially children.  She really enjoyed helping people. She always felt it was her calling, her purpose of life.

            When my mother was sick I was far away from her.  Her death was unexpected and shocking to me and my brothers.  It took me many years to deal with it.  Finally, after 15 years I decided to publish her published articles in a magazine in a book.  But it was not an easy task, I cried a lot every time I opened the magazines. Twenty years after her passing I was able to translate the articles into English and publish them as a bilingual English/Farsi book. 

            Today I want to celebrate her kindness, wisdom, and generosity.  Let's look at the blessings in our lives. Let's listen to the birds singing and see the blossoms in the trees.  Let's celebrate life!

photo taken on 9.8.15

Walking and thinking.  It's time for self-reflection and evaluation of my beliefs and values. 

I have traveled the world extensively during the past 20 years.  Several times I have returned to the same country and have noticed many changes.  Some of the modernizations were not pleasant for me.  For example, I enjoyed the old movie theatres in Madrid.  In 1998 I watched Titanic in Spanish.  There were ushers to direct people to their seats.  These old theatres have been converted to concert halls.  The modern halls  are smaller than they used to be, like the ones in the United States.

One thought provoking observation I had, was most shops in different countries carried the same items, especially household goods that we can find at budget stores.  Everything looked the same and it was hard to find something unique to buy as souvenir. Even the Murano glass earnings and necklaces that are originally made in Venice, Italy are made in China or Turkey. Several years ago I bought many "Murano Glass" necklaces in Venice, but later I found them at a dollar store in Los Angeles.  Somehow it is good to have affordable items at different countries, but the world’s markets are flooded with these items.  We have over production.

In the last few years we heard a lot about keeping our earth safe.  But not many leaders and people are taking this issue seriously.  More than 30 years ago when I was suggesting  recycling to my friends and relatives, many of them would not show much interest to do so. Today, finally, the coronavirus is shaking us and making us to rethink our old ways. It is a worldwide wake up call. 

We do not need to go shopping and wasting our limited and precious time in the malls.  One bright side of this virus is that people are devoting more time to deep thinking, reading, and playing and spending time with their children.  We miss and now have much more appreciation for real socialization instead of texting and phone calls. It’s true what they say, you don’t appreciate and value what you have until you lose it.  I hope this crisis will end soon, but the lessons learned during the crisis will last a life time. Wake up and do something. 

Today I took a walk in Old Pasadena.  It brought back many sweet memories. 

It has just been a few weeks since we have been learning about the coronaviurs.  Everyday something new changes and affects our lives.  It is my school spring break.  The Glendale Unified School District decided to extend the break for another week to prevent the spread of this novel and unpredictable virus.  I have been spending a lot of time at home but I have gone out to buy food.  Today was sunny after a few days of rain so I wanted to take a walk.

First, seeing the famous Twin Palms Restaurants in ruins made me sad.  I have very nice memories of going there in the 1990s.  It was the hang out place for many singles.  It looked really run down.  Nobody wants to do business there.  It has gone through several different ownerships.  In a flash back moment I had some images from those fun days run through my mind.  The bands, the crowds, the friends...

Then I walked on the deserted streets.  Cheesecake Factory was completely empty during lunch time.  Mi Piace was closed.  My friends and I went to Mi Piace regularly.  Old Pasadena was the happening place in the late 90s. 

An overwhelming feeling of sadness took me over as a result of so many changes in the world today. It felt like everybody is being punished.  Rich and poor have to pay a price.  But at the same time I also felt happy and contented that I was able to walk.  I felt grateful to have had those fun and unforgettable memories.  I will always cherish the good days.

I hope my simple walk experience of today would help many people engage in some self-reflection, be appreciative of and value their good health, and all of the people around them.  I will not take the blessings of my life for granted.

Coronavirus and self-discipline

Hello,
It has been few weeks that we hear about coronavirus.  During the last two weeks there has been a lot of time about self-isolation.

I like to call it self-discipline.  For one day I enjoyed staying in my PJ, but after that I decided to be dressed and ready to work at home.  Work includes reading, cleaning, exercising, watching the news, and social media. I realized that taking a shower, getting dressed, and even wearing perfume is good for me.  I am the one to needs to take care of me.  I call this Me Time.  Well-groomed Me Time is essential for us. Being clean and presentable is not for just others, it's for me.

My spiritual and mental well being is as important as my physical health.

Let's have self-discipline during the times of crisis.  We can not just survive but thrive.

This photo was taken on Feb. 25, 20. 

My First Day of School

            “Mom, I don’t want to go to school.” I said as my mother was combing my hair to put the while bow on it.  It was September 23, the first day of fall and when school started in Tehran.  I was getting ready to go to the Armenian school to start first grade.

            “Gayayee, eat some breakfast,” said my dad in a tender tone.  I never had appetite in the mornings.  My older brother was starting fourth grade and the youngest brother was not school age yet. 

            As we were getting ready I could hear the Bugs Bunny cartoon on T.V. It was in Farsi.  Our home language was Armenian but all the television programs were in Farsi.  I had quit kindergarten and preschool.  But this time I did not have a choice. My mom had sewn my uniform, navy blue dress with two pockets and a white collar. In those days most girls wore white bows on their hair.  If they had long hair they put them in pony tail or two braids with the white ribbons tying the ends. I wore white socks with lace and black shoes. 

            My dad had bought us new briefcases.  I was excited because everybody was telling me, “Wow, you are starting school.”  I did not know why that was something exciting.  I wanted to stay home, play with my dolls, sit on the swing in our backyard, or watch cartoons.  

            How can this be fun? Spending time with strange kids was scary.  I didn’t want to sing or dance.  The first day of preschool was devastating.  Mom had left me there hoping I would adjust, but while the other kids were doing a circle dance to the piano music I sat next to the teacher crying.  I did not return to school. The following year I stayed in kindergarten for one week, but I did not play with the other kids.  During recess and lunch I searched for my older cousin to talk with her.

            On that sunny fall morning of 1963 to start my first grade class the whole family got into the red 1958 Plymouth.  The school was ten minutes away.  My mom took me to where I was supposed to line up.  Then they took my brother to the other school where upper-grader attended.  It was a block away. 

            The janitor brought a big hammer and hit the bell that looked like an upside down pot.  Everybody line up quietly.  First grade boys and girls, and fifth and sixth grade girls only attended that campus.  Even though this was a private Armenian school we followed the rules, boys and girls were separated after fourth grade.  We all sang the song praising the king of Iran, the Shah.  That was our flag salute.  After that we prayed in Armenian, and then we walked to our classrooms. 

The playground teacher was in charge of student’s behavior.  Mrs. Hamasik was famous for her toughness.  She yelled from the top of the stairs where she could see everybody.  We all faced her.  I wanted to turn around and look at my mom but I was so scared to turn my head.  We lined up in pairs. I did not know anybody in the line.  As I looked at the kids with their friends, I wish one of my cousins were there.  I wanted my mom to hold my hand.  But she had left to take my brother to the other campus.  Tears filled my eyes, but I was afraid to cry.  I saw Mrs. Hamasik yelling at some kids.  I was like a statue with tears.  My stomach was hurting.  I didn’t know what was going on.  The principal came forward on the second floor patio and said, “Ready, start.”  All the students started to sing.

        The school consisted of an old two story building from 19^th century.  The classrooms were upstairs.  They used the first floor for storage I climbed the big stairs and entered the corner classroom. There was a window in the back facing the ally. The window was high with bars, it was like a prison.  We could not see anything. 

            I sat next to a boy called Razmik.  The wooden desks had a flat part with a curved dent to hold pens and ink.  The rest of it had a tilt to hold the book in an angle.

            The homeroom teacher walked in.  We stood up to salute her.  She spoke Armenian and smiled.  She wrote the letters A and S on the blackboard.  We repeated. Then we started reciting the Armenian alphabet without recognizing the letters.  “Where is my mom?”  I thought.  “I don’t know the alphabet.  How come the other kids know how to recite the letters in order?”  Finally, the bell rang and we had ten minute recess.  I went to the playground and sat at a bench.  There were tall pine trees near the gate.  There was a tunnel passage to got to the large gate.  I was thirsty but I did not want to use the long sink with six faucets.  Kids could use their cups or use their hands to hold water to drink. 

            As he janitor rang the bell again we lined up to go inside. The language teacher for Farsi walked in.  She was Armenian but she had to speak Farsi.  My heart was pounding fast.  I was looking around and following what other kids were doing.  When she switched to Armenian I felt relieved.  She wrote the letters A and B and we practiced writing those letters.  To write A in Farsi you just draw a line from top to bottom like the letter I in English, but then there is a sign on top like an eyebrow.  They call it the hat.  It was hard to draw and make the hat right on top with the correct curve.  Letter b had a dot under it.

            It was time for the second recess.  I was hungry.  As I put my hand in the pocket of my uniform I found some nuts and raisons.  My mom had put them there. I smiled, that was a sweet surprise.  She knew I didn’t like eating breakfast but I would be hungry later on.   I was very skinny and to be healthy I needed to be chubby.  Everybody was worried.

               The third session was math.  Miss Hasmik walked in.  She had a beautiful smile.  Miss Hasmik was tall and slender, with long red hair. She looked like an Italian actress.  She asked us to stand up and clap our hands and chant.  She could tell we were not paying attention and needed to be energized. 

            I don’t recall the rest but I was so happy to see my dad.  After school we went to the local stationary store to buy the school supplies.  The store was packed with parents and kids.  The smell of the erasers and new books has stayed with me.

            As we arrived home, my brother ran to the backyard to play.  I took off my uniform and hang it on a chair.  Mom served us rice and stew.  After eating and playing a little bit, I sat down to do my homework.  The new notebooks and pencils were so clean.  I had homework in Armenian and Farsi.  Finally, I was a student.  Staying home was not an option.  I learned a new role. 

Saturday, May 18, 2013

National Organization for Women's Conference

Twice I have participated in women's conferences and both times I realized that I was the only Armenian there. More than 400 women participated in the conference organized by National Organization for Women, July 27 -29, 2014. Seven years earlier I went to Valencia, Spain to be part of Women In Black peace conference.

The participants which included delegates, board members, and some men who had gathered to discuss national issues related to women.   NOW is a grassroots organization that was founded in 1966.  Its main goal was to provide equal rights for women.  Today the Equal Rights Amendment has yet to be passed.  Men get higher salaries for performing the same duties at many jobs.  NOW is a multi-issue, multi-strategy organization that takes a holistic approach to women's rights.  

There were women from diverse ethnic backgrounds:  African-American, Native American, Latinas, and from  places like the Dominican Republic and India.  All had the same concerns about women's rights.  As I was listening to the speakers I thought about my Armenian sisters (women) in Armenia, U.S. and the diaspora.  When they talked about domestic violence it reminded me of Zaruhi Petrosyan who died in 2010 due to severe injuries inflicted by her husband and mother-in-law.   Zaruhi's case shed light on the domestic violence in Armenia and, as a result, the Coalition to Stop Violence Against Women was formed there. "Women's rights are human rights" is what I  heard during many of the workshops I attended.  In the 1980s I was working at an information and referral hotline where I talked to callers, assessed their needs, and referred them to organizations that could assist them.  Several times I had Armenian callers in need of a place to stay because they had to leave their abusive husbands.  Also, I had an Armenian man calling to request court ordered anger management classes.  Of course, it took me a while to understand what he really needed - he was embarrassed to say he hit his wife.  He said he needed to attend some classes.  As I probed more to see what kind of classes, I realized what had happened.  I tried to bring attention to  domestic violence in the Armenian community, but I was faced with denial.  The media did not want to touch it.

Later, when I moved from social work to teaching, I still saw domestic violence.  One of my student's father shot his wife and himself and left the three kids orphaned.  Another mother ran to our school and asked for refuge.  I called the Emergency Shelter Hotline and arranged a shelter for her and her three kids.  Of course, after few days she returned to her abusive husband.  Only after postings in  social media, our community is talking about this issue.  Zaruhi's case was a wake up call for all. After that incident Datev Community Outreach was founded in Glendale to bring awareness to the Armenian community.  Also, Armenian International Women's Association has many services for women in Armenia focused on domestic violence.  But we have a long way to go.

Armenian women living in U.S. we are subject to the same issues and concerns as the local women.  We have to deal with discrimination, domestic violence, equal rights and pay.  How many Armenian women  are involved in the local politics?  How do we raise consciousness about our issues?

In the summer of 2007 I attended the Women In Black peace conference in Spain. Again, I was the only Armenian participating.  Women In Black is a grass roots peace group started by Israeli women in Jerusalem in 1988. It was a reaction to the violations of human rights by Israeli soldiers in the Occupied Territories. The women decided to hold a vigil every Friday in central Jerusalem, wearing black clothing in mourning for all victims of either side and holding signs with the slogan "Down with the Occupation". Later, many Jewish women who felt critical of the policies of the Government of Israel formed their own, local Women In Black groups. Such groups took up a variety of local social and political issues, and the idea spread fast. It has now become an international movement. Women In Black has many active members in Belgrade. In the 1990s they were confronted by violence from nationalists and persecution by police.  They were called "witches" among other negative names. The worldwide Women in Black keep in regular contact via e-mail and the Internet and hold international conferences every two years. The movement has been growing in the United States since the war in Iraq, which is an important issue for many members of the movement. Some chapters of the movement also encourage men to participate, though the movement still consists mostly of women. Standing together in complete silence is a main activity of the group.

Armenian women need to get involved in grassroots organizations.  Our daughters can benefit from our fights and activism.  We have so many educated Armenian women who are active at some organizations, but it is essential to see them in variety of American and international groups.  We need community awareness for all but only with women's participation we can get equal rights and better working conditions, after all women's rights are human rights. 

July 2014

book review and photo by Karine Armen

Wow, what a book! "The Bastard of Istanbul" by Elif Shafak [Turkish author].

This book is a novel, yet it's a mixture of fiction and non-fiction. I really enjoyed the way the story unfolds. The reader can learn a lot about the Armenian genocide and the history of Turkey around 1890 - 1923.

Shafak's vocabulary is fascinating! The dialogues of the characters are very engaging and show Shafak's knowledge of the Armenian history, literature, culture, sub-cultures, political positions of different groups.

She is a daring and courageous writer. She was put on trial in Turkey and accused of "denigrating Turkishness" in 2006. Finally the charges were dropped. She is the daughter of a female diplomat who raised Shafak alone -- her father left when she was young -- the novelist said that she first became aware of the Armenian issue after Armenian militants killed dozens of Turkish diplomats across the 1970s and 1980s. She did not dismiss it with fear. She changed her fear to knowledge. Shafak learned about the cause and root of the issue. She does not take sides on the genocide debate, but criticizes Turkey for what she calls a "collective amnesia" of the atrocities. "Turks and Armenians are not speaking the same language," she explained. "For the Turks all the past is gone, erased from our memories. That's the way we Westernized: by being future-oriented... The grandchildren of the 1915 survivors tend to be very, very past-oriented."

Today she is a vanguard and part of a progressive Turkish intellectual who want to acknowledge the authrocities of the past and move on with peace and harmony.

I strongly recommend this book. I have bought few copies to give as gifts. I know several non-Armenians who have read the book and enjoyed it. It's history through story.

While reading this book I was making a lot of connections to my life. My grandparents were survivors of the genocide. Also, I visited Turkey in 1998 where one Turkish acquaintance asked me about the genocide and the woman who was translating the discussion felt uncomfortable.

April, 2007