Growing up in a traditional Armenian household, I have come to see the differences in the lives of the Armenian friends I have grown up with and the non-Armenian friends that I have grown up with. I think when it comes to accepting oneself, one should always have that little grain of confidence that allows them to take pride in where they actually come from, rather then to shield their rawest forms and mask it into something they are not.
Whenever someone asks me to share a fun fact about myself, the first thing I say is that, “I’m 100 percent Armenian.” Of course, some may ask why the need to emphasize 100 percent, well that is just because I have always been surrounded by people who are more than just one cultural background. “Oh yeah, my mom is half Irish and a quarter French and my dad is half Italian and I think a little bit of Swedish.”
At first as a child, I of course always wanted to adapt and be like the other kids, however when realizing that my life was a little different than those I went to school with, I learned that appreciating the differences in my life were the things that made me stand out rather than forced to fit in. Then again, there is nothing wrong with wanting to fit in; however, standing out is always that first step taken in embracing individuality...so I would like to believe that is.
Lunchtime during my elementary school years were quite eventful and actually kind of funny, now that I think about it, because I remember one of my close friends had to sit at the peanut table due to her allergies and the aide that watched all the kids had to check my lunchbox before I sat down at the peanut table with her, just to make sure nothing in my food contained nuts.
Now, the funny part is, my mom who somewhat reminds most people of Maria Portokalos from the iconic movie and my personal favorite, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," would always pack me a traditional Armenian lunch whether it was stuffed grape leaves called dolma, or cultural meatballs called kofte. Now me being as vulnerable as I can be, never told the aid that I had kofte because I did not think she would understand what I was saying; so in substitution, I would say, "I have cow for lunch."
OK. Let's pause. Do you think that's funny or is it just me? With the puzzled look on the aide's face, it was clear that my "cow" lunch was perfectly safe and passed the test for the peanut table.
Being Armenian has allowed me to accept my quirks, not reject them. Allow yourself to be vulnerable, it's OK.
