Oftentimes I find myself being asked what nationality I am. “You’re Spanish, right?” No. “You’re Jewish?” No. “You’re definitely, like, Arabic or something, right?” No, again. First of all, dark, curly hair does not automatically mean a person is Spanish. Second, being Jewish is not a nationality, it’s a religion. Third, “Arabic” is a language. I think my favorite part of this whole guessing game is the look on the person’s face when I tell them I’m Armenian. “You’re a what?” Uh, you heard me. I said Armenian. You know, like from that little Christian country called Armenia that is bordered by Iran, Georgia, Turkey, and Azerbaijan? See, it doesn’t make me angry that my peers, as well as educators, are unaware of this small country with such rich history, indescribable artifacts, and breathtaking scenery. What bothers me is that they are, for most of the time, close-minded to hearing what I have to say.
I remember walking around in elementary school being embarrassed of who I was. I come from a suburban, mainly white-dominated community of Americans that are hardly aware of their own family’s ancestry. I was always the odd one out. On Saturdays, while my friends were having birthday parties, going to soccer practice, or even ballet, I was forced to spend my day in Armenian school. Though at the time I was upset about missing all these “cool” activities, I learned to read, write, sing, dance, and recite poems in Armenian. I also was lucky enough to learn about some of the greatest Armenian musicians, inventors, writers, and singers, as well as the “lost” history of my ancestors—the ones that lost their land, were forced to change religion, were burned, tortured, and massacred.
Certainly, Armenian school wasn’t the only opportunity I had to learn about my culture. I became a member of organizations such as Homenetmen, which taught me to be an Armenian scout, leader, and survivor, the AYF (Armenian Youth Federation), which continues to teach me about present-day Armenia, and of course, Nayiri Dance Ensemble, which taught me passion for cultural dance. These organizations have provided me with the greatest understanding of where I come from; they gave me an understanding of the past, the base for the present, and a comprehension for the future of Armenians. Most importantly, they gave me my best friends: people I was able to connect to without having to try to be someone else. I am able to relate to them in two languages, and able to experience new things with them, including going to Armenia for the first time.
Because I was lucky enough to have these experiences, I realized what being Armenian truly means and how it has taught me several lessons no educator is able to teach. It has taught me to never give up on a cause that is incredibly crucial to me--even if it means fighting for 100 years. It has taught me that I must always be willing to educate, no matter how frustrating it may be. It has taught me how to be strong, prideful, and courageous in all my endeavors. It has taught me that being able to communicate in two languages isn’t such a bad thing after all. It’s actually the greatest thing in the world, especially when you tell an American “yes esh em” means “hi, how are you?” which, for the record, it does not. It has taught me to be myself and be comfortable with sharing who I am and where I come from. Being Armenian is one gift I’ve received that I’d never, ever want a receipt for. I am unbelievably blessed and can’t imagine being anything, or anyone else.
