Don't take them with you

He lost his job and he killed his wife, his two sons , his mother-in-law and himself. Stupid stupid man. You probably deserved to die but who gave you the right to take them with you. Those innocent human beings that may have enjoyed life even after your tragic demise. I'm no stranger to thoughts of suicide. When I was a teenager any disagreement with my parents would make a good excuse to kill myself, in adulthood I have had my share of tragedies and disappointments to fill a few life times and again suicide has always seemed the easy way out. But easy for whom? It certainly is easy and a final end to the suffering of the person committing it but for the family and every loved one left behind it's a tragedy to be dealt with for the rest of their lives. Only cowards want to take others with them in death. The person who drives the wrong way in a freeway to kill himself is sure to take a few innocents with him as well, or the morons who park their car on train tracks. In any suicide there are a number of people to blame like the wife, husband or the parent who didn't see it coming. In my non expert opinion most suicides are predictable and even preventable. Most people with a little common sense can see signs of depression and should offer help. Most people who commit suicide have been thinking of doing it for a long time and prepare for it. Families should be vigilant to detect signs. Depression, hopelessness, withdrawal, giving things away, not making long term plans, putting their affairs in order are a few signs of impending suicide. In this day and age when every kind of information and resource is a click of a mouse away people should not resort to this most cowardly way of getting out of trouble. Loosing a limb let alone loosing a job is not a good reason to kill one self. But for Gods sake or your family's sake if you want to kill yourself do it but don't take anyone with you. Let everyone choose when and how they want to die.

My Love

I often listen to Armenian music in my car. I normally can't do this at home because my husband protests that most of the songs I listen to are too sad, or my daughter remembers that she could actually listen to music on the CD player and wants to change it. Any way, some things are better done in solitude. The beauty of most the songs I listen to amaze me, specially the very old folk songs or songs by Sayat Nova. At least with the latter we know who the author is but with the folk songs the authors are always unknown. For a nation who was persecuted, massacred, and driven from her homeland for centuries the existence of this much profound poetry is nothing short of a miracle. When you listen you can picture the natural beauty of the land, the people's dreams, their pain and suffering and yet there is always hope, pride, and gratitude. Through the musical instruments used, I can hear the brooks gurgling, the sparkle of the springs, the cry of a broken heart. Through the words I can picture lake Sevan shimmer, Araz river overflow, spring come and snow fall. It breaks my heart to hear a song in which a mother tells her son to grow and become a solder to fight for the defenseless Armenian nation and only then she would bless him. In one song a mother is praising her daughter's beauty and wants her to go out into the field to fetch water knowing she might be kidnapped or worse but wants her to enjoy life and the new spring. Evey song I hear is testimony to the tortured life the Armenians lived under Turkish rule. The threat of raids, mass murders or forced deportations were everyday life occurrences and yet they made poetry and song that lifts the spirit and makes me understand the purpose of humankind. Since I can remember and had a sense of self I have been proud of my nation, of my people, only by knowing more about everything Armenian I have fallen in love all over again. I regret everyday that I don't live in Armenia and I yearn that someday I shall. Every single song and poetry or book that I read reminds me that my final destination is Armenia. I want to live and die among people who have such rich cultural heritage and have given me such joy my entire life.

Without Memories

I remember our mountainsides

The cool gurgling of the springs

The eternal fires of the shepherds

My mountain deer lovers' black eyes

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains lush with flowers ...

I remember my mothers' voice

The sheep grazing on the rocks

The sweet sound of the shepherd's flute

Sitting under the dark clouds

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains filled with flowers 

Our mountain flowers are in my heart

Their sweet smell is in my heart

Flower scented, mountain air drenched

Our song's springs are in my heart

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains luxuriant with flowers

Lyrics by Gooson Ashod

Translated from Armenian by

Armine Zohrabian

Who are we without our memories? I wasn't raised in the mountains of Armenia which I regret immensely, but the song speaks to my yearnings of my childhood in the dusty streets of Arak. I remember our quaint small church, the kindergarten, our school, the pageantry of our New Year celebrations, the tall Christmas tree, the Santa Clause and his sack full of goodies. Our school chorus singing enthusiastically year after year all the wonderful songs that filled our hearts with pride and deep sorrow. The songs we sang gave us visions of a motherland we had never seen. We sang about heroes we had never met, sacrifices they made we could never be fortunate enough to make. But in general we were happy children, we had good parents, good teachers, a peaceful predictable life. The years rolled by and we always celebrated New Year, Christmas, Easter and all the other big and small traditional Armenian holidays. Every year in elementary school when the school year was over on our way home we would throw away our old notebooks and take off our uniform before getting home and then our summer adventures would begin. For me and my sisters it was playing hide and seek in the evenings with our cousins, it was bicycle rides at nights and playing endless games of tag and dodge ball. We payed house and school and we had lots of dolls. But what I most liked about summers, was that I could read to my hearts' content. After tiring of games I would stand in front our large library and would chose a fat volume. Sometimes I would ask my fathers' opinion and he would gladly recommend something. I mostly loved historical epics. It was awe inspiring to read about Armenian history, our great past civilizations and dynasties, all the great battles and minor wars. I learned who I was and where I came from through these books. They gave me self confidence and self worth. They were the building blocks of my cultural education. I read other books also, books by well known Russian, English and French writers. Every time my father would go to the capital, Tehran he would bring new books along with dolls and clothes. And then, there were our friends, school friends, friends from youth groups and cultural organizations. Friends that shared our school days, summers and winters and everything else in between. We partied together, danced and sang together and grew up together. Friends that even after thirty years of separation still remember each other and are happy to see each other and say hello. We would all be hollow soles without our memories of the past. We are who we are today because of who we were then. 

I miss everyone and everything in my childhood but, that's life.                   

Unanswered Questions

I was probably 5 years old. I don't remember why but I was standing in our enormous garden that had a big green wooden gate and I was calling my mom who was in the house 200 feet away from me. I kept calling mom mom mom mom mom mom. I called so much that that the word mom lost its meaning. Suddenly I realized that I wasn't calling anymore, I was thinking who made up the word mom? Why are we supposed to call this individual mom? Who was the first person who used it it? I thought about it for a long time but had no answers. Another day my sister and I were talking I was maybe 6 or 7 and she was 10 years old. I asked her if she knew what God was. I remember clearly what she did. She put a dot on a piece of paper with her pencil and said, "Do you see this dot? no matter how small anything is in this world God can see it, you can't hide anything from God". I already had enough religious education from my church and school that I knew that God was supposed to be this almighty being, who was loving, forgiving and most importantly punishing the evil, person. My next question to her was "If this is true, how could God let the Turks kill one and a half million Armenians who had built one thousand and one churches in the city of Ani, who were the first nation on Earth to accept Christianity? Why was I praying every night and asking God to keep my mom and dad and sisters and brothers safe and healthy, obviously God didn't have the power to do that." I don't remember what my sister's answer was, it must not have been convincing enough because I stopped praying and stopped believing in Gad from that moment. I asked my sister recently if she remembered that conversation and she said no. I suppose the reason I remember it so clearly is because that was a turning point in my life.

I'm Still thinking

The last day I worked was August 27 so I have not been driving much. As my blog name implies I did much of my thinking when I was driving to and from work. But even though I haven't been driving I haven't stopped thinking. The only difference is that I have a lot more time to think. Not that I want to, I just do. When you don't have to occupy yourself with a paying job and you are home alone, you think. I think when I'm watching TV, I think when I'm washing dishes or cleaning the toilet. I think when I water the plants or clean the pool. I think before I fall sleep and as soon as I wake up. I always wake up between 6 and 7 and the first thing I do is make coffee. The second thing I do is to take my coffee and cigarettes to my patio and sit in my usual chair, drink coffee and smoke, smoke and drink until I think I'm awake. 

This is where all the thinking starts. I look at all the trees in my back yard and think what possessed my husband to plant all these fruit trees so close to each other. We have 3 pomegranate trees, 3 figs, 3 lemons, 2 apricots, one orange, one persimmon, one pear, and one grape vine. You would think we don't have to pay a penny  for fruits all summer but we do. There are so many other fruits that we like to eat specially melons which are my husband's favorites. 

I think about my fruitless job hunt and wounder how long I can survive without one. I think about the heartless corporation that I used to work for that forced me to quit when the going got tough. I think about the CEO s who line their pockets with millions as their companies are going belly up. I think about the mortgage brokers who sold loans to anyone who asked just to make commissions, and caused the state we are in today, with the same people not being able to pay their obligations and bankrupting major banks. Most of us like to think that people get what they deserve but that is not true. The more I think about things in general the more I believe that life has never been fair. It wasn't fair for Al Gore to lose the election, it wasn't fair for George Bush to become president twice. It wasn't fair that Elvis died so soon or John Lennon to be killed. 

The trees in my back yard are twisted and overgrown just to get some sunshine and that is not fair either.               

The Price We Paid

When I was a kid I read Uncle Tom's Cabin and that was the first time I understood racism. I was also subject to it in Iran when in high school some of our Muslim teachers suggested we convert from Christianity to Islam. When I came to America in 1975 I thought that racism was a thing of the past. I thought that since slavery was abolished and later by the passage of Civil Rights every one in America enjoyed the same rights and was treated equally in all aspects of their life, careers, schooling, politics. Little did I know. Even though I lived in Iran only until I was 19 years old, I knew that Armenians were a minority, we were well tolerated and we lived side by side, equal but led separate lives. I knew that the Jewish  people were not liked but the last Prime Minister of Iran in the Shah's time was Jewish. In 1979 with the hostage crisis all the Iranian students, Muslim and Christian were subject to profiling, finger printing, and having our mug shots taken. After that anyone that found out we were from Iran was hostile towards us. It did not matter that we were not politically active, or that we were here when the hostages were taken, what mattered was that we were from the same country. 

In my last vacation I visited Armenia and saw a lot of Iranian Muslims that had established businesses there. At first I was resentful and angry. I thought that the government should not allow this. Then I thought, wait a minute isn't this what we Armenians and half of the world population is doing in America? We come here get educated, get married, have kids, get jobs, and if anyone tries to curtail our freedoms we raise hell. People move about, they go where they can find employment, happiness and freedom. We do not live in an ideal world. An ideal world has never existed and never will. Some countries have diamonds, some have oil, some have cheep labor or strategic advantages. The rule of the jungle still applies. The powerful take advantage of the weak. The powerful colonize, invade, and occupy the weaker countries. All people and governments want to survive and they will do anything to that end. 

My husband and I came to the US to study, get a degree and go back to Iran. We didn't go back because Iran had a revolution, threw out their king who was a US puppet, and established Islamic law.  Both our parents advised us to stay put. We felt lonely, uprooted, unwanted and unloved. We didn't come here to stay. We had temporary lives through out our student days. We didn't buy real cars or furniture. The junk that the graduating students left behind became our stuff. We were frugal because we felt that the money that our parents sent us was only for tuition and not for leisure. And now that the time had come to go home we couldn't. We missed so much of our family life. Our sisters and brothers got married and had kids that we never saw. Christmases and Esters lost all meaning without our families. They suffered and we suffered and no matter how many letters or phone calls we were home sick all the time. But in time the pain got dull and we got on with our lives. We became citizens, had jobs paid taxes and voted. All this time our names, our faces and our accents made us targets for bigotry and discrimination. Sure there are numerous prominent Armenians in the U.S. they must have overcame enormous obstacles or have had fantastic luck or well placed friends, but us, the average immigrants aren't so lucky. We always need to work harder, be smarter, have more education and wait longer or forever for that brass ring. Why do you think most immigrants have their own businesses? Because they have a much harder time getting jobs, becoming managers, or CEOs. Today in America the minorities that supposedly have some legal protection against discrimination are the African Americas and the Mexicans/Latinos. The Europeans are in vogue because of their unique English accent as evidenced in their increasing numbers on TV.  The rest of us who might have come here from any Middle Eastern country, Arab country, or any where else not too familiar to Americans, we suffer discrimination daily in our lives. Most of us keep our mouths shot because we think we are lucky enough to be here and that in itself should be enough. I personally feel like an unwanted distant relative barely tolerated and try to make my presence very inconspicuous. 

I used to be a proud member of my family and clan and had no feelings of inferiority, but living in this country for 33 years has changed my psyche. Because of covert discrimination I have become very cynical, non trusting, bitter and resentful. I have never felt that I belong, included or free. This is the price I paid.

The Black Complex

Recently I got got an email directing me to a news story about an Armenian gang who call themselves Armenian Power. From what I gathered was that they were involved in debit card fraud by stealing card numbers and pin codes and taking millions of dollars from the victims. The reporter also said that apparently the leader orchestrated the whole operation from prison. Then there were pictures of the gang leader and the members with their shaved heads and tattoo  covered bodies. I was so overwhelmed by so many different emotions that even I was surprised of my reaction. I was furious, disgusted, ashamed, and very saddened. True I've been known to overreact to certain issues or situations but in all honesty that was me a long time ago. Like most people who have heard or seen a lot, I'm also desensitized and almost nothing shocks me anymore. But seeing these young Armenian thugs was very unsettling. To me they are a bunch of Black-gang wannabe criminals. Actually they dressed more like Mexican gangs.  What made my blood boil was the use of the Armenian flag in their insignia. How pathetic that they use their genius to commit crimes that they surely know will land them in prison one day. Why couldn't they use that creativity to start a new "Google" or "Yahoo" or"My Space" or any thing else that would make them billions without committing crime. How dare these scums use the sacred tricolor as their symbol. What unfortunate parents sire them and did not teach them the history of the great Armenian nation, and the long, bloody and tortured road it has taken to finally be an independent country and be able to fly that beloved flag. I'm secure in my knowledge that they do not represent the Armenian community in the Unites States or in Armenia. I know full well that we have the full spectrum of respected and honorable professions represented by American-Armenians. Anyone worth their salt knows that. That is not what upsets me. What upsets me is their use of the word Armenian and the flag. They can call themselves "A Bunch of Crooks", "Criminal Bastards",  "The None Achievers" or the best one yet "Mommy I Think I'm Black". Oh another thing, the reporter said that some of the criminals are here illegally or have been deported and added that unfortunately the government of Armenia says they are not her citizens. Needless to say most governments would deny their citizenship too, but I think they may be citizens of the other ex-soviet republics but just because they have Armenian last names they are thought of as Armenian citizens. As far as I'm concerned they could all go to hell.