I was nearly five the first time I learned that words could make people disappear. It was a beautiful spring evening in 1974, an ordinary weekday in our apartment in Yerevan. My grandmother and I sat at the small table on our fourth-floor balcony watching our neighbors on the street below go about their evening…
Category: ancestral wounds
Between Worlds: Why I Write the Stories I Needed
I still remember the first time I found a book with an Armenian character in my local library. I was maybe twelve, scanning the shelves like I always did, not really expecting anything as I flipped through pages of books that looked interesting. Then it happened. I saw that name—unmistakably Armenian—and my heart actually jumped….
Through Our Mothers’ Eyes
Strength passes from parent to child, and in our patriarchal society, it passes from mother to daughter like a sacred inheritance, but so does the shadow of trauma. For Armenians, like many other cultures, this legacy is both a blessing and burden carried forward through time. It flows through our blood, whispered in lullabies and…
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