I’ve had this idea for a while, but I could never quite find the words to articulate it. That is until the weekend of my bridal shower.
I woke up early Saturday morning – my nerves forcing me out of bed. I tidied up the apartment a bit. Although we didn’t invite anyone over, I knew we’d have guests. I showered and styled my hair a little different than usual. I swiped on some makeup and slipped into a little white blazer dress. I stared at myself in the mirror, examining every inch, turning this way and that, trying to imagine what everyone would see when they looked at me. I don’t know what I was so worried about. Everyone was nice.
The doorbell didn’t ring. There wasn’t a knock. My friends just walked straight into my apartment with gifts in their hands and smiles on their faces. They squealed and laughed, and we hugged and kissed. We’d traveled to see each other our whole lives. When you grow up in the AYF, that’s all you do. Get on a bus to Seminar, a plane to Olympics, into your car to get to church. But this time, they’d come all this way not for an AYF event. They’d come all this way just for me. We piled into the car sitting closer to each other than really necessary and made our way to the restaurant.
At this point, I usually get anxious. Nerves creep into my mind before social events. I overthink what I’ll say and how I’ll stand. I wonder who will be there and what the seating arrangement will be like. I worry I’ll be stuck in a conversation I don’t know how to continue or worse – be left out of one with no way in. Usually I get anxious, but walking into this particular restaurant on this particular day with my friends at my side, I felt grounded.
We pushed through the doors and entered the beautifully decorated space. Pairs of deep brown eyes looked up at me, and I found each one to be kind. Each to be familiar. A room full of women, some young, some old, but all here with love in their hearts and celebration on their minds. They’d come from all over, dressed for a Saturday brunch, with gifts and well wishes, darose kezis, and I just couldn’t believe this was all for me. Evil eyes hung about the room, the tables full of basturma and simit, a darling cake shaped like a cushion with the traditional phrase, “May you grow old together on one pillow.” I finally felt the ability to articulate this idea:
When looking for a life partner, many women look to their previous relationships with men. They look to their stoic Armenian fathers, their protective older brothers, their grandfathers who’d built our lives on top of their sacrifices. They think about their exes and how they felt in those years – the scrutiny of existing in a relationship under the microscope of a community such as ours. They look to find their future by reflecting on their past, but that just didn’t seem right to me. No, not when we have the most perfect model of a relationship – it is that with the Armenian women in our lives.
While I’ve been fortunate enough to be surrounded by the most loyal and loving men, it is the women in my life and my community who have laid down the foundation for love and raised the bar on what I expect from a counterpart. My mother taught me how to dance a haleh, and even if it’s traditionally done by men, there’s enough room for a line of women on the dance floor, too. My grandmother showed me the art of gift giving and receiving, how to bake butter into every meal and some of the strangest phrases that she swears come straight from Palu. My sister, my very first friend, has made me realize that just showing up for each other is sometimes enough and that while our schedules and our minds get busy and tired, we always have the strength to provide for our family – for each other. My aunts, blood related or not, those beautiful women who have been a constant source of love and support have modeled what it’s like to balance home and work and community: how to show up for ARS on Thursday night and church on Sunday morning and how to remember birthdays and remind their husbands of our names and relations when they inevitably forget at some hantes or another. My girlfriends have reminded me that stepping away sometimes can make us even closer. Through first years at Camp Haiastan and last years in the AYF through first loves all the way to hars ou pesa, while we grow and change, our bond can do the same.
I thank the Armenian women in my life for loving me unconditionally. For modeling what healthy relationships are like. For convincing me that I am worthy of one myself. For speaking to me with kind voices and uplifting words and for demanding their pasha sons do the same. For seeing me even when I make myself small and can’t seem to see myself. For kissing me on both cheeks and pulling me in for a tight hug at every hello and goodbye. For celebrating each other’s wins as if they’re your own and finding happiness in the happiness of us all. For laughing at the small stuff – you’ve taught me to do the same. For leaving me with words of advice and someone to look up to. There’s no force quite like an Armenian woman. You have been good to me, and now I know my future pesa will be too.
Arev Dinkjian
@ArevDinkjian
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"Love" - Google News
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