Tashian: My Trip to ‘Hayastan’

By Garo Tashian

The feeling I had as the pilot announced the beginning of our descent into Yerevan cannot be put into words. Catching a glimpse of my cousin’s face as he gazed at the lands of our ancestors for the first time made me feel a sense of appreciation for our Armenian heritage and culture, knowing the cause we fight for daily is progressively becoming a reality, one step at a time. To bring our diaspora, especially the youth, back to our motherland was once a dream to some, but now a reality for most.

Our trip to the 9th annual Pan-Homenetmen Games began on July 25, when a large group of Armenian Americans departed from the JFK International Airport in New York. After a grueling flight to Russia, our group grew larger as we met up with additional Homenetmen athletes and companions also anxiously awaiting the 2 p.m. arrival in Armenia.

This trip was like none other, at least for me. We, as Diasporan Armenians, had the opportunity to meet others like us from around the world and compete against top-tier athletes from the same organization, all while experiencing the enchantment of our homeland. The Eastern-American region competed with four teams, placing silver in three sports. Our victories were celebrated with a dinner-dance, more lavish than any I have ever attended. The Pavaron Restaurant accommodated over 1,000 Homenetmenagans and supporters dancing, eating, and enjoying each other’s company.

Yet, my experience was different than most. I did not participate as an athlete during the games; instead, I engulfed myself in to the daily lifestyle of local Armenians, an eye-opening opportunity. Living in an apartment with incredible views of the city, I woke up to children playing soccer in the courtyard, gentlemen engaged in a heated round of tavloo, and women collecting water from the pulpulak fountains, all with the beautiful backdrop of Mt. Ararat. I stepped out of my “American” comfort zone to explore the hidden corners of Yerevan and meet the faces I was seeing, attempting to understand their story.

The locals I met discussed the life-altering conditions in Syria that caused many to relocate. We related to one another as we shared our family stories, many troubles, and journey to Armenia or America. With our discussions, the existing community grew more aware of the severity of the atrocities taking place in Syria, and offered sympathy and support for those struggling, not only in Syria, but in Armenia as well. The locals also shared their frustrations towards local politics and the government in Armenia, saying they were not offering the citizens the support they need. But Armenia is no longer about the existing community and the refugees; the country is also being molded by students—students who are speaking out, protesting against the government (most recently, in order to keep the transportation fares intact), fighting for things they believe in.

Of all of the people I met, one in particular stood out to me: an older mother I met at a restaurant one afternoon. The melody of Armenian revolutionary songs caught my ear. It was this lady singing. Intrigued, I approached her as she began to explain the story of her son who was at war. Anticipating his return, she had prepared a feast with every possible dish, the presence of her family, and the best cognac, all to be shattered by word of her son being thrown in jail. She began to cry in front of me, then looked at me and made me promise her one thing: She made me promise to always remain close to my mother. Then she began singing her songs again wholeheartedly as she slowly walked away.

One of the biggest lessons I took back from Armenia was to be thankful. Seeing the amount of people, our people, who aren’t nearly as fortunate as most Diasporan Armenians should urge us all to want to make a change, so that one day they, too, can be fortunate. We should want to make a difference in Armenia, for it is our moral duty to make it flourish, and to proudly repatriate those streets, one day calling it our home.