You love me.
You love me when I’m your daughter’s camp counselor.
You know I’ll make sure she wears clean socks every day.
You love me in the industrial church kitchen.
Melting butter and browning egg noodles for you to enjoy at the church bazaar.
You love me on the AYF executive.
I made the Google Drive they still use as a template today. That year, there was an all-women executive board.
You love me setting up for your hantess.
Rolling out the big round tables and placing the silverware in the right spots. Sometimes an event just needs a woman’s touch.
You love me dressed femininely Sunday night at Olympics.
You look so pretty. Yes, but did you know I completed a pentathlon this morning?
You love me as the Junior advisor.
I’m just the person to guide our youth. A positive role model for your daughters. So motherly.
You love me for learning how to roll dolma.
A tradition passed down from woman to woman. The keepers of our history. The carriers of our future.
You love me dancing on a stage in my taraz.
To be a woman is to perform.
You love me as your kids’ babysitter.
Ten bucks an hour, a price you set yourself and I too politely accepted. Wouldn’t it be crass as a woman to ask for more money?
You love me as the secretary for AYF Convention.
I listen well, and without a chance to speak myself, I record every detail from everyone else. Their words will live forever in the archives while mine die on my lips.
You love me as a member of the ARS.
Gossiping and chineh–ing and whatever else the ladies do.
You love me at my own wedding.
You make such a beautiful bride. You’ll be a great mom, too. What does one have to do with the other?
You love me in the church choir.
Singing soprano and barred from stepping foot on the altar.
You love me as a Dinkjian.
At least they have one son to carry on the family name. I didn’t change my last name, for your information.
You love me on the haleh line. The novelty of my mom, my sister and I leading.
It’s traditionally a man’s dance, you know. Yes, we know. We just don’t care.
You love me as the keynote speaker at your flag raising event.
I’m well spoken and educated. I’m qualified, and I’m passionate.
You love me as a rapid responder.
With what little platform I have, I shine the light unto you. Post and repost, share, like and subscribe.
You love me when I stand up for Armenians around the world, shifting my gaze to wherever it’s needed.
And when I ask you to stand up for me, for this Armenian in this world, suddenly you’re unwilling. Your feet unyielding. All your power invested somewhere else. Unable to make a decision. To choose between two candidates who haven’t catered to you, as if you’ve not been catered to for centuries.
You love me while you say don’t hate me for how I voted.
But it’s not you who should be afraid; isn’t it obvious I’m the one who’s hated here?
You love me and support me. You’ll protect me and fight for me.
So long as I am an Armenian first, and a woman somewhere else down the line.
But just as we cannot imagine Armenia without the sanctity of Christianity,
I cannot imagine myself without the painful certainty of my womanhood.
And if you do not love that about me, you do not love me at all.
Forgive me as I mourn my role in this community. It has let me down.
Arev Dinkjian
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Well said.
Beautifully said and very heartbreaking.
Wow Arev!—Quite an impassioned proclamation unfortunately most often falling on ears that don’t hear and eyes that don’t see.
Sometimes grace and kindness is misinterpreted by the uninformed and unaligned as accommodating and weak.
They’re just wrong.
Bravo!! This is how we raise our Armenian girls!
Louder for the ignorance in the back row.