Pranes, Trains, and Avtomobiles

16:

Komine Castle in Shirakawa, Japan, where I lived as a Rotary Exchange Student

23:

Soviet-era monument on top of the Central Train Station in Yerevan, Armenia

Mental Sediment

I thought blogging in Armenia would be so easy. "There will be so much to describe! So much to write about! So much to expound upon!"

There is, truly. My head and heart seem full of ideas, full of questions, full of frustrations, full of things I want to discuss and pinpoint, highlight and delineate.

Fortunately (for the growth of my noggin' parts) and unfortunately (for the growth of my Google analytics page), the stuff I want to write about just isn't easy to write about. To be honest, I don't even know how to answer the question "So, how is it?" let alone discuss anything worth value. I'm still so new to this country, and I don't want to come off as expanding on something I don't understand (or ever will understand). So here's what I'd like to write about--and tell you all about--once the mental sediment calms down and condenses. If it ever will?

• The palpable, tangible pallor of revulsion that washed over my students' faces when I told them I believe gay people should be allowed to adopt children;
• The way the temperature in the room changes when the topic of Turkey or Azerbaijan comes up, as if sadness, hatred, and anger are particles that can fill the air;
• The idea that your country of origin dictates your religion, your traditions, your beliefs, the way you will bring up your family, and your sexuality--and God forbid if you ever question that;
• The insistence on a flat, one dimensional (and often contrived) narrative of "ARMENIA" as a country/identity, and its effect on the country's future economic/political growth (as well as its tourist industry)

TL;DR: 

The kind of things you remember when you're in a new place:

I never felt so safe as when my big brother, when he was in high school, would take me on night drives in his Jeep. We'd listen to music and we wouldn't talk much. The dips in the hills, the fog glowing around football field lights, the cold snap of the Tennessee autumn when he'd roll down the windows to smoke--that always said enough. The whole world happened during those drives and I remember exactly how I looked, when beyond the pine trees that would glide by in the window, I would stare into my own reflection.