The clock struck midnight and I was still trying to park my car on his busy street. Fifteen minutes later I was knocking on his door ready for a quick trill. As I walked in his sterile apartment it hit that I was tired, sleepy, and just not that into him.
We had met four years ago at an alumni mixer; he was short, handsome, and perfect on paper. Last month he came messaging back into my world, though I knew I didn’t feel anything for him I thought I should give it a shot. Cause that is what you do when you want to find someone to love, you give them a chance. In this Post Bond world, I had found myself going back to my roots, back to my family, back to Armenians, back to being Me. The interesting thing was that dating and finding a man to be with was all of a sudden something that had moved to the back burner. It had left me tired, uninterested, and unsatisfied. Ten minutes in the door, I said I was feeling sick from my sushi dinner and went home.
“You’re that girl that Jack Johnson sings about.” Okay? I read over his text again. Who is That Girl? Doesn’t Jack Johnson sing about Curious George, the monkey? “Hope.” Fuck. Am I really That Girl??
For the past six months I had been roaming in this thing called life like a lost child. Hope? Sure. Love? Nah. Sex? Please. The Good on Paper had just compared be to a song about a woman who is lost, confused, living in a jaded existence. The sad truth was that that’s who I was slowly becoming. Someone hoping that she did not end up alone.
After hearing such a comment from a man that I was just not that into I did what any other girl would do, I changed my hair. A cut, dye, and new style later I secretly prayed that my new due would accomplish whatever a new hairstyle was supposed to. In my case it was numerous comments around the fact that I had changed my hair and that it looked “cute!” The next step was to clean out the rut that was my closet. I stood in front of the fabulous mess that was my wardrobe and threw out everything and anything that reminded of the person that I was becoming, a bitter, empty, and confused child. It was out with the faux and in with the vrai. Three trash bags, two glasses of wine, and six episodes of “The Real Housewives of New York” later I threw on my New Balances and went out with my dad for burgers.
Having moved back home with my parents made me feel like the prodigal daughter. I had ventured off to the world of recklessness, sin, and emptiness to only find myself back in the comfort of my family. That summer I slept, ate, and relearned the process of starting over. By the end of August I had a new job I loved, a family I connected with, and a new wardrobe to match my improved self.
I met him during my first day of work, all six feet of him. He was tall, dark, and handsome. I never thought much of him only that his Armenian was too perfect. I saw him at work once a week and greeted him, very professionally. I found myself attracted to this forbidden fruit but quickly turned off any hope of him being able to handle me.
For the rest of the year I had become married to my job, which will remain a mystery in order to protect my identity. Nevertheless I was thrown into a whole new world of the Armenian community. With each project, each interview, each event I was glad that I silently decided to follow my dreams. Before I knew it, I was getting dressed to celebrate the starting of the New Year. 2009, what it year it had been and how ready was I to see it in the past. Unlike the years before me, I was ready to find love but not actively searching for it. I was tried of running, hunting, and working towards building something with nothing. I rang in the New Year with copious shots of tequila with my mom, numerous toasts with my dad, and wild stories with my brothers. At the struck of midnight I felt something I had ever felt, maybe it was the fact that I was with my family and happy, maybe it was the fact that I was truly free, maybe it was the fact that I knew that life is possible, or maybe it was the fact that I believed I will find true love.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Victoria's Chronicles Winter 2010
My dress was hanging loosely around my hips while I tried to my make my way through the crowded line. It had felt like I was in solitude for the past four months - without food, water, light, or people. As I made my way towards the bar, I realized that there certainly were plenty of fish. I was back on the meet market and looking for a quick score.
Five minutes in, a second year law student hounded me down; I was single, he was cute, and that was all I needed. For the past year or so, I was going through my life with blinders, shielding me from the world that I once believed to have as my oyster. I found myself in love with a fantasy, desperately trying to make it a reality. After weeks of being bedridden with tears and copious amounts of Marlboro lights, I was ready to face the post-Bond world. It all started when we decided to take the next step in our relationship. Moving in with Bond seemed like the right thing to do. I was in love, my apartment lease was coming up, and having the beach in my front yard was too tempting.
It all started with me looking for one of my one too many shoes, when an odd-looking box grabbed my attention. It was buried deep in the closet, neatly placed next to his Hugo Boss loafers. My search was interrupted by the ping of my Blackberry; it was him texting to say he would not be home for dinner. Things were going great with him, or so I thought. I had slowly been molded into a Bond girl, sans the ability of firing a gun or disarming a bomb.
As I looked up from the closet floor, I caught my reflection in the closet mirror and to my horror, I didn’t know who was looking back at me. There in front of me was a life that I had no idea about… a life that the man I was in love with had, a life that was his reality. I opened Pandora’s Box and picked up one of the letters and read it. “*****, I am forwarding you a copy of the reception details. I can’t wait to finally be your wife and have you in London. 4 more months!” The letter was post marked last week. Bond was engaged. I turned back to the box and knew what I had to do.
As I pulled into my parent’s driveway with my entire life packed in the trunk, I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or what I was going to say. I crawled into the guest room bed and fell asleep. I woke up to the summer sun beating down on my face. I felt like I had just gone through a battle and the heat was not helping my aching body. I walked into the kitchen to find my mom drinking her morning coffee. I asked, “Do you want to take a trip?”
Four nights of too much wine, rich food, flamboyant men, excessive shopping, and a haircut by Ms. Divine later, I returned back to L.A. and hit the meet market. With a not so clean track record of dating the odars, I decided to give the Armenian thing a chance… which brought me to this Los Angeles hot spot filled with possibilities.
As this crazy law student tried to woo me with his boyish charms, I came to learn that he was third generation born and raised in the states, 23, and had what seemed like ADD. Two weeks in the little short-lived affair, I was desperately avoiding calls, texts, bbms, video chat requests, facebook messages, and all other means of contact. My rebound had turned into the boy who has no sense of what it means to give space. 30 missed calls and 10 “I’m just not that into you” texts later, he got the message.
Having stepped back into the dating world, I had forgotten all the types of men that are out there. With crazy law student thrown back in the sea, I found myself loving being single… being just me. That’s when I had the thought, why not date myself? Instead of cooking for a man, I cooked for myself, instead of getting dolled up for a night out with the beau, I was getting dolled up for a night with me. Instead of what he wanted/liked/needed, I satisfied my own desires. As the weeks passed by, I came to realize that I was becoming more content, at ease, and for once my life was starting to fall into place.
It had been two months since the day I had walked out of the Bond’s life when he came emailing into mine. “I’m sorry. I want to get together and talk.” Talk? I did what I knew was best for me. What I knew I had to do for myself. I stopped any further contact with a final message:
“With the New Year among us I want to have a fresh start. I have nothing left to say to you and nothing left to hear. I don’t need your apologies or your closure. You fucked up.” I clicked send and turned off my laptop. And just like that, I officially released myself. After what had seemed like a lifetime, I am back in the game. I don’t know who my players are going to be, but I sure hope they can keep up.
Five minutes in, a second year law student hounded me down; I was single, he was cute, and that was all I needed. For the past year or so, I was going through my life with blinders, shielding me from the world that I once believed to have as my oyster. I found myself in love with a fantasy, desperately trying to make it a reality. After weeks of being bedridden with tears and copious amounts of Marlboro lights, I was ready to face the post-Bond world. It all started when we decided to take the next step in our relationship. Moving in with Bond seemed like the right thing to do. I was in love, my apartment lease was coming up, and having the beach in my front yard was too tempting.
It all started with me looking for one of my one too many shoes, when an odd-looking box grabbed my attention. It was buried deep in the closet, neatly placed next to his Hugo Boss loafers. My search was interrupted by the ping of my Blackberry; it was him texting to say he would not be home for dinner. Things were going great with him, or so I thought. I had slowly been molded into a Bond girl, sans the ability of firing a gun or disarming a bomb.
As I looked up from the closet floor, I caught my reflection in the closet mirror and to my horror, I didn’t know who was looking back at me. There in front of me was a life that I had no idea about… a life that the man I was in love with had, a life that was his reality. I opened Pandora’s Box and picked up one of the letters and read it. “*****, I am forwarding you a copy of the reception details. I can’t wait to finally be your wife and have you in London. 4 more months!” The letter was post marked last week. Bond was engaged. I turned back to the box and knew what I had to do.
As I pulled into my parent’s driveway with my entire life packed in the trunk, I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or what I was going to say. I crawled into the guest room bed and fell asleep. I woke up to the summer sun beating down on my face. I felt like I had just gone through a battle and the heat was not helping my aching body. I walked into the kitchen to find my mom drinking her morning coffee. I asked, “Do you want to take a trip?”
Four nights of too much wine, rich food, flamboyant men, excessive shopping, and a haircut by Ms. Divine later, I returned back to L.A. and hit the meet market. With a not so clean track record of dating the odars, I decided to give the Armenian thing a chance… which brought me to this Los Angeles hot spot filled with possibilities.
As this crazy law student tried to woo me with his boyish charms, I came to learn that he was third generation born and raised in the states, 23, and had what seemed like ADD. Two weeks in the little short-lived affair, I was desperately avoiding calls, texts, bbms, video chat requests, facebook messages, and all other means of contact. My rebound had turned into the boy who has no sense of what it means to give space. 30 missed calls and 10 “I’m just not that into you” texts later, he got the message.
Having stepped back into the dating world, I had forgotten all the types of men that are out there. With crazy law student thrown back in the sea, I found myself loving being single… being just me. That’s when I had the thought, why not date myself? Instead of cooking for a man, I cooked for myself, instead of getting dolled up for a night out with the beau, I was getting dolled up for a night with me. Instead of what he wanted/liked/needed, I satisfied my own desires. As the weeks passed by, I came to realize that I was becoming more content, at ease, and for once my life was starting to fall into place.
It had been two months since the day I had walked out of the Bond’s life when he came emailing into mine. “I’m sorry. I want to get together and talk.” Talk? I did what I knew was best for me. What I knew I had to do for myself. I stopped any further contact with a final message:
“With the New Year among us I want to have a fresh start. I have nothing left to say to you and nothing left to hear. I don’t need your apologies or your closure. You fucked up.” I clicked send and turned off my laptop. And just like that, I officially released myself. After what had seemed like a lifetime, I am back in the game. I don’t know who my players are going to be, but I sure hope they can keep up.
Love? Or the Armenian Family?
Last night I started to write a letter to Bond, who had flown off to the Middle East for work. With each passing day I tell myself that things will get easier, but as I become more invested I have come to lose my heart, self, and ability to believe. The events that lead to my letter were a combination of guilt and fear that Bond and I can never be.
I was visiting my family who was celebrating the birth of my older brother’s first child. By the end of the evening the cognac was gone and every one was in state of drunkenness. As everyone went off to do his or her own thing I found myself with my brother in my parent’s kitchen. “Look, I know you are seeing someone. You might not be saying anything, but I know. I was waiting for you to bring it up, but I am telling you now. Nip it in the bud.” The last line was a like a punch in the stomach. I have thrown out the hints and clues that there is someone in my life and even hinted at the fact that he is not Armenian. The denial of my parents was slowly fading while their notion of them being able to control my feelings was taking place.
For the past year I have been feeling guilt, shame, love, happiness, and something new in my life: hope. It often breaks my heart to find myself in such a situation. Living a double life can lead one to resent those who are closest to you; it may be a parent or a sibling. These fears of the “odar” in the Armenian culture that has lead so many young American- Armenians to live a separate life. A life where they are happy, in love, and comfortable with who they are. However, once they enter the Armenian world the feelings vanish and despair sets in.
It seems to blow my mind how most young Armenian women are able to meet the doctors or lawyers at such a young age and settle. My belief has been that these settlements that are taking place are based on the fact that they, the women would be financially secure in life. But what happens to emotional security? It seems like with the present day recession, more recent college graduates or college aged women are settling for what seems like a recession proof marriage.
But the real recession taking place is with love. In days like today if someone has found what may be real genuine love, they are the wealthiest individuals. At the end of the day it is the richness of love that prevails.
Being in love with an “odar” is anything but. In the past few months I slowly became aware of the fact that by choosing a life with Bond would mean that I would have to forgo the life I have or had with my family and the Armenian community. Being able to say these words out loud took time and courage on my behalf. There were many stages of it: denial, breakdowns, and loss of hope. But the reality is that by choosing one man I may lose another, my father.
After what seemed like an eternity I looked down on the blank piece of paper, ripped it up, and accepted the path I have chosen.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 4:43 PM 14 comments
MONDAY, APRIL 27, 2009
I was visiting my family who was celebrating the birth of my older brother’s first child. By the end of the evening the cognac was gone and every one was in state of drunkenness. As everyone went off to do his or her own thing I found myself with my brother in my parent’s kitchen. “Look, I know you are seeing someone. You might not be saying anything, but I know. I was waiting for you to bring it up, but I am telling you now. Nip it in the bud.” The last line was a like a punch in the stomach. I have thrown out the hints and clues that there is someone in my life and even hinted at the fact that he is not Armenian. The denial of my parents was slowly fading while their notion of them being able to control my feelings was taking place.
For the past year I have been feeling guilt, shame, love, happiness, and something new in my life: hope. It often breaks my heart to find myself in such a situation. Living a double life can lead one to resent those who are closest to you; it may be a parent or a sibling. These fears of the “odar” in the Armenian culture that has lead so many young American- Armenians to live a separate life. A life where they are happy, in love, and comfortable with who they are. However, once they enter the Armenian world the feelings vanish and despair sets in.
It seems to blow my mind how most young Armenian women are able to meet the doctors or lawyers at such a young age and settle. My belief has been that these settlements that are taking place are based on the fact that they, the women would be financially secure in life. But what happens to emotional security? It seems like with the present day recession, more recent college graduates or college aged women are settling for what seems like a recession proof marriage.
But the real recession taking place is with love. In days like today if someone has found what may be real genuine love, they are the wealthiest individuals. At the end of the day it is the richness of love that prevails.
Being in love with an “odar” is anything but. In the past few months I slowly became aware of the fact that by choosing a life with Bond would mean that I would have to forgo the life I have or had with my family and the Armenian community. Being able to say these words out loud took time and courage on my behalf. There were many stages of it: denial, breakdowns, and loss of hope. But the reality is that by choosing one man I may lose another, my father.
After what seemed like an eternity I looked down on the blank piece of paper, ripped it up, and accepted the path I have chosen.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 4:43 PM 14 comments
MONDAY, APRIL 27, 2009
“I’m definitely team Bond”
Saint Patrick’s Day has always been one of my many Americans favorite holidays, a day where drinking at 10 in the morning is seen as the norm and guzzling down pints of beer that has the consistency of oil is regarded as healthy.
After a year of dating, Bond was put up to the ultimate test. He was going to meet all my girls. We figured the best way to do this was over thick beer and pub food. As we made our way to the tavern, I saw Bond waiting for us outside. Though he looked cool and collected on the outside, I knew he was nervous. Inside I found three of his friends downing pints of Guiness like it were water and I realized that I was nervous too.
Having a close bond with my girlfriends, we have come to believe that not every man in our lives has the privilege to hang out with all of us. There is a sense of pride when it comes to bringing a man into our circle. I had been hiding him for too long because I had the fear that my friends would find something wrong with him and discourage me from seeing him. I couldn’t help but wonder why we care so much as to what others will think about our significant others. Most of the time we tend to date people for whatever reason to try to prove something whether it’s to family, friends, or peers.
For the longest time I had kept Bond hidden deep in West LA. Though I was crazy about him and the idea of dating other men seemed crazier, it was hard for me to accept the fact that he is right for me. My insecurities about being less successful and younger would get the best of me. But when you think about it when are we not insecure? There is always something that tries to hold us back from what we can actually achieve or have.
After a couple of beers and chili cheese fries, one of the girls turned to me and said, “I’m definitely team Bond.” Here I was trying to hide this man from the life that I had this past year when all along he fit right into it. Why is it when we find something great that we tend to hide it from other people? When did something good become something bad? Why did I care so much as to what other people thought? The questions about what was right and wrong lead me to discover that Bond was not the issue, it was I. I was the one who had to let go of the past and accept my future.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 11:08 PM 0 comments
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 18, 2009
After a year of dating, Bond was put up to the ultimate test. He was going to meet all my girls. We figured the best way to do this was over thick beer and pub food. As we made our way to the tavern, I saw Bond waiting for us outside. Though he looked cool and collected on the outside, I knew he was nervous. Inside I found three of his friends downing pints of Guiness like it were water and I realized that I was nervous too.
Having a close bond with my girlfriends, we have come to believe that not every man in our lives has the privilege to hang out with all of us. There is a sense of pride when it comes to bringing a man into our circle. I had been hiding him for too long because I had the fear that my friends would find something wrong with him and discourage me from seeing him. I couldn’t help but wonder why we care so much as to what others will think about our significant others. Most of the time we tend to date people for whatever reason to try to prove something whether it’s to family, friends, or peers.
For the longest time I had kept Bond hidden deep in West LA. Though I was crazy about him and the idea of dating other men seemed crazier, it was hard for me to accept the fact that he is right for me. My insecurities about being less successful and younger would get the best of me. But when you think about it when are we not insecure? There is always something that tries to hold us back from what we can actually achieve or have.
After a couple of beers and chili cheese fries, one of the girls turned to me and said, “I’m definitely team Bond.” Here I was trying to hide this man from the life that I had this past year when all along he fit right into it. Why is it when we find something great that we tend to hide it from other people? When did something good become something bad? Why did I care so much as to what other people thought? The questions about what was right and wrong lead me to discover that Bond was not the issue, it was I. I was the one who had to let go of the past and accept my future.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 11:08 PM 0 comments
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 18, 2009
Once Upon a Time in Europe - Winter 2009
I am often asked if I have ever been in love or loved. I always thought that Preppy was my first love. He was the first man in my life whom I thought I would dance to Edith Piaf, the man who I thought would hold my hand when I was falling, pick me up when I was down, and never make me cry. He never held my hand, we never slow danced—especially to anything French—and I had cried so much for him that I had no more tears left. I had never felt more alone in my life than when I was with Preppy. The loneliness was palpable.
After a year of frolicking and telling the world off, I found myself sitting on a one-way flight to Italy. I couldn’t believe it was only last week that I was stressing over writing my final papers. I sat there in the plane feeling numb and waiting to wake up in my dark, stale studio.
I never had any expectations when I first arrived in Europe. I knew I was going to see history, eat the best pizza, drink vino, and enjoy la dolce vita. I couldn’t believe how far I had come. Last year I was planning a life with a man and now, I was standing on a cliff overlooking the Bay of Naples alone.
We met in a small village in southern Italia on a hot summer night. I mistook him for an American, and he mistook me for a local. After five minutes of him struggling with his broken Italian, I relieved him, "Non conosco l’Italiano." A couple of limone cellos later, I found myself sitting in the empty piazza with a Dutchman. We had talked for so long that I didn’t even realize the sun was up, and I was going to miss my flight to Rome. Stuck with the idea that this may have been my last night with this man, I did something I never thought I would do. We arranged to meet up in Paris in a few days.
It’s amazing now that I look back; I flew to another country to meet up with a man I barely knew. I took a chance on someone who I did not know anything about; for all that I knew he might have been a Euro version of one of the many dysfunctional men I dated in LA. Then again, when don’t we take a chance on someone we hardly know? What is life if not taking chances? I almost cancelled on him a couple of days before I flew out to Paris, but it was the wise words of a friend who lead me to find love again, "See him, or else you will be left wondering the rest of your life, what if? Don’t live to regret this moment."
A week had passed since I had last seen him. I stood at the Île de la Cité feeling sick to my stomach. The tourists around me were snapping pictures and posing by the Notre Dame, while I was trying to see if I could remember what he looked like. They say when you see, you will know. I knew. Out of the crowd of tourists, I saw him walking towards me.
"We are in the middle of Paris."He held my hand, and we walked down to the jardin du Luxembourg, where we spent the next six hours talking. I had never felt more at home, more at peace, and as full of answers as I did with him. As he kissed me, I thought I had transcended out of my body and was looking down at myself thinking, "What movie are you watching?" I was so enthralled by him that I didn’t even notice I was running around Paris in stilts.
For dinner, we walked down to an Armenian bistro; I thought I should enlighten him with some korovats. We drank Armenian wine, dinned on French lamb, and were entertained by the Armenian restaurant owner who thought the Dutchman was my husband.
Time in Paris is astonishing; it seems to flow like liquid, slowly oozing and before you know it, you are standing in front of the Palais de Chaillot overlooking the Eiffel Tower as it’s sparkling in the dark sky like a million stars.
Our weekend together was beyond magical; it was so fantastic that till this day, I have to pinch myself and think "Come on." I had forgotten that I was a tourist in this place called love. I had become so comfortable that I took residence.
As we ran through the metro to the Gare de Lyon, I could hear an accordion in the distance.In the middle of the station, he held me tight and gave me my first and last dance to Ms. Piaf. He was taking the midnight train back to Amsterdam.
We stood there not saying anything. This was the first time in the past couple days that neither one of us wanted to say anything. No goodbyes, no ciaos, no adieus, rein. "I will see you later."I stood there and watched him get on the train; I was unable to move, I stood there numb. I don’t know how I managed to find my way out of the station; the tears were blinding me, and it seemed like all the air was sucked out of me. I came to realize something about Paris. It has everything to give and everything to take from you. I came to Paris to feel love, be in love, and love. I loved.
Later on that day, I found myself sitting on one of the many bridges of the Seine River overlooking the Île de la Cité; I realized that I was brought back to life. Love is possible; just because you love someone does not mean you will be with that person for the rest of your life. I have come to believe that you cannot be with your soul mate in this life. Most people wait a lifetime with a person to feel something remotely close, but it doesn’t matter; when it comes to love, time is irrelevant. At the end of the day, I know that we will always have Paris. If he has taught me anything, it is to believe, believe in love, and believe in the unbelievable, even if it a once upon a time.
As I inhaled my last cigarette, I could feel the tar burning my lungs while the summer rain cooled me down. I knew that I was never going to see him again.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 3:16 PM 0 comments
TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 2009
After a year of frolicking and telling the world off, I found myself sitting on a one-way flight to Italy. I couldn’t believe it was only last week that I was stressing over writing my final papers. I sat there in the plane feeling numb and waiting to wake up in my dark, stale studio.
I never had any expectations when I first arrived in Europe. I knew I was going to see history, eat the best pizza, drink vino, and enjoy la dolce vita. I couldn’t believe how far I had come. Last year I was planning a life with a man and now, I was standing on a cliff overlooking the Bay of Naples alone.
We met in a small village in southern Italia on a hot summer night. I mistook him for an American, and he mistook me for a local. After five minutes of him struggling with his broken Italian, I relieved him, "Non conosco l’Italiano." A couple of limone cellos later, I found myself sitting in the empty piazza with a Dutchman. We had talked for so long that I didn’t even realize the sun was up, and I was going to miss my flight to Rome. Stuck with the idea that this may have been my last night with this man, I did something I never thought I would do. We arranged to meet up in Paris in a few days.
It’s amazing now that I look back; I flew to another country to meet up with a man I barely knew. I took a chance on someone who I did not know anything about; for all that I knew he might have been a Euro version of one of the many dysfunctional men I dated in LA. Then again, when don’t we take a chance on someone we hardly know? What is life if not taking chances? I almost cancelled on him a couple of days before I flew out to Paris, but it was the wise words of a friend who lead me to find love again, "See him, or else you will be left wondering the rest of your life, what if? Don’t live to regret this moment."
A week had passed since I had last seen him. I stood at the Île de la Cité feeling sick to my stomach. The tourists around me were snapping pictures and posing by the Notre Dame, while I was trying to see if I could remember what he looked like. They say when you see, you will know. I knew. Out of the crowd of tourists, I saw him walking towards me.
"We are in the middle of Paris."He held my hand, and we walked down to the jardin du Luxembourg, where we spent the next six hours talking. I had never felt more at home, more at peace, and as full of answers as I did with him. As he kissed me, I thought I had transcended out of my body and was looking down at myself thinking, "What movie are you watching?" I was so enthralled by him that I didn’t even notice I was running around Paris in stilts.
For dinner, we walked down to an Armenian bistro; I thought I should enlighten him with some korovats. We drank Armenian wine, dinned on French lamb, and were entertained by the Armenian restaurant owner who thought the Dutchman was my husband.
Time in Paris is astonishing; it seems to flow like liquid, slowly oozing and before you know it, you are standing in front of the Palais de Chaillot overlooking the Eiffel Tower as it’s sparkling in the dark sky like a million stars.
Our weekend together was beyond magical; it was so fantastic that till this day, I have to pinch myself and think "Come on." I had forgotten that I was a tourist in this place called love. I had become so comfortable that I took residence.
As we ran through the metro to the Gare de Lyon, I could hear an accordion in the distance.In the middle of the station, he held me tight and gave me my first and last dance to Ms. Piaf. He was taking the midnight train back to Amsterdam.
We stood there not saying anything. This was the first time in the past couple days that neither one of us wanted to say anything. No goodbyes, no ciaos, no adieus, rein. "I will see you later."I stood there and watched him get on the train; I was unable to move, I stood there numb. I don’t know how I managed to find my way out of the station; the tears were blinding me, and it seemed like all the air was sucked out of me. I came to realize something about Paris. It has everything to give and everything to take from you. I came to Paris to feel love, be in love, and love. I loved.
Later on that day, I found myself sitting on one of the many bridges of the Seine River overlooking the Île de la Cité; I realized that I was brought back to life. Love is possible; just because you love someone does not mean you will be with that person for the rest of your life. I have come to believe that you cannot be with your soul mate in this life. Most people wait a lifetime with a person to feel something remotely close, but it doesn’t matter; when it comes to love, time is irrelevant. At the end of the day, I know that we will always have Paris. If he has taught me anything, it is to believe, believe in love, and believe in the unbelievable, even if it a once upon a time.
As I inhaled my last cigarette, I could feel the tar burning my lungs while the summer rain cooled me down. I knew that I was never going to see him again.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 3:16 PM 0 comments
TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 2009
Daddy's Girl is Not Settling Yet....
As I turned left onto Brand, a bittersweet feeling rushed all over me. When it comes to visiting the family in Glendale, I tend to avoid it as much as possible. Glendale for me has become that cage I fear so much of getting trapped in. After making my escape three years ago, I promised myself that I would never go back.
It’s strange visiting the city I was born and raised in. Though little has changed on my block, the whole city has undergone a hyper expensive facelift. I had plans to meet up with my dad for lunch at the highly commercialized Americana; one of those newly built theme parks for adults with bank accounts. While I made my way through the designer stores, I came to realize that strollers were the new handbags of Glendale. I looked around fascinated by the numerous young couples that were past the courting stage and well into investing in diapers. The wives all looked in their early 20’s while the husbands no more than their mid 20’s; yet they had managed to get married, have children, and somehow afford the urban leisurely lifestyle that would be found in a Seurat painting. I couldn’t help but wonder if these girls were just settling or if they had really found the one. Didn’t they wonder or yearn to find out what else was out there?
At times I am made to feel like an Old Maid for not being in a potential relationship, but when confronted by old classmates who are already married with kids, I feel like a 12 year old, still crushing on inappropriate boys. How can I even think about getting married or having kids when I get more excited over a sale at Sak’s than a chubby baby dressed like fruit.
Making my way through the rows of strollers, I found my dad waiting for me with his impatient smile. I hadn’t seen the old man for over 3 weeks now and I was slowly starting to miss him. As we made our way through our first round of sushi, my father’s questions about my personal life began. A couple of years ago, if anyone were to tell me that I would be able to have a conversation with my father over lunch about something other than the Lakers or his job, I would have laughed it off and thought it was just wishful thinking. The relationship that I have with my father has been a slow and gradual process. Growing up I rarely spent time with him, he was either busy working or I was too involved with my life to care. Nonetheless, I found having a relationship with him gave me a sense of comfort. By the time I consumed my tuna roll, I somehow managed to give him a very abridged story about Bond.
Patiently waiting for the ridicule and criticism I thought was forthcoming, my father said, “Honey, I’m not going to like any man that you bring home, it’s my job not to like them. It is my job; however, to learn to like him. You’re the one that is going to be with him. You’re the one that is going to be with him behind closed doors, not me.”
Though my father had opened himself up to the possibility, I knew it was only a baby step forward. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that no matter what, he really just wanted me to be happy. After lunch, I decided to venture off and discover all the quant shops while melting some plastic. As I was rummaging through H&M, I saw a former classmate with a short balding man, and a little baby in her arms. After a couple of minutes of conversing and catching up, she noticed that the only thing weighing me down was my one too many shopping bags and no engagement ring. At that moment I felt like I had been side slapped. Why did it matter if I was taken or not? Before heading out, she placed her hand on my elbow, tilted her head and said, “You’ll find him. He is out there.” What I really wanted to tell her was, “Honey I meet a man every night. I never know when or who my next great lay is!” But instead, I took the lowest of the low roads and nodded with agreement hoping that I meet him before becoming a stale 25 year old. As I watched her walk out, I thanked my lucky stars for not settling and I realized that the look was more envy than pity.
Because when you think about it, there are so many benefits of being single. Such as not shaving my legs for weeks, vacations with the girls, time to focus on what I want, and most importantly, having the freedom to make future plans without considering another person. But why does everyone feel like marriage and children are the only things we have to look forward to? Why the rush? My biological clock is not ticking, none of my body parts are sagging, my luck of meeting men is definitely not running out, yet somehow, I am left with the impression that I should be making coffee for my in-laws instead of making coffee for my hangovers. Why is everyone in such a hurry to settle? Since when did we go from “Don’t ever settle for anything less” to “Settle down before you become too picky and you have no more options”?
Within five years of dating I have been placed in the marrying situation twice. At nineteen, I started dating my first real boyfriend. He was thirty, tall, successful, and dying to have a wife. He was trying to find his happily ever after, while I was trying to get my once upon a time. I thought at that time that this was love. It wasn’t until the wedding of my older brother that I realized; I have not found what I am looking for. Later it was Preppy, he had managed to map out a life that would have made me into a Stepford wife. In the end, I knew, that neither one was meant to last. I know that I am not the person to say, “yes, but only until someone better comes along.” I want this partnership to be forever. I want to take those vows and mean them, knowing that I do not want any other person to grow old with.
Later on that evening, after I washed off the smell of cigarettes out of my hair, and digested the rude faux awakening that I was “single,” I received a call from Bond who was out skiing in Colorado with the boys. I came to realize that if I had settled, I would not have been the person that I am today. I would not have met Bond, I would not have lived in my own apartment, I would not have traveled, I would not have been unsure of where I am going to end up. And that was the beauty of it all. At times I wish I could settle, just to make things a little easier, but when you know what’s out there, when you know what the prospectives are, when you get a taste of delight, settling is never a option.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 4:59 PM 0 comments
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2009
It’s strange visiting the city I was born and raised in. Though little has changed on my block, the whole city has undergone a hyper expensive facelift. I had plans to meet up with my dad for lunch at the highly commercialized Americana; one of those newly built theme parks for adults with bank accounts. While I made my way through the designer stores, I came to realize that strollers were the new handbags of Glendale. I looked around fascinated by the numerous young couples that were past the courting stage and well into investing in diapers. The wives all looked in their early 20’s while the husbands no more than their mid 20’s; yet they had managed to get married, have children, and somehow afford the urban leisurely lifestyle that would be found in a Seurat painting. I couldn’t help but wonder if these girls were just settling or if they had really found the one. Didn’t they wonder or yearn to find out what else was out there?
At times I am made to feel like an Old Maid for not being in a potential relationship, but when confronted by old classmates who are already married with kids, I feel like a 12 year old, still crushing on inappropriate boys. How can I even think about getting married or having kids when I get more excited over a sale at Sak’s than a chubby baby dressed like fruit.
Making my way through the rows of strollers, I found my dad waiting for me with his impatient smile. I hadn’t seen the old man for over 3 weeks now and I was slowly starting to miss him. As we made our way through our first round of sushi, my father’s questions about my personal life began. A couple of years ago, if anyone were to tell me that I would be able to have a conversation with my father over lunch about something other than the Lakers or his job, I would have laughed it off and thought it was just wishful thinking. The relationship that I have with my father has been a slow and gradual process. Growing up I rarely spent time with him, he was either busy working or I was too involved with my life to care. Nonetheless, I found having a relationship with him gave me a sense of comfort. By the time I consumed my tuna roll, I somehow managed to give him a very abridged story about Bond.
Patiently waiting for the ridicule and criticism I thought was forthcoming, my father said, “Honey, I’m not going to like any man that you bring home, it’s my job not to like them. It is my job; however, to learn to like him. You’re the one that is going to be with him. You’re the one that is going to be with him behind closed doors, not me.”
Though my father had opened himself up to the possibility, I knew it was only a baby step forward. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that no matter what, he really just wanted me to be happy. After lunch, I decided to venture off and discover all the quant shops while melting some plastic. As I was rummaging through H&M, I saw a former classmate with a short balding man, and a little baby in her arms. After a couple of minutes of conversing and catching up, she noticed that the only thing weighing me down was my one too many shopping bags and no engagement ring. At that moment I felt like I had been side slapped. Why did it matter if I was taken or not? Before heading out, she placed her hand on my elbow, tilted her head and said, “You’ll find him. He is out there.” What I really wanted to tell her was, “Honey I meet a man every night. I never know when or who my next great lay is!” But instead, I took the lowest of the low roads and nodded with agreement hoping that I meet him before becoming a stale 25 year old. As I watched her walk out, I thanked my lucky stars for not settling and I realized that the look was more envy than pity.
Because when you think about it, there are so many benefits of being single. Such as not shaving my legs for weeks, vacations with the girls, time to focus on what I want, and most importantly, having the freedom to make future plans without considering another person. But why does everyone feel like marriage and children are the only things we have to look forward to? Why the rush? My biological clock is not ticking, none of my body parts are sagging, my luck of meeting men is definitely not running out, yet somehow, I am left with the impression that I should be making coffee for my in-laws instead of making coffee for my hangovers. Why is everyone in such a hurry to settle? Since when did we go from “Don’t ever settle for anything less” to “Settle down before you become too picky and you have no more options”?
Within five years of dating I have been placed in the marrying situation twice. At nineteen, I started dating my first real boyfriend. He was thirty, tall, successful, and dying to have a wife. He was trying to find his happily ever after, while I was trying to get my once upon a time. I thought at that time that this was love. It wasn’t until the wedding of my older brother that I realized; I have not found what I am looking for. Later it was Preppy, he had managed to map out a life that would have made me into a Stepford wife. In the end, I knew, that neither one was meant to last. I know that I am not the person to say, “yes, but only until someone better comes along.” I want this partnership to be forever. I want to take those vows and mean them, knowing that I do not want any other person to grow old with.
Later on that evening, after I washed off the smell of cigarettes out of my hair, and digested the rude faux awakening that I was “single,” I received a call from Bond who was out skiing in Colorado with the boys. I came to realize that if I had settled, I would not have been the person that I am today. I would not have met Bond, I would not have lived in my own apartment, I would not have traveled, I would not have been unsure of where I am going to end up. And that was the beauty of it all. At times I wish I could settle, just to make things a little easier, but when you know what’s out there, when you know what the prospectives are, when you get a taste of delight, settling is never a option.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 4:59 PM 0 comments
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2009
Possibility...
Sometimes I wonder why we even go through the heart wrenching, pain-staking task of having a relationship.
After not seeing Bond for several days due to his travels, I was left with the most dreadful feeling. I was missing him. In order to keep myself busy and my mind off of anything that remotely reminded me of him, I spent the next couple of days sleeping, working out, and enjoying the nightlife of one of the most flamboyant communities. A few nights ago, I found myself running around West Hollywood with my gay husband and gay boyfriend. I had forgotten how much fun enjoying one’s self without the goal of a hookup was.
Why have we become so obsessed with finding someone? I came to realize that what we all had in common was our endless search for the one. However, on this particular night most of the people around me were looking for the one right now. After a night of bar hoping, red shoe clicking, and drunken texting, I knew that I had to have a talk with Bond. What is even scarier is when you know what you want and peruse that knowing that such fulfillment will cause many sacrifices.
We had planned to meet up on Friday at 3 o’clock at the corner of Weyburn and “I hope I don’t Melt When I See Him.” It seems like no matter what age men are, they all have this shared fear of growing up. I was angered and frankly pissed off at Bond. Something strange was happening between us, I had let him in, but I was getting the feeling that he was pulling out. I had spent the afternoon talking to Yorker trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Bond. Was he scared? Were we moving too fast? I couldn’t believe I was asking these questions with a man whom I had never intended to see more than a couple of dates. I have come to realize that men in their 30’s are like men in their 20’s, no matter how much they grow in age or wrinkles, they still fear the possibility.
Possibility. Possibility is what you make out of any situation. It is my belief that the universe gives you the chance and our job is to make the most out of that. We tend to run away from these moments because of what may be, because what may be can be lost; hence, if you never had it you can never lose it.
(While making my way down to the Village I bumped into one of the men that I took a chance with. He was every bit the fantasy. I met 46 during one of my very stimulating history courses my first year of college. The chemistry was undeniable. He was gorgeous and I was seeing Preppy. Two year later, 46 and I walked into the same seminar class; six people big, he sat next to me and the rest was history. That entire quarter, each class session was like an intense flirting match. After weeks of fantasizing, 46 and I did the deed. It was everything I imagined, and that’s all I ever wanted it to be. We always tend to run into each other from time to time either at Maloney’s or on campus and he always gives me that look, the “We should grabs drink sometime…” But I like to leave it where it is. Sometimes once a fantasy has been met, it’s best to leave it alone and not tamper with it. Going in too deep is not always worth it.)
Then again sometimes you find yourself so deeply involved that you start gasping for air. The air quality is fine, but your head is telling you that you can’t breath. It’s amazing how once the walls come down how paranoid and scared one can be. Timing, we are either running late or time just does not move fast enough. It is timing that brings people into our life. It is timing that causes us to assess things that we believe mattered to us the most.
I walked into the café quarter past three. There he was with a smile so bright I almost reconsidered putting on my sunglasses. That day I told Bond what I wanted. I was no longer the girl to just have fun, to not care if he called me or not. I was the woman that was starting to think about the possibility. I figured I could either live in fear of what may be or jump in the saddle with a firm grip as I face those brick walls. Because it is those brick walls that prove to us how badly we want things.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 10:40 PM 1 comments
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2009
After not seeing Bond for several days due to his travels, I was left with the most dreadful feeling. I was missing him. In order to keep myself busy and my mind off of anything that remotely reminded me of him, I spent the next couple of days sleeping, working out, and enjoying the nightlife of one of the most flamboyant communities. A few nights ago, I found myself running around West Hollywood with my gay husband and gay boyfriend. I had forgotten how much fun enjoying one’s self without the goal of a hookup was.
Why have we become so obsessed with finding someone? I came to realize that what we all had in common was our endless search for the one. However, on this particular night most of the people around me were looking for the one right now. After a night of bar hoping, red shoe clicking, and drunken texting, I knew that I had to have a talk with Bond. What is even scarier is when you know what you want and peruse that knowing that such fulfillment will cause many sacrifices.
We had planned to meet up on Friday at 3 o’clock at the corner of Weyburn and “I hope I don’t Melt When I See Him.” It seems like no matter what age men are, they all have this shared fear of growing up. I was angered and frankly pissed off at Bond. Something strange was happening between us, I had let him in, but I was getting the feeling that he was pulling out. I had spent the afternoon talking to Yorker trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Bond. Was he scared? Were we moving too fast? I couldn’t believe I was asking these questions with a man whom I had never intended to see more than a couple of dates. I have come to realize that men in their 30’s are like men in their 20’s, no matter how much they grow in age or wrinkles, they still fear the possibility.
Possibility. Possibility is what you make out of any situation. It is my belief that the universe gives you the chance and our job is to make the most out of that. We tend to run away from these moments because of what may be, because what may be can be lost; hence, if you never had it you can never lose it.
(While making my way down to the Village I bumped into one of the men that I took a chance with. He was every bit the fantasy. I met 46 during one of my very stimulating history courses my first year of college. The chemistry was undeniable. He was gorgeous and I was seeing Preppy. Two year later, 46 and I walked into the same seminar class; six people big, he sat next to me and the rest was history. That entire quarter, each class session was like an intense flirting match. After weeks of fantasizing, 46 and I did the deed. It was everything I imagined, and that’s all I ever wanted it to be. We always tend to run into each other from time to time either at Maloney’s or on campus and he always gives me that look, the “We should grabs drink sometime…” But I like to leave it where it is. Sometimes once a fantasy has been met, it’s best to leave it alone and not tamper with it. Going in too deep is not always worth it.)
Then again sometimes you find yourself so deeply involved that you start gasping for air. The air quality is fine, but your head is telling you that you can’t breath. It’s amazing how once the walls come down how paranoid and scared one can be. Timing, we are either running late or time just does not move fast enough. It is timing that brings people into our life. It is timing that causes us to assess things that we believe mattered to us the most.
I walked into the café quarter past three. There he was with a smile so bright I almost reconsidered putting on my sunglasses. That day I told Bond what I wanted. I was no longer the girl to just have fun, to not care if he called me or not. I was the woman that was starting to think about the possibility. I figured I could either live in fear of what may be or jump in the saddle with a firm grip as I face those brick walls. Because it is those brick walls that prove to us how badly we want things.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 10:40 PM 1 comments
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2009
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