Around this time last year I wrote...

I keep telling myself that all I want is some sense of normality and a little peace of mind. But I stop right there without further questioning of what this normality entails. What exactly does it mean, normality, to me- this one, seemingly simple, and yet the most relative, subjective and changeable concept of all? Where do I draw the line, my own personal line, between what’s normal and acceptable and what’s not? How do I make my own definitions of uniform ordinariness? And why, why is it that this sense of normality is so important to me now?

Once I used to find comfort in a newfound realization of how similar we, as humans, are. And how much there is that we share in common. Made it easier for me to accept and understand myself and relate to someone outside of my skin; gave me compassion and tolerance towards others for merely being human... And being connected to every other human and not alone in our behavior patters, thoughts and emotions. It made me happy – just thinking about it. Somewhat relieved of unnecessary pressure of trying to be different, special in some way. Even remotely distinguished by something other than being just another human being...

But then, i can't help but question whether this is a cryptic way of justifying my complete lack of ambition or any kind of aspiration for not wanting something that would make me more distinguished than the person next to me. And whether this lack of desire is as humble as it may appear at first glance or simply a sign of laziness, as if by accepting my averagness I’m giving up the effort to be something more, something better – at least a better version of myself, if not distinguished.... but then, again, i ask whether there is even half as much comfort in this sense of distinguishness as there is in the ordinariness of someone who's humble in his own humanity…

What I want is simple. Ordinary. Uncomplicated. Real. Tangible. And not abstract. I need a sense of security, stability, a sense of being protected… some kind of confidence of being able to deal with whatever future may hold for me. Wanting a place that you can call your own, a place that will give you the protection you need and partially the sense of security. A need for a home… your own home- these are all simple and ordinary things, yet very concrete things to want and need… it’s natural for someone to want to have it, is it not? It’s normal, human… basic - is it not?

If it is so, then why is it that a certain part of me feels guilty, somewhat guilty, that by wanting and choosing those things I’m forgetting and leaving out something that might be just as important? Perhaps not as common and ordinary, but as equally important?

This Week In Development – Did Someone Mention Growth?

The Caucasian Tiger or what’s behind the pretty picture of Armenia’s economic growth.

During the last decade, the economy of Armenia has been showing steady growth reaching over 13 percent in the last year (see the graph below). The impressive growth of the country has been compared to that of East Asian Tigers in earlier decades, giving Armenia the name of Caucasian Tiger by the Word Bank experts.

For those interested in reading more about country’s “stellar” performance, current situation and further policy advice, check out The Caucasian Tiger: Sustaining Economic Growth in Armenia recently published by the World Bank (also available at Google Books).

Using some of the information from the book, as well as PRSP of the country, below find a very brief brief on the history of growth.

Armenia gained independence after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. The rapid transition from one economic system to another resulted in economic crisis due to the country’s lack of institutional infrastructure to function in market economy. At the same time, the country was still dealing with the still tangible aftermath of a devastating earthquake of 1988, as well as experiencing a large influx of refugees into the country from Azerbaijan due to the ongoing Nagorno-Kharabakh conflict. The country was in blockade, had shut down its main source of energy – the nuclear power plant and was undergoing a period that in economic terms was characterized by hyper-inflation, drastic increase in unemployment, liquidation of previously owned state enterprises, migration and emergence of widespread poverty among the population (55% according to 1992 estimates).

The country’s economy started showing growth in1994, when series of reforms re-established macroeconomic stability in the country and created favorable environment for economic growth. The average GDP growth from 1994 to 2002 was 6.68 percent, with a gradual increase to 13.4 percent in 2006 (see the graph).

Source: World Development Indicators 1990-2006

World Bank experts attribute this growth to successful implementation of “first generation” policy reforms that lowered the inflation and created macroeconomic stability which led to expansions of markets and growth of the private sector. Poverty dropped from 55 percent to 26.5 percent (2004 estimates). Large amounts of capital inflows into the country in form of official development assistance, contributions and private transfers by the Armenian Diaspora and remittances also played their part in the growth of the nation’s economy.

This doesn’t mean that the country isn’t still poor. The aforementioned book gives a detailed outline of what’s still wrong together with policy advice, similar to those outlined in country’s PRSP on how to deal with the existing constraints to the sustainability of growth, such as unemployment, unhealthy taxation system, still unstable business environment, poverty in rural regions, so on and so forth.

Now, those who are REALLY concerned about the state of the Armenian economy and the quality of recent growth, check out what independent experts have to say. Concerns raised in these posts appear to be quite legitimate - economic growth weakens, instead of increasing the competitiveness of the country's markets. It is unevenly allocated among the population - inequality between rural areas and the capital, where most of the growth is concentrated, is quite tangible. Most profitable imports are monopolized, after having been appropriated by state officials under names of “foreign entities” and there is virtually no foreign direct investment coming into the economy, contrary to belief.

It can be stated that everybody is content and no one realizes that were this dynamics to continue, in ten years this ‘miracle’ can turn into a real crisis, a true hell…

Make your conclusions at your own risk.

Speaking of consumerism - The Story of Stuff

Here's the first chapter of the story of unlimited consumption and what it can and is actually leading us towards to. The whole thing is available here.

Although none of the facts that Ms. Lennox brings here is news to me, it becomes pretty mind-boggling when all of it presented all at once. I glimpsed over the comments that were posted to this video on You Tube, and got even more astounded... Propaganda you might say this little number is, but I don't think you really need to have a college degree to grasp a simple concept that you cannot indefinitely run a linear system on a finite planet. It's as simple as that. Enjoy and feel free to send me hate mail.

From Trash TV to Trash Consumerism

In the light of the favorite collective pink and red holiday of ours, New York Time’s Critical Shopper Visits Victoria’s Secret.

Good ol' pimpin' gone corporate. Hilarity ensues.

Subtleties of eroticism can turn the banal into the fantastic, but Victoria’s Secret has not made its money by being subtle. Its apparent formula for mass-marketing fantasies is to turn the erotic into the banal.

Like a porn star with too many memoirs, Victoria’s secrets are pretty much overexposed at this point. “Ahh, whatever,” Victoria says. “Let me let you in on a little something, girls. You want sex? Hit the guy real hard with blunt sex objects.”

…

Mamas, don’t let your babies go to the Royal Academy of Pink. After all, one of the primary goals of parenthood, to paraphrase Chris Rock, is to keep your daughter “off the pole.”

There is a certain charm in directness, if it’s done right. I am concerned, however, that Victoria seems to be acting out feelings of low self-esteem through indiscriminate promiscuity.

Well, these are times when everything is turned into commodities. Sex sells. It sells quite well. But I guess there’s got to be a line somewhere before it does become a blatant promotion of … promiscuity. Nothing wrong with that, I’ll have to admit, but please don’t let the big guys make uniform choices for you and collect the proceeds in advance.

Source: Cintra Wilson (2008, Feb. 14). Chug-a-Lugging Aphrodisiacs. New York Times.

The love of flying

So lately I have been traveling a lot. And since my most reliable forms of transportation are my own feet and airplanes and because Richmond is nowhere close to being within my walking distance, lately I have been flying more often that I ever thought I would. Long live JetBlue, home of the most legroom in the couch. Besides befriending its whole entire crew, I am starting to feel more and more at home in the most unhomy places in the world, more precisely – Logan International Airport. The same would not be true if I was flying out of, say, JFK - a real nightmare with its perpetual mess of delayed flights and long waits on the runway, and having gone through New York on a couple of occasions, I have sworn to try, at any cost, to avoid this route, unless I am actually going there.

Getting to Logan is an adventure in itself that involves coordinating the flight schedule to that of the commuter rail, getting my usually oversized luggage to the train station, getting on the train, getting off at the North Station and catching a cab from the North Station to the airport. Had I been more adventurous and more concerned about saving money, I would have figured out even a more elaborate plan of changing several subway lines that would eventually lead me to my coveted destination. But since we’re talking ten-fifteen bucks, I find it not worth the trouble and end up chatting it up with drivers, who often happen to be from the motherland (read Russia).

So Logan International, terminal C. How would I ever guess that you’d become one of my most beloved places in the whole entire world? That setting foot past your security check-point would be as exciting and exhilarating as Christmas morning for a kid? Even TSA officers can’t help but notice how happy I look and stop me to ask whether I have just won a lottery and am headed for a grand vacation… Who would have thought that I would come to love your overcrowded food joints, overpriced Wonfgang Putz pizzas and mediocre Starbucks coffee that I get before the departure (the only place that I get Starbucks anymore these days)? Would I have ever guessed that you, of all places in the world, would be where I do the bulk of my school work, as I bide the pre-departure hours trying not to pass out from excitement?

I do love flying. There is something (please don’t laugh) overly liberating in the moment the plane accelerates before the take-off. There is something in that feeling of lightness that gives me a high when the plane is up in the air. Having weathered several trans-Atlantic flights, the short trip to Richmond feels like a breeze, as I leaf through my readings, draft outlines for papers or get my dose of trash-TV, while doing "splits and tap dance and even yoga." And when the pilot announces its initial decen, I get that pang in my stomach, as if the entire city of Richmond is there to greet me with balloons and fireworks and lots and lots of candy…

I have to admit that going back is always a little sad and not nearly as fun, but then going back always involves long lists of things that need to be done, school stuff taken care of, papers handed out, which make my days of Waltham imprisonment pass that much faster before my next trip is up. I leave the airport knowing not only that soon enough I'll be flying again, but that in the matter of a couple of more months I will be leaving Boston behind, if not for good, at least for a long long while.

Early Spring Break

After having written a record number of papers in the last few weeks, staying up too late and getting too little sleep, while simultaneously trying to juggle a world of miscellaneous tasks, I find myself all burnt up and in serious need for a break… which couldn’t have come at a more convenient time. All packed up and heading down South for an eternity of ten days that’s way too short to try and get enough of Richmond but long enough for me to wish that I had never moved up North…

Recently one of my fellow students asked me how things were going.

“Well, I’m seriously considering quitting school to go have babies…” I said, jokingly, not knowing what else to say.

“Really? You? Of all people?” she said with a wow on her face. “You’re always so passionate and dedicated and all over the stuff. Where’s the hope for me then?” The girl actually was NOT joking.

Needless to say, her comment made me think. But before I get to explaining where this quitting and babies business is coming from, I have to tell you how lunatic of an idea it is to look at me as a source of hope. Or motivation. Or anything else that has even a slightest breeze of inspiration. Ask the fat bastard, if you can find him - he’ll tell you.

Now whether or not I believe in development through the established institutional framework is something that I myself am trying to figure out. And trust me, there is nothing all that exciting or inspirational in the process. That there is actually a chance that I might, even for a moment, be perceived as anything close to passionate or dedicated when it comes to school is pretty hysterical. A more accurate picture would be: apathetic, pessimistic, I-don’t- really- care-cause- it’s- not- going –to- matter -either -way and can’t -we -go -home -now? Now add to that some chloric acid, soften it with a pinch of hopeless idealism, then spice it up with bitter skepticism and you got me. Now measure how far it is from the aforementioned passionate and dedicated. And then decide, at your own risk, whether or not you want to look at me as a source of … now what was it that you were saying?

The End Of The World - Happy Monday, Everyone

I'm pretty sure you guys have already seen this, but having watched this little number over six hundred times, I felt that I should give it a respectable spot on this blog. Assuming that we don't blow ourselves up, you Californians keep working on breaking off from the States, and I might change my mind to relocate to Mars to come and hang with you. Provided that you will have me, of course...

Currently reading...

As sad as this sounds, I have to admit that given the nature of my country of origin (i.e. darn underdeveloped) and my current field of interest (i.e. sustainable development), I never did, until recently, look into Armenia’s Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper (PRSP). For clarification, PRSP is a document prepared by governments of developing countries that outline macroeconomic and social policies and programs aimed at reducing poverty. After realizing the importance of government ownership for the development process, donor organizations (IMF and the World Bank) started requiring such documents as a condition for countries to be considered for financial assistance. They are, in a way, mega-proposals, although instead of grants countries receive loans. Follow the link to read more on these documents, as well as skim through the documents and respective country reports on your developing country of choice – they’re available to public both on the World Bank and IMF websites.

I won't get into the whole issue of whether or not PRSPs are a good idea and aren't merely a means of promoting certain controversial neoliberal policies (which I might write about next time I can't go to sleep at night) that the mentioned organizations seem to favor. Not to deviate from the subject of this particular post and getting back to PRSP of Armenia –reading this particular document drove me to the brink of tears, so beautiful and clear it was despite its technical nature, care and compassion dripping from each page. For a moment I thought that I had mistakenly clicked on the wrong thing and am reading a proposal to build some wonder land... There is a lot of things that I don't know about the government of my own country, but I can't believe that I missed the fact that it actually started caring about the poor and is concerned with human development, corruption or environment. From what I keep hearing, the poor are still poor, the rich are getting richer and unless I am missing something, the only strategy that is being pursued is that of fattening wallets on every possible level of bureaucracy. The fact that there's a document out there stating the contrary makes things kind of embarrassing. But then, there are quite a few things about the Armenian government that are embarrassing, so what's one more?

Boxed In

This week in development - this is what happens when you fail to acknowledge the importance of fried pork

In the light of a recent literature review that I had to do on the impact of aid on economic growth for an upcoming pointless assignment, I had a chance to review a few of the leading quantitative studies on the said topic. Without naming any of the names or going into great technical detail, here’s what we find:

STUDY A

Shows that foreign aid positively affects economic growth in developing countries. The study is based on modern economic growth theories, takes into consideration domestic savings, human capital and export and looks at 77 countries over three ten year periods.

STUDY B

Looks at 56 countries over six four year periods and finds that aid has a positive effect on economic growth only in countries that have good policies, and little effect in countries that don’t.

STUDY C

Using the original data from study B, adding a few countries and extending the study period for a few more years, this study finds that foreign aid has no effect on economic growth, regardless the policy environment.

STUDY D

Looks at 107 countries over several ten to forty year periods, with a whole lot more variables, including geography, policy environment, size and shape and comes to a conclusion that aid has no effect on economic growth whichever way you want to look at it. However – the study admits that the results of the research are “fragile” that even minor changes in one of the variables will yield different outcomes.

Looking at these conflicting and inconclusive studies done by respectable economists in respectable institutions, all I can say is – SERioUsLY, GUYS, don’t you have anything BETTER to do than come up with stuff I can’t even quote in papers knowing that at least one of you will contradict whichever other one I want to quote? And REaLLy, don’t you know that you’re dealing with COUNTRIES and MONEY and DONORS and MONEY, which translates to GOVERNMENTS, CONSULTANTS, diamond encrusted HUMMERS and FIVE StAR HOTELS, and lots and lots of fried meat… Did any one of you ever stop to consider either one of these variables in your studies? You don’t think they have any correlation with growth? I bet if you ran one of your fancy tests, however FRAGILE your data was, you’d find a correlation. Now if you will only hire me as a research assistant in one of these studies, I will be more than happy to forget how much pain and anguish your unnecessarily convoluted studies caused me, especially in the last twenty four hours.

In need of an agenda, as sad as it sounds...

Oh, I know, I know - posting a cute, albeit accurate, story stolen from elsewhere after not having written for over a month despite past promises is pretty lame. I can’t really blame the lack of time, since I had an entire month of winter break at my disposal, which, I have to tell you, felt like a honeymoon of sorts. Not that I didn’t have anything to rant about – it’s just for whatever reason I would rather spend my time doing absolute nothing (at best) or watching trash TV (at worst – America’s Next Top Skank, anyone?), than try to gather up thoughts to write up something with any meaning or content of any sorts. Blame it on laziness, or lack of motivation, or on too good of a time that I was having while in Richmond. Speaking of honeymoons – when the boy asked, kind of arbitrarily what I would consider as a good spot for honeymoon, the immediate response that came out at the top of my head was… Beirut, which was greeted by rolling of eyes and a comment that I must be out of my mind (like I didn’t know already).

I do have to admit though that part of the reason that I can’t seem to write much these days is that I am not quite sure what I want to do and where I want to go with this blog. I lack any sort of agenda, both in regards to writing and life in general, which, at times, is quite unsettling, if you know what I mean. The truth is, I do need to come up with some kind of agenda, if not for being able to blog more frequently, at least so that I can get through the remaining few months of school without shooting myself or anyone else in the process. I need some kind of discipline – something that I have never been good with. I need motivation that extends beyond being able to turn in school assignments on time and getting good grades in return, which is not something that keeps me excited on daily basis anyway. And lastly, I do need an agenda so that I can look beyond depression, apathy, and consequent cynicism and make something positive out of a decision that didn’t turn out to be the best one that I’ve made in my life. After all, I am paying way too much money to make myself this miserable. Not that school is all that bad and I am not learning anything in the process. It’s just the fact that after all, it doesn’t really matter all that much – you’re in, you’re out, with the much sought after, although questionably useful piece of paper, that would or would not contribute to the betterment of your own life, let alone the world itself (oh I’m so naive, of course the master’s degree from Brandeis is going to fix everything that’s wrong with the world).

Not to continue this downward spiral of overly depressing chain of thoughts – I do need to make myself write more often, if for nothing else, at least for the sake of my own sanity – and writing, on quite a few occasions, has helped me tremendously to get out of whatever mental loop I was caught at that particular moment… We’ll have to see how it goes.

This week in development - There you go!

This, pretty much, is development in a nutshell. The narrative (below), written and illustrated by Oren Ginzberg, is better told with corresponding illustrations. The (sad) humor of it can be appreciated regardless whether or not you're one of the "development practitioners." Enjoy.

Our original goal was the same as the usual - to bring them sustainable development. However, in this specific case, we encountered an unexpected challenge (as if it isn't so in any other case). It turned out that these people, in their own kind of way, were already sustainable. So all we could really bring them was Development (without really being able to define what development meant in the first place).

We started Participatory Community Development, but they didn't fully (really want to) participate.

We tried income-generating activities... but some people seem satisfied with less than a dollar a day.

We even tried to empower them... but their reaction was more powerful than expected.

So we opted for Multi-Stakeholder Cross-Disciplinary Integrated approach.

We developed innovative Private Sector Partnerships.

We developed vocational skills adapted to a shifting economy.

We developed tough conservation measures to protect the environment from further harm.

And we developed ambitious Social Safety Nets - for those unable to take care of themselves.

This has been a challenging process with many lessons learned. We certainly look forward to applying them elsewhere in the very near future.

But for now, let us just say,
Welcome to the Global Village.

Now you know what is being vigorously taught to me at Brandeis.

The text and illustrations by Oren Ginzberg (2006), published by and courtesy of Survival International.

It's good to be back...

I'm almost done with school, with the exception of a paper that needs to be finished and submitted by this afternoon (anyone wants to help me write about prostitution and masculinities in post-Soviet Armenia?). I also managed to successfully relocate myself to Richmond last night - the airline and travel gods were nice, and despite snow in the forecast, the flights weren't canceled and I made it to Richmond safely and all in one piece together with all three pieces of my luggage.

The guy sitting next to me on the plane, a Richmonder, asked me whether I lived in Boston or Richmond. "Ummm, both, I guess... " I said, still reluctant to consider my stay in New England as "living." Learning that I only recently moved to Boston for school, he asked me how I liked the area. I told him that for whatever reason it just wouldn't grow on me. He seemed to agree. "It's rough town, let me tell you... It doesn't grow easily on anybody."

Oh, I know, I know. It's hard to get used to a town where you'd be lucky to get a smile from a passer by, let alone have decent conversation. When asking for directions, say to the State Capital, you will most likely get "follow the fucking golden globe, god damnit." And of course, twenty degree cold and snowstorms don't make it any easier.

It feels so good to be in Richmond...

It feels good to be done with school, away from the cold (relatively speaking), back to the familiar settings... It's nice to know that there is a place that i can go back to, like one would go back home. It's good to have an entire month completely free, without any concerns and worries. And, of course, the holidays.

A couple of weeks ago, after a mini-meltdown caused by the holiday frenzy, I realized, for the first time, that I still have some deep and unresolved emotional issues that I need to get to the bottom of. I also need to recommit myself to this blog, which, despite my long-drawn absence, is perhaps one of my main sources for self-expression that is fun and therapeutic at the same time. I also seem to have forgotten how to simply be, and be happy, which is what I plan to spend most of my days in Richmond doing.

The invitation to come and see me here is still open to everyone...

For now, let me just say that it's good to be back here and for the sake of sheer entertainment and in the spirit of this holiday season, check this out.

Happy snowy, cold and icey birthday to me...

Photo courtesy of fancyflouers.com

I’ve been quiet for a while. School has been consuming half of my soul, living in Waltham gnawing at the other half, thus contributing to the overall lack of time and motivation to bring about this long-drawn silence of late. However, despite the absence of regular posts, site meter reads show that there are still people periodically visiting this site. Thank you. Really. So for the sake of saving what’s left of my readership, as well as providing some kind of update on what’s happening in my domain (no, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth yet), here’s a brief overview on my overall well-being in general, and my current state in particular, in case you happen to care.

School-wise - school’s fine. Really. No more and no less, that is. I’m not particularly loving it, not quite loathing it entirely (with the exception of one particular class). I am still the disgruntled student that I was at the beginning of the semester, as my past posts will attest to, but for the sake of not repeating myself, I will spare you from the long list of frustrations and apprehensions, and will simply say that, yeah, it’s bearable, it’s going to be over in May and that I will make it through with what dignity and pride I still have left. Grade-wise, on the other hand, I’m kicking ass – turns out I can write pretty good papers, although I’ve never looked at grades as means of measuring progress or accomplishments. Onwards…

Career-wise – it looks like I have taken a completely radical turn as to what I want to do after I graduate. So I’m slowly restructuring – that is, coming to a realization that neither field work, nor micro-finance is what I would like to do with myself at this point. I am more and more drawn to research and policy analysis, and am considering the possibility of getting a PhD in some still intangible future, in some still undefined field. For now, the future, still as vague and uncertain as it can be, concerns me a bit. And yet, I do seem to be confident enough to know that really, I will be fine, no matter what happens or what I happen to chose.

Location-wise –After having lived in the South, it’s a little difficult to get used to New England. Blame the weather. Blame the closed, shielded, unfriendly waspiness. I do find it hard to see myself living here either now, or any point of my life. Despite the historic and cultural magnificence of Boston itself and quaint and artsy cuteness of the nearby small towns, I still can’t quite get it, it still won’t grown on me. Waltham, on the other hand, having neither the quaintness nor the cuteness of nearby towns, has little to nothing to grown on anyway. It depresses the hell out of me. Speak about development – the town needs some serious “lifestyle” development – being the bland dump that it is. Onwards, before I get myself in trouble here…

Fun-wise – my social life leaves much room for improvements. There are days when all I seem to want is to be left alone to read articles and edit papers, or lay on the couch watching CSI re-runs. There are also days when I catch myself feeling nostalgic at the idea of being able to walk into a neighborhood bar, to hang out with local drunks and catch up on gossip… This is when I know how much I miss Yerevan and a certain drunk in particular, which in its turn makes me realize how much time has passed since then, and how much I’ve changed and mellowed in the last couple of years…

Richmond-wise – my frequent trips to Richmond are my saving grace, before I go completely nuts in Smalltown America. I have sublet the cutest room in a cutest row house in the Museum District for winter break. Within walking distance to Carytown and the museums on Boulevard, this is the closest I have lived to the Fan (the area may even be considered the Fan). Needless to say – I’m excited. And would like to extend an open invitations to those who might be interested in coming up for a visit. There. Any volunteers?

Relationship-wise –slowly, very slowly, one baby step at a time I have been recovering all the faith that I lost about relationships in general, and myself in a relationship in particular. My less than stellar track record in this particular area had left me with a reservation that there might be something innately wrong about me and commitments, and everything else that goes into making a functioning relationship. I am slowly coming to realize that after all my fears, mistakes, reservations and plain stubbornness, I am in the middle of a very happy relationship and that is one way of knowing that I finally reconciled all my past conflicts and got my priorities straight. Good to know – turns out it was not all completely hopeless…

Other-wise – to list a few random irrelevances observed as of late - an overall increase in TV watching (particularly CSI – only as little as three months ago I watched almost no TV), drastic decrease in caffeine and nicotine consumption (contrary to what you might think grad school does to you); diet consisting of peanut butter sandwiches, greasy free pizza that they give out at school (Heller school indeed tries to alleviate hunger one student at a time), cafeteria wraps and ravioli - my eating habits are not particularly exciting or exemplary. Yet, it does not bother me at all. Not now. Not at this point. Which I am taking as a good sign. I feel the same way about dropping a course so that the quality of my sleep does not suffer. A big leap forward, I’d say.

So that’s that - my life in a nutshell, kids. Not very exciting, but livable, I’d say. Better, much better than lives of those who do not have what today I am lucky to have and perhaps do not appreciate to the extent that I should. However, despite everything that annoys and frustrates me from one day to another, I do know that I am, still, happy as I’ve never been and forever grateful for everything that I have, - today, tomorrow and for many days to come.

History of Time of Sorts

Long, long ago, before there was even sand in the hourglass, there was a teeny, tiny dot, so small it was virtually invisible -- that was presented to you as a gift.

At first, puzzled and perplexed, you thought it was a joke. Yet, trusting and inquisitive, your intuition led you to accept it and, before long, to carefully examine it.

And lo, after becoming extraordinarily teeny and tiny yourself, you found there was an entrance of sorts into this little treasure, in the form of a long and winding path. So inside you went, through the densest grove of ancient, moss-covered, bending oaks you will ever see. And before long, you found a shiny, gold, old-fashioned key that had been left upon a large, rounded stone, as if especially for you.

With key in hand you proceeded down the path until you arrived at a massive gate. Just above it there was a handwritten plaque for all who might pass beneath it:

"Welcome to the Jungles of Time and Space, Where nothing is as it seems, yet all things are possible. Should you ever feel lost or weary, Forget not from where you have come, And follow the signs..."

Peering between the wrought iron bars, you could see the entire Milky Way Galaxy and a hundred billion galaxies beyond it. Your thoughts raced, your imagination ran wild, and as you raised your key to the sturdy, reinforced lock, slowly slipping it in, and gently turning... there was a sudden flash of light and burst of sound. Whereupon, seemingly light-years later but, in fact, no longer than an instant, you found yourself in the most beautiful human form, living on the most beautiful little planet, having a wonderful life, a wrinkle of curiosity on your brow, reading this very Note, right here and now.
Talk about a sign -
The Universe

Love is...

when you go to bed in boyfriend's boxers, hugging his t-shirt as a teddy bear...

On a Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, when the boy was up here for a visit, I was making French toast, when Mother Sugar walks into the kitchen, sees me at the stove, stops in silence for a moment, gives a chuckle and says “Would you like an apron, Miss?

“No thanks. Would you like some orange juice?”

“Oh stop it, Miss Domestic.”

The boy’s watching the scene in silence. Mother Sugar turns to him and says,

“Just so you know, she isn’t usually like this…”

“Yeah, you’d be lucky to see me toasting a bagel.”

The boy, who has had more than one occasion of seeing me by the stove, doesn’t seem to understand how funny the whole situation is. Later I tell Mother Sugar, that you know, I’m quite domestic, after all.

“Ok, then. Dinner is at seven tonight?”

“Yup. Don’t be late. I’ll heat up the pasta that I made from the box the other day...”

Catching the last grains of warmth...

Slowly, reluctantly I am starting to fall into a routine. Despite my initial dismay, frustration and disappointment and after careful consideration of all my options, including dropping out or transferring, I finally came to realize that at this point the most rational thing I can do is stay exactly where I am and finish what I have started. Not that the issues that I have with the program, the school itself and the educational system in general are going to go away, or I am going to feel less of a conformist – merely a realization that with all things considered, including costs and benefits, staying here is perhaps the best option, especially since I will be out of here after the end of the academic year, only six months of internship away from getting the damn degree.

So now I’m getting sucked into the routine. Classes, assignments, midterm exams, group meetings here, community meetings there, lectures, seminars… I’d say I’m busy, except that I do not feel like what I do on daily basis is important or matters on the grand scheme. I’m merely going through motions without much excitement or motivation. I am not very productive, despite the fact that I’m on top of my classes; I don’t accomplish much, contrary to what my grades so far can tell; I feel like I waste too much time, sulk too much, watch too much TV. I feel like I am constantly trying to keep my academic life separate from the rest, I feel as if the rest of my life is somewhat on hold, and I’m here, merely biding time.

I feel like I’ve been biding my time for way too long. The past three years have been nothing but continuation of a transitional state, one temporary stay after another. It’s getting old, or perhaps it’s me who’s getting old and am tired and in need of permanence, stability, shape and order, less uncertainty…

I feel in constant conflict with myself. What I seem to want these days overlaps with what I need; where I seem to be moving towards to seems to not be where I want to be. It’s been a continuous, repetitive theme for quite a while, regardless of my daily routine. I am starting to forget what it is like to live in the moment. I feel like I’m starting to forget how to appreciate my day. I am starting to forget what it is that truly matters and am falling for promises for some distant future that I’m not sure I even want…

For now it’s the routine – school, classes, assignments, meetings here and there. I am, in a way busy, although none of it is either all that exciting or important in the grand scheme. And even if I know that the smartest thing for right now is to stay exactly where I am, the smartest thing may not necessarily be what is best for me.

Before I can even start thinking about development...

“I will never forget the look of hope on the face of the farmer, as I watched him sign the loan agreement and handed out the loan in the amount of two hundred dollars. This would help him repair his old Soviet tractor and buy seeds for next year’s crop. He was happy. So was I. This was my first loan disbursement during the month of internship at FINCA Armenia. Since then I have seen the same expression of hope and gratitude on many faces, which has been the best reward in return to my work and the greatest source of inspiration. I do believe that it is possible to make a difference in the lives of people, however small the efforts and changes might appear at first glance.”

I applied to Brandies with a genuine desire to learn about development. Ranking among the best in the field, the program offered an alternative, “holistic” approach to global development issues, covering a wide range from poverty reduction to global health, to environmental protection to sustainability. At the time my knowledge of “development at work” was based on observation rather than first hand experience, and likewise, my understanding of development was more intuitive than based on existing theories and approaches or backed by empirical evidence.

I was driven by belief that it was “possible to make a difference in the lives of people, however small the efforts and changes might appear at first glance. ” I also felt that those who are more fortunate bear a certain responsibility towards those who are born without their basic rights and opportunities. To me development meant creating opportunities to those who are born without them, as further rephrased by one of my professors as “development is expanding human choices.”

By the time I got to Brandeis, I had read, if not significant, at least certain amount of literature that turned my aspirations to hardcore interrogations, my desire to learn how to achieve development to skeptical “why do existing approaches fail one after another,” and “are there any alternatives other than numerous attempts to achieve blueprint, universally applicable models that act more like band-aids than true solutions to existing issues?”

As I delve deeper and deeper in existing challenges facing development, I am overwhelmed by array of issues that arise as I attempt to answer even one single question. The misadventures of development practitioners in the field during the past decades, as phrased by my beloved Bill Easterly, leave little to no hope or reason to adhere to any given approach or method. Even more so, in the course of time, seemingly simple and well defined development objectives have been becoming more and more obscure as the attempts to overcome them are meeting bigger and bigger obstacles.

As reluctant as the field appears to be to admit its shortcomings and ignorance when it comes to achieving worldwide development, it is becoming obvious that if you don’t know what works, chances are you have little to nothing to teach about how to achieve development. The most you can do is to critique the past approaches, learn from past mistakes and search for alternatives that may not necessarily guarantee any tangible result. However, the first step in even trying to move towards development is to accept the fact that we are, initially, ignorant in the field and do not know how to achieve development, as our failures indicate, as opposed to pretending that we know what we’re doing and giving far reaching promises such as Millennium Development Goals stand today.

From this viewpoint, I cannot help but consider the moral implications of my choice. Medical students, before starting their practice, swear under oath to do no harm. There is no such oath for those practicing development. And yet, at this point it only feels as if we’re the blind trying to lead the meek, without stopping to question whether we’re doing good or making things even worse. Do we have the right to treat social policies as experiments of some kind and thrive to achieve development for the sake of development only without stopping to consider the lives we’re aiming to alter? Do we have the knowledge? Do we have the strength? Do we have the ethical right, even if our intent is driven by nothing but goodwill? Is our intent driven by goodwill alone? Is goodwill alone enough to try and accomplish something that’s rooted deep into centuries and challenges such basic fundamentals as justice, equality, basic rights and needs?

The hardest part of this journey is not the academic work (or in my case, the lack of challenge that I’m faced with these days). Nor is it the professional pressure or genuinity of my intent. It’s not even the over increasing complexity of social, political and economic challenges that the field of development faces. The hardest thing, as this point is finding answers to the ethical questions, without reconciliation of which I do not think I’ll be able to go on.

Doris Lessing Wins the Nobel Prize for Literature

Doris Lessing, "[the] epicist of the female experience, who with scepticism, fire and visionary power has subjected a divided civilisation to scrutiny," according to NobelPrize.org., wins the Nobel Prize for Literature, 2007.

Perhaps my most favorite writer of all times, whose books have impacted and shaped me like no other literary work has done. The Golden Notebook my one and only and all time bible to free womanhood is perhaps one of the greatest analysis of the forces, events and phenomena that shaped the post modern world depicting conflict at every level of fragmented society as we desperately fight and resist the limitations of human condition.

It makes me extremely, ecstatically happy to learn that the prize went to her, one of the greatest visionaries of out times.

For full stories, read here and here.
* Photograph courtesy to CBC.ca

This is actually starting to get a little scary

Only yesterday, through sobs and tears I mumbled, half legibly

"When you want something so badly and you don't get it, it hurts so bad that you stop believing that you will ever get anything you really truly want..."

And this morning:

Actually, Nika, it's not that you want stuff that you don' t have, but that you want stuff that you think you don't have.

And the best way to change this is to begin thinking that you have it.

"Oh, there's my electric, fully loaded, 2008 Habitron cloud maker!!!"
The Universe

Are you playing with me, Universe?

Seriously, first this:

Talking a lot about something that bothers you, Nika, is a pretty good sign that you've got something huge, and profoundly liberating, to learn.

Whooohooooo!
The Universe

and then...

First, as a child, it seems like the entire world is there for you and you rush to drink from its every cup, sometimes wondering to yourself how anything could ever be more fun.

Then, as you grow older, if you're observant, you realize much of what you enjoy was made possible by the contributions, work, and labor of those who came before you, and you're taken aback, disappointed even , because with maturity you can now see cracks in the façades, imperfections in the details, and 10,000 ways it could have all been done better.

At which point, folks typically choose one of two paths: Spend a lifetime lamenting how far from perfect things are. Or, to one degree or another, roll up their sleeves and pitch in.

And should they choose the latter with gusto, dear Nika, they will come to know, to the core of their sacred being, that the differences they might make in the world cannot be made by another. And then they will discover the answer to their often-wondered childhood question.... That the most fun one can have in time and space comes from making such a difference, and that the joy derived from serving is 10,000 times that of being served.
At your service -
The Universe

Ok, i get it, i'll stop the bitching now.

I have been quiet for a while. I have also been down, depressed, disappointed, frustrated and apathetic about this whole school thing (and not only that, but that’s a whole other topic for discussion that I won’t go into at this point). I guess I am really having trouble with adjustment – but it’s the adjustment of my expectations rather than getting used to my new surroundings that is giving me the pains. I do not like the program – to put it as simply as I can. What on paper promised to be an academically rigorous top level education, in practice proved to lack challenge and be as full of bullshit as everything else. I’d follow Tamara’s advice and try to create my own learning path in this whole schooling process. In fact it looks like the only thing I can do in order to survive the next two semesters or so. And yet, at the same time, I cannot hold down the whole “what the fuck” question – the somewhat petty, but at the same time rather tangible and legitimate concern of mine – the financial cost. To pay a fortune for what does not hold to its promise? Am I simply paying for the name rather than quality? Am I buying rather than earning this degree? Surely it’s not groundbreaking news that education is some kind of business in its own way – but can’t you be at least a little subtle about it?

At this point I’m not sure what to do about what seems to cause me such great frustration and pain. Of course I could always quit, go back to Richmond, or home, or anywhere else for that matter, get a more or less satisfying job, do something I’ve always been good at doing – the mundane, repetitive everyday tasks, without expecting any immediate rewards. Or work for a non-profit, grassroots, community based development something or another – honestly, I don’t even NEED a degree to be able to do that – so what the hell am I doing wasting time and money?

But then, what little rationality I have insists that I give it at least another month or two, bite the bullet and go on, finish what I have started because, just like my boss told me– all I need is a piece of paper saying that I’ve got a degree, I’ll be better off with it than without it. But then, I have to question how good I am in playing along the pretense game and how I will feel about myself when all is done and finished. A hypocrite? A conformist? A hopeless cynic? All of the above? I do know bullshit when I see it. I recognize it from miles and miles away. As hard as I try, I cannot quite ignore it – at this point it’s only a matter of further exercising my skills to cope with it.

Maybe I will, after all, get something out of this on top of master’s degree – the perfected skill of coping with bullshit that can always come in handy in all aspects of life. Will it be worth forty grand? I guess only time will tell.

Mother Sugar asks me how I like the house so far. I tell her that I love it.
“What is it about it that you like?”
“It’s very artsy. Colorful. Open. Warm. It has such a positive vibe to it.”
She agrees. Then mentions that the reason she’s so curious is because at my age she would never live with a woman of her age. I tell her that one of the reasons i chose the house was her. She’s amazing, what can I say?

The house itself is very nice. It has a feeling of a home – something that i have been missing for a while. I am not sure whether it’s because of the all female household, or the way she has set it up to be, I love the warmth of this house. I feel safe here. Somewhat sheltered,

Mother Sugar has hosted several kids from my program. One of my roommates, an African queen from Ghana, is in my program as well. Mother Sugar knows so much about the program that she deserves an honorary degree for her indirect involvement and the amount of support she provides to the students.

We often talk about development. She listens closely to my skeptical and somewhat gloomy opinions about the state of development today and in the past. She finds them depressing. She says I sound different from all the other kids who seemed to be on perpetual high of goodwill. She says that I make her think. She thanks me for that. In her turn she asks me what the hell I’m doing getting into this… I tell her that I’m driven out of my biggest fear – the fear of poverty.

“Have you seen poverty from up close?” she asks.
“I have,” and I tell her about life in Armenia in the 90s after the Soviet collapse. She listens closely. Asks if my family is doing well now. I tell her that they’re all right.
“They are paying for your education, aren’t they?”
I look at her as if she’s in sane, at the same time realizing that there is no way in the world I could relay to her how impossible and outright lunatic is the idea of my mother supporting me. In her turn, she looks at me in disbelief.
“You know, my first impression of you was that you come from a wealthy family.”
Other than one of my bosses’ endearing mocking about my Persian princess attitude, this is a first. I am not sure how exactly I can tell her that it is beyond the attributes of wealth and poverty that I could even start to describe my background to her.

Mother Sugar tells me that she’s lived in poverty herself. Raised her kids in poverty in Israel. Looking at this woman, who seems as American as one can be, I have to wonder what her story is. Still most of it in the dark, I have a hard time putting the little snippets that she told about herself together - New York. Israel, Washington DC, Boston…
I wonder how much more there is to it behind this cheerful woman that reminds me so much of my own mother.

Our conversations leave me with a feeling that we share a new level of understanding, one that reaches beyond our genuine liking of each other, similarly radical political views, innate skepticism and intolerance of any kind of bullshit.

Somehow I feel like this year with Mother Sugar is going to give me a whole lot more than what I will learn at Brandeis. And I am extremely grateful for that.

After having been to classes for a full week, I can finally take a break for a minute, and make an “assessment” of my current situation.

I am starting to realize that I came to Brandeis with high expectations and the wrong attitude. And at the end of the week I can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed – still unsure whether my disappointment is unreasonable, or reasonably justified. Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions. Perhaps, it’s not the program, but my own ambivalence and attitude towards it, perhaps I am being arrogant, ungrateful, impatient, or maybe all of the above. I do realize that I should be grateful to be here. I do realize that this is a privilege. As the program director said in his opening speech (and we all know how to take these speeches seriously), I am, after all, among the lucky few, among the elite… How many people in the world have access to primary education, let alone graduate school at such fine academic institution? How can I not be ecstatic when I am so close to that shrine that I made graduate school be?

I am, in fact, surrounded by young professionals from all over the world. I am guided by mentors who have several decades of experience not only in academic field, but in the real world. They all have been there, right at the very grassroots – in gutter and squalor, in desert and jungle. My own adviser is the founder of the program himself, who’s been all over the world, and led and directed multiple programs within the giants of the industry. My professors have held similar high ranking and respectable positions… Our inspirations are shared, our dreams are encouraged, our academic aspirations rewarded…

Day in day out classrooms heave with our joint goodwill, compassion and empathy, arguments flare with bright ideas and passion… Reading materials encompass the finest ideas from all over the world, to serve as food for further thought… This is my element, right here, in these classrooms, among the bright and accomplished and young and inspired… And yet, by the end of the day I feel as if I have been let down, disappointed, lost…

I did, after all, come here with highest expectation to find not only shared compassion and good will, but in search of excellence, highest academic excellence that takes nothing for granted, tolerates no givens, when even the most obvious, apparent, almost axiomatic notions are questioned, challenged, dissected. Excellence that can no longer afford naiveté, excellence that looks beyond the accepted, traditional and takes the uniform thoughts to a completely new level of seeing, reasoning, understanding…

So far I am yet to come across such excellence.
For now, I have to wonder whether my expectations were, in fact, unreasonably high. Perhaps I did turn the idea of graduate school into a shrine of some kind, an almost impossible shrine that only very few can reach… Perhaps, what I am looking for is not to be found here, in this fine academic institution or anywhere else, for that matter.

Yet, what I am feeling now is not just disappointment. What I am experiencing is Holden Caulfield syndrome of some sorts. Despite my excitement, my blatant admiration of the new faces that I got to meet in such a short period time and my initial inspiration with such high reaching and noble ideas, what i see and hear is something old, familiar, too subtle and elusive for me to be able to explain, yet tangible enough to be felt with my backbone – the fake… false, carefully guised undertones that creep in every time professor pauses to cough, every time a question is left hanging in the air in the pursuit of the next. The game of pretense. The old, familiar game of pretense… None of this is serious, none of this matters, coined phrases thrown back and forth, clichés, technical words that have become so common that they have lost their meaning, recycled, repetitive ideas that are being served to us on a pretty plate like an exotic and fabulous dish…

It’s going to be a long year…

I already want it to be over. Hence the bad attitude.

And yet, I need to remind myself, before I move on to my next assigned reading, that it’s not just the Master’s degree that I’m here for. Although the last thing I want to do during the next year or so is to question and challenge everything that’s served on my plate, I do need to exercise a certain sense of reality and healthy dose of cynicism to get through this…

More on this later…
Back to the dissecting table – my daily readings, that is.

Busy

I know, I know, it's the familiar, untelling, knee-jerk answer that you hear left and right, but at this point, this is the only thing i can come up with, until some of the chaos of the first week of classes, unnecessarily complicated registration process and just getting used to my new surroundings and schedule finally settles down. For now, here's an excerpt from my bible of everydayness by Amy Krouse Rosenthal on this very brief and limited one word answer - busy.

How you been? Busy. How’s work? Busy. How was your week? Good. Busy. You name the question, “Busy” is the answer. Yes, yes, I know we are all terribly busy doing terribly important things. But I think more often than not, “Busy” is simply the most acceptable knee-jerk response. Certainly there are more interesting, more original, and more accurate ways to answer the question how are you? How about: I’m hungry for a waffle; I’m envious of my best friend; I’m annoyed by everything that’s broken in my house; I’m itchy. Yet busy stands as the easiest way of summarizing all that you do and all that you are. I am busy is the short way of saying —suggesting—my time is filled, my phone does not stop ringing, and you (therefore) should think well of me. Have people always been this busy? Did cavemen think they were busy, too? This week is crazy—I’ve got about ten caves to draw on. Can I meet you by the fire next week? I have a hunch that there is a direct correlation between the advent of coffee chains and the increase in busy-ness. Look at us. We’re all pros now at hailing a cab/pushing a grocery cart/operating a forklift with a to-go cup in hand. We’re skittering about like hyperactive gerbils, high not just on caffeine but on caffeine’s luscious by-product, productivity. Ah, the joy of doing, accomplishing, crossing off. As kids, our stock answer to most every question was nothing. What did you do at school today? Nothing. What’s new? Nothing. Then, somewhere on the way to adulthood, we each took a 180-degree turn. We cashed in our nothing for busy. I’m starting to think that, like youth, the word nothing is wasted on the young. Maybe we should try reintroducing it into our grown-up vernacular. Nothing. I say it a few times and I can feel myself becoming more quiet, decaffeinated. Nothing. Now I’m picturing emptiness, a white blanket, a couple ducks gliding on a still pond. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. How did we get so far from it? See also: Coffee, Stopping for; Crossing Guard; Nothing

So it begins...

A few things, while I have a minute to breathe, reconnect to the world, check email, make phone calls and jot down some thoughts, before I plunge headfirst back into day four of orientation at Heller School of Social Policy and Management. More to come I’m sure, for now, this will have to do.

• Where do Peace Corps Volunteers end up after they’re done with their two year service? Apparently, the SID program at Heller is the place to be – it seems like ninety percent of the Americans who are in the program (and believe it or not, they are a minority in an extremely diverse and colorful incoming MA student crowd) are returning Peacies. To take this further – what are the chances that you’ll meet one, let alone two of these amazing well-wishing, tree-hugging do-gooders that have just come back from your own country? Even more so, what if you even happen to have personally seen them on site? From the day one, when after being freshly inaugurated and sworn in, they crowded my favorite bar, making complete fools of themselves, i'd stumble upon them throughout the year here and there in ever corner of downtown Yerevan… A former PC groupie that I was back in the day, while conducting series of interviews with them for my still unfinished project, I actually ended up befriend a few (they are, after all, charming, and adorable, and totally harmless). And yet, Brandeis was the last place I’d expect to run into a former Armenia stationed Peace Corps Volunteer – but then, it’s a small world that makes room for even the most improbable encounters to happen.

• Among the many questions that I’ve been pondering upon for the last year or so that were directly or indirectly touched upon during the course introduction session earlier today: the ethical side of development as to who makes development happen, how certain development projects are created and chosen for implementation, who gets to decide which projects to choose and how to implement. The question being - do we (development practitioners) - or the developed countries, namely the West in general, have the moral and ethical right to make development happen - choose a project for a country or a region that we know little to nothing about without even considering the issue of participation and collaboration, thus ending up face to face with downright hostility from the locals and leaving the site shocked by their "ingratitude"? A dominating theme in the attitude the West that is prevalent not only in this particular field, but the entirety of US foreign policy. To come to think of it - can Western thought and the Western model be imposed to the rest of the world, with neither the knowledge, nor the participation, nor consideration of choices of those who live in the region?


• Snippets from introduction to Poverty and Assets – Poverty is a man created phenomenon that doesn't go away because certain groups happen to have vested interest to make it stay. Certain economists consider poverty as necessity, the driving force of progress – if this is so, capitalism does truly encourage the worst tendencies of human nature. Any comments?

• From introduction to Food and Nutrition – Food for Peace Program, a seemingly harmless and humane project has turned out to be one of the most harmful, if not downright criminal in the practice of aid that sends the agricultural surpluses of US produced wheat and corn to malnourished countries, in the long run has resulted in disrupting the already shaky local agriculture and bankrupted thousands of farmers. Due to a very powerful farmers’ lobby in the US, the US government has agreed to buy the surplus from the farmers, lest the excess supply should push the prices down, and dump it on countries that would rather grow their own produce, which in its turn would result in gradual growth and development of local agriculture. However, as long as the lobby exists, the program will not stop. Politicians of wheat and corn growing states that rely on farmers’ vote will not let this happen either. Speak about morality. How is it different from dropping a bomb on a given country?

• From introduction to Framework to Development – despite the fact that foreign aid has been in practice for several decades, it’s still a very young field in its experimental stage, where both practitioners, policy makers and scholars are trying to find applicable solutions to pressing global issues more through trial and error process than a unified and collaborative strategy (if it's even possible to come up with one). If that’s the case, why does the UN and other joint aid agencies make the assumptions that they will meet the Millennium Development Goals by the projected year of 2015? One has to wonder whether it is pretense, arrogance or plain ignorance or there is more to it that what “they” let us know?

Needless to say, I’m excited. And this is before even the classes started. Yet, the fact that they won’t let the incoming class register for courses yet drives me insane. On the bright side - I found out that I might just as well try to find a real job instead of shitty unpaid internships for my second year. As delighted as I am, this adds yet another important task to my already crowded agenda for the coming year, more on which will come later...

The last days in Richmond were almost surreal. Starting from the big storm last Thursday night that lasted all night and shook the ground with lightning and thunder, to the heat finally subsiding a little, to overcast skies and fog in the morning and the smell of fall in the air predicting all kinds of change, and the red brick of the houses looking brighter against the gloomy sky…

Running on Monument for the last time, through the mist of the early morning fog… Packing. Cleaning up… the trip to the airport…

Lisa came to visit on Sunday. I hadn’t seen her since I left Gainesville. That was an eternity ago. Seeing her, seeing myself, how much we both have changed since then and yet how familiar it all felt. How much at ease both of us were. The same welcoming feeling of familiarity. The same long conversations over coffee, the same musings of what happened, and what will next… Our past, our future, our plans and dreams…
She wanted to see Richmond, since I spoke so fondly of it. Showing Richmond to her gave me a chance to see it once again, all the favorite places that I will miss so much, the downtown and Shockoe Bottom to Boulevard and the Museum District, Byrd Park and Carillon, the bridges across the river, the Fan and Carytown… Showing these places to her felt as if I was showing a part of myself, despite the fact that I myself was so new to Richmond only a little while ago.

Finishing up the last little tasks at work. Trying not to forget to pass on the last little details to my replacement. Finishing up training. Hoping that I was leaving all these files in good hands, and yet for the first time realizing how good of a job I had done even having only partially applied myself in this work.

Leaving work was harder than I thought it would be. Although work itself is probably one of the last things that I will miss, it was hard to leave the place, especially after knowing that I’ve been valued and appreciated. It’s strange how throughout this entire year, after feeling so strange and out of place with my foreignness, ill fitted liberal ideas that I kept to myself, my lack of genuine interest when it came to real estate, to only partial effort that I put into my work, I suddenly felt welcomed, accepted, a member of an extended family that sent me away with genuine wishes and warmest goodbyes.

Almost all free time outside work for the last couple of weeks was spent with him. Playing, joking, being cute and silly. Cooking together, going out for meals. Watching Before Sunset yet again. Distracting each other. Planning future trips…

It wasn’t until we were at the airport when it hit. It hit hard. When I was about to cross the security check point. And every single tear that I had been trying to hold back for days, every sad emotion that I would distract myself from fell crushing on me. I cried through the entire flight. Listened to David Gray and cried. And yet, despite the sadness that still lingers with me and gets me teary eyed, I am so hopeful and optimistic … Looking back at the relationship this time last year, and even a few months back, I realize how much it has grown, how different it is from what once started as an undefined, equivocal, ambiguous relationship… All the uncertainties that I once had, all insecurities are gone. What I once asked for – continuity rather than commitment, is what I am finally able to see. I realize that I could not have been happier. That I cannot be happier now, from however many miles away… For now, it’s merely a distance of days, surviving time in short intervals: eight days, ten more days, two more weeks until I see you again. Soon. I promise.

А на последок я скажу…

This time next week I will be in Waltham. The time interval between now and then seems gray and fuzzy. Next Wednesday seems an eternity away. Once again I am reminded how multi textured (flexible) time can be, rigid in some occasions, fast and rapid and stretchable in others…Every day seems to have acquired a special significance. Yet, in the bigger scheme, it’s just another day, another week…

It still hasn’t quite clicked in that I will be leaving in less than a week. I’ve known this all along, from the first day I came to Richmond. Yet it is still hard for me to comprehend that I will be leaving. Perhaps it’s partly because I know that the leave is not final, that I will be coming back, in as little as three weeks. This time next month I will be back in Richmond for a long weekend, thanks to Rosh Hashanah that’s an official holiday for Brandeis. I am looking forward to these coming trips. Another one in October, one for Thanksgiving, a month long stay during the winter break… I’ll be here in February, in March and April…Yet anything after that seems vague and blurry… It gives me an uneasy feeling – the fact that I do not know where I will be in less than ten months, let alone this time next year.

I try to be realistic. Try to keep myself still, not to run ahead of myself, which is something that I have been doing a lot lately. I try to objectively identify all the options that I have. Likewise, be aware of all the limitations that are on my way. And for the first time, these limitations don’t make me feel helpless… Better prepared, maybe more pragmatic but not helpless… And yet, for the first time I ever remember myself, I wish I knew what was coming towards me, what the future holds for me. I once used to be the greatest believer of randomness, perceiving the human condition as our collective helplessness against circumstances that determine it all… Thus I never let myself make any far reaching plans, even in my wildest dreams and felt frozen and paralyzed within the bounds of my limitations… Lately I’ve been trying to look at things differently. Trying to believe that there’s always a remote possibility for even the impossible to come to life. Lately I’ve trying to look at things through the power of believing. Make room for even the farthest reaching dreams. And likewise I actually believe that it is quite possible that I find myself one day looking at Himalayas, strolling the streets of Prague or back in Armenia working on a documentary… Or back in Richmond, living quietly on Strawberry Street. Maybe happily married, with a couple of kids…

What makes it possible to believe in all of the above is the fact that I am the happiest that I can possibly ever be... It’s a feeling that comes from within. From the certainty of knowing of what’s important and what’s with me to stay. Those are things that cannot be taken away from me, won’t be left behind…Everything else, everything I encounter on my way, or happen to accomplish, will count as bonus points to this happiness. At this point, I am moving from point A to point B not because I have to, but because I want to… And that’s all that counts…

And now, only a week away from moving, only a breath away from yet another exciting adventure that lies ahead, I feel incredibly calm and confident. I am leaving Richmond with a peaceful mind, knowing that it will always have a place in my heart. And that is something you can’t leave behind. Neither now or ever.

A few things

- more as side notes to myself, in hopes of turning them into full blogs between now and the move, that is, if I don’t collapse of exhaustion, dehydration or pass out from excitement first.

• If I had a nickel every time I trained someone, or my take on summing up residential real estate in a few paragraphs, as my way of marking an end to a phase. I hope that after the next two weeks I'll never ever have to deal with it again… Even when I decide to buy my own house one day.

• Between Persian princess and street urchin, I will forever go down the history of R&C as the girl who not only politely corrected the boss that “No, Mr. R., it’s diphthong, not dipthong” but was also able to explain what it actually meant and illustrate it on examples. Big deal – even the dumbest student at Brusov knows this, and yet, the Boss-Who’s-Always-Right was not only impressed but somewhat hurt, as I shoved the dictionary right at his face and ended the argument with Subjunctive “I wish I were wrong…”, thus scarring the poor thing for the rest of his lifetime… The incident itself took place a couple of years ago, and yet up to this date the guy won’t stop bringing it up. Food for further though - you’d think that with such grammar background, I’d make a lot less errors on this blog but my short attention span has been a long established and documented fact.

• A baffled attempt to respond to an image conscious comment thrown at me some weeks ago, as in “You look great! Different.” “Different how?” “You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight. You look skinny now. ” Apparently the comment affected me more than I'd expect it to, hence the necessity to write a coherent piece on an extremely tangled and convoluted mess that weight related issues once used to be.

• Can someone tell me what’s the difference between a regular physical checkup and a school checkup? Apparently there is, since they’re billed differently and chances are that my current health insurance won’t over the latter. Which sucks – such a waste of year long insurance money thrown away for nothing. Does anyone actually need another long and drawn out rant of hostility and rage on how much health care sucks in this country?

• Is it just me or Starbucks has been brewing some seriously mediocre coffee lately? An observation of the last few months or so based on visits to several stores, including one in Boston and another one in D.C… On a slightly different note – as my coffee consumption dramatically decreases, my soft drink consumption increases accordingly. Between the two, I’m not sure what to consider a lesser evil…

• I have finally reached the point where I am mentally and emotionally done with Richmond. And yet, I find it hard to list every little thing that I will miss. However, I can firmly assert that anything south of the river or north of Broad will not be remembered fondly…

• As much as I hate winter, I am having a really hard time dealing with dog days of August, when Richmond seems to be the hottest spot in the whole entire East Coast, if not the continent intself (seriously, check weather.com, if you don’t believe me). At this point, frost bite and snow seem a much more pleasant alternative to this blood boiling, brain melting, suffocating hell. I do realize that I might want to reconsider this last statement in a few months. I think I need to move to a place like Oakland, or San Diego, or whatever happens to have temperatures of perpetual upper 70s, if for nothing else, at least for the sake of having one less thing to bitch about.

• And lastly, I still owe a comment to Tamara, and the promised reward, so hopefully, that will be coming shortly. Just to let you know that I haven't forgotten.
  

It’s August yet again…

My two notebooks have come to an end… Pages filled with scribbling, half sentences written in hurried, illegible handwriting, dark butterflies on the margins… Lists, random quotes, words underlined for future pondering…

The year in Richmond is in these notebooks. Two summers, fall, winter and spring… From the very first “Give me a day…” to frustrated “How long it takes to get better…” to affirmative “I need more definitions” to shy “I love you” to trembling “I’m afraid of randomness of circumstances” to reminiscing “this time last year… ” to wistful ”if only… “ to airy “I’m happy like I’ve never been before…” to restless “I have to go and see…” – this has been the year in Richmond. How ironic that both notebooks would come to their end when my stay here is coming to its own end…

I need a new notebook…

Yet I am reluctant to get one, just like I’m reluctant to write these days, as if I’m afraid of what might come out, afraid to voice what I do not want to hear, lest I wander off into a territory that’s better left untrodden…

My days are filled with little tasks, small deadlines, chores, must-do lists… I concentrate on them one at a time, trying to live in those moments, stay in those moments as long as I can, aware of every passing minute as seconds tick away… My days are full… My heart is full… at night my dreams are crowded… prophetic…

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for in the Golden Notebook… And yet, I’m at awe that the book still has that strong hold on me, just like I did when I first picked it up when I was barely eighteen, not knowing that the book would change me, shape me like no other book would… The divided self – in four notebooks, in hopes of bringing it all together in one unified golden notebook… I think of all the notebooks that I’ve left behind, scattered bits of myself left here and there…

I need a new notebook…

It’s August yet again.

I’m leaving the new notebook for everything after…