Looking out the window last night, totally kusht (full) from a dinner made by friends, I saw homogenous Armenia at its finest. Windows open to let in the damp air of after-rain, my eyes scanned the apartment building parallel to our friends' flat. I looked over and saw a few good men, one watching t.v., another tidying a bookshelf. They looked like fair and fine Armenians. And, if there was any chance of my questioning their heritage, it flew out that open window the moment I noticed that they were dressed in identical shirts. Same black and gray vertical stripes paired with a polyester collar and elastic arm bands. Classic and classy Armenia.
Armenia is diverse in similarities. There are stone monasteries carved out of cliffs peppering the countryside by the dozen, there are more white and boxy Soviet Ladas than I can count driving by our office every hour. I have eaten more khatchapuri than I care to count and my hair is getting redder from all these tomatoes. There is comfort in consistency, yes. However, tedium drives many to extremes. Currently, I am living on the extreme end of sensory consumption. I am constantly looking around like an infant ogling at his first flash of green, a toddler who just discovered the alluring incline of stairs.
More on this later.
Best regards from 12 Amiryan Apt.54,
Samantha
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