About my life in Armenia, about being a mom and an activist, working for women's rights.
The challenges and benefits of raising a family in a post-soviet republic.
Finding a place, my place and calling it HOME.



I will be 40 this year, in a couple of months.

I am not usually someone who is concerned with the idea of getting old. I rarely think of myself as soon-to-be 40 year old. But oddly enough, these past weeks I have been thinking a lot about that.

 I was watching my body in the mirror the other day and suddenly it hit me. I was getting old. Like something I have never imagined would happen.

In Armenia, a woman over 40 has 2 options – in general- and I am not talking here about exceptions: 1- becomes a grandmother and devotes her life to her grandchildren, 2- if single and unemployed, she will have lots of difficulties finding her place in this society where being a mother and a wife is the most important status that a woman can achieve. 



Mima was born in Malatia, in 1923, maybe 1925. She doesn’t remember when exactly. She was just a little girl when her mother ran away with her to Lebanon, escaping post-genocide trauma, persecution and fear.

Mima lived all her life in Beirut; she went to school there, grew up, got married to my grandfather and had three children. I used to spend a lot of time in her house where I ate delicious food, did whatever pleased me, listened to her songs and with my little bother teased her and made her run after us refusing to get cleaned up and go to bed early.


O Canada

22 years ago, i came to Canada, more specifically Montreal. Leaving war-torn Beirut behind them, my parents wanted to give us, my brothers and me, a safe haven.
This city means so much to me; back then, it meant rehabilitation, building confidence, healing and dreaming of a better life. I was a traumatized teenager when we first arrived to the Mirabel airport. The city looked so big, i was lost. Then, with it's peaceful surroundings, challenging educational opportunities and human approach, Montreal won my heart. I liked the place so much and interacting with different people from diverse backgrounds expanded my horizons. I appreciated the simple things that this country had to offer to an immigrant like me who all her life lived in a war-torn country with a dream of a better world. I remember the first time i visited the local public library in my area; spending hours touching the books all available for me for free, sitting endlessly in front of the archives, reading for hours and coming back twice sometime three times a week just to spend time there and devore hysterically almost every single book on my hands.