My identity as a mother started with you 18 years ago. I was
young then and you happened like a big surprise! I wasn’t much prepared to all
the changes and new feelings. The amazing ride over the years even though joyful
was also full of bumps. I learned many things with you; how to love
unconditionally and care for another human being completely dependent from
myself, how to expand my heart to the extreme to fit all the overwhelming
emotions, how to let go from time to time so you start exploring but fearing at
every step that you might fall or hurt yourself.
No one really prepares you for motherhood but you learn
through lots of laughs and many tears.
I remember when you were born. That day, I really understood
how strong humans we are as women. Through the pain, the stitches and several
medical interventions, I learned to appreciate this magical body of mine, which
connected me with you.
I remember the first days, at home when back from the
hospital with you wrapped on my chest. Overly anxious, I couldn’t sleep much
the first weeks; I would wake up every hour to check if you were still
breathing. You looked so fragile and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be careful
enough, that something tragic would happen…
Years passed. You were almost 3 when we decided to move to
Armenia as a family. It was a huge change for all of us. We spent the first
years exploring the old streets of Yerevan, when there were not so many cars
around and you would dance all the way from our rented apartment near
vernissage to our favorite Artbridge café, the haven of repats at that time.
I remember how I used to tell you stories about the small “talans”
where little elves would hide and every time we crossed that small entrance
between two buildings you would play along and say “SHSHSH mom, gardses hon en klkharge desa” – Yerevan was so magical
for a 4 year old in those days.
I remember how years later, at 7 or 8, you would walk again
with us but in a more critical mood with your little scrapbook, taking notes of
all the things that needed to be restored and renovated in this small city and
that you were planning to rebuild them once you became the mayor of Yerevan:
old parks with shabby playgrounds, broken pipes, holes on the sidewalks,
destroyed doors, devastated buildings.
Then, you suddenly grew up to become a beautiful person
inside out, a free spirit. Of course the road was even bumpier the last years… school…
high school … where you were discovering yourself, your identity, your style
and questioning every single thing. We had some rough days, and some better
ones. In this very conservative society, we had to fight together at school,
with inadequate teachers, insensitive pedagogues, prejudices and stereotypes.
And sometimes you had to fight alone, on the streets, in the marshrutkas or the
doctor’s offices to counter discriminatory remarks from passerby about your
looks or hair or piercings. And I would
listen to your stories, hurting and feeling guilty, questioning myself often if
moving to Armenia was the best option for my kids.
We also continued the struggle on the streets for justice,
for equality and for better Armenia. You were there all the way, accompanying
me in protests against domestic violence from an early age, and up to recently
during the velvet revolution, closing the streets with your friends and making
together with many other young ones this revolution possible.
It was tough sometimes but you were growing stronger and
wiser and eventually Armenia became your home, a place you cherished and where
you belonged. Sometimes, I look at you thinking how much talent is in that amazing
body of yours and the great paintings that come out of your fingers, displayed
here and there in every corner of our house, the music, the songs, the colors… all inspired and created in this place, this
country, with many kind people you met.
But the day has come and you are leaving soon to start
university. You will be going away for a while to start a new chapter in your
life, in a new country, a new adventure. You have found something that really
interests you and you are going after it. No matter how challenging it might
look now, you are ready to try and move out of your comfort zone and experience
real independence.
I am so proud of you.
My heart is a mix of sadness and joy and I am holding myself
to not go into panic mode right now, as most mothers would feel. I am repeating
in my mind “she is going away, away, away…” and tears are ready to burst any
time. I know you are not moving to Katmandu but just 3-4 flight hours away but
still, my “normal” is going to change from next week on. Your room will be
empty, at least for a while. It will be
hard to adjust to your temporary absence but life is like that; a series of
goodbyes and reunions.
I will miss your smell, your hugs, and your voice. I will
miss the changing colors of your hair with every season. I will miss the dirty
cloths that you insist on leaving on the floor, your messy room. I will miss
the long discussions, the weird cakes you bake and every single thing, but I am
so happy to know that you are taking this brave step in your life.
We don’t know what life will bring us and how busy you will
get with new projects. The world is yours to discover, go on, spread your wings
but one thing is sure and that you can rely on is that I will always have an
empty space next to me for you to come back to. Whenever you need to, no matter
when and how often, that space will remain there and ready to welcome you and
let you go again as many times as you need to.
Love,
From a proud mom.
