A Step Outside Myself
Living in the 21st century is unwittingly burdensome. Choices dilute us and can lead to stress. What should I wear? At which superstore should I shop? What do I want now? We waste many hours tending to such vanity, leading to brainrot. When, in reality, providing subsistence for ourselves is not confusing, but simple.
I live in Armenia now as a Peace Corps volunteer. I have separated myself from the comforts of life in America; so much so that one of my thirty-two fellow volunteers has decided against serving and returned home after less than one week in-country. The population of Armenia is two million strong, with approximately half of its population inhabiting Yerevan, the capital city. Within the last decade, Armenia has received independence from the former Soviet Union and has joined the Commonwealth of Independent States. The literacy rate is astonishing, about 98%. Families are large and people are warm. However, Armenia's economy is stagnant because of its detachment from the Soviet Regime.
Living in Armenia is not unlike living in America, only I am living life in the past. In Armenia, there are no superstores, no strip malls, no crops of formidable housing communities. There are bazaars, family merchants, and village communities. There are no subways, no silver-bullet trains, no gas-guzzling SUVs. There are trolleys, propane-fueled buses and marshutneys. There are no surround-sound home entertainment systems, only black-and-white TVs and music boxes. Outhouses are common, too.
The village where I live is a substantial community. Only the necessities are important. The family is held above everything. Even better, my host family places me before themselves. Water is available at certain periods of the day. If I need a bath, for which tubs of water are used, heated by an electric coil, and the water buckets are empty, the sons will search the village until some is found. The villagers subsist on one another. The women cook, clean, maintain the gardens and milk the cows. Young men graze the cows and sheep, feed the animals and slaughter them. Many Armenian men find work in Moscow to support their families and return home during winter.
The essence of life rests with family. Emotions stir us and family is there to resolve our inadequacies, relieve our doubts, and encourage our passions. I have already witnessed the tears of my host mother welled by a letter from her son who is serving in the army. A fellow volunteer spoke about an account of death in the family, the ceremonial mourning and the funeral procession. Family is there to make one another laugh, cry and try harder. Knowing that feelings of passion, humility and courage exist with these stoic Armenians, I am willing to sacrifice happily the amenities of the post-modern world back home.
As my flight descended in the night sky upon Yerevan I noticed the bright streetlights common of major cities, usually glowing below like a circuit board, were absent. I had finally swallowed the reality of serving as a volunteer in a developing country. Around me I could hear the nervous murmuring amongst my fellow A9s. We were questioning our motives and searching for the benefits of our sacrifice. Now that I have settled myself, I anticipate serving with the A8s and A9s for the next two years.
From Gyumri, that's life, that's apples and oranges.