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Digging Armenian Music I smile, inside and out, and remember a fellow A-9’s words: America is electric; Armenia is acoustic. His statement has a stark truth to it, one that may seem easy to detect, but really, do we take time each day to realize how lucky we are for that reality? Today was a day full of acoustic joy. I love acoustic music. Its simplicity mellows me. And for the next two years, we’re living America Unplugged. And surprisingly, I’ve discovered I love living the acoustic life. How could I not? Everyday simplicities, like a child’s smiling eyes, are blown up—nothing stands in their way; nothing like TV or the Internet vies for their attention. For me, my attention has not swerved from Lucine, my little host sister, despite the language barrier. It’s easy to communicate with her—she’s like all five-year-olds, eager to tell you about anything. The best answer: “Ahhhh … ha,” and a smile or a wide-eyed look of being impressed even if I don’t understand. (I usually don’t.) I washed clothes today. The rain stopped, and I knelt outside next to a newly painted bench on which a bucket of warm, sudsy water sat. Lucine, because she wanted to help, stood and followed her mother’s lead, twisting with her tiny hands the soap out of a green T-shirt that was as big as she was. I smiled, thinking that despite the size, she was better than I was at washing clothes by hand. After eating, she showed me how she could twirl in the kitchen and then we colored pictures of her house and friends. Later, before bed, Lucine brushed her teeth with me for the third time since I arrived in Yerazgavors. I walked downstairs and looked into the living room where my mom and Lucine sat cuddled on the brown couch. A mother finally relaxing after a long day in the garden and barns and a daughter finally getting time with her mother. A few minutes later, Lucine saw me with my toothbrush, toothpaste and water bottle. I walked into the bathroom and started brushing, and a few seconds later in walks Lucine with her cup of water. She followed my every move—where I brush, she brushed. When I drank, she drank. I laughed, realizing I’d be brushing forever. If I would stop, after all, so would she. When we finished our brushing, we rinsed out the sink and our toothbrushes, and she popped her gum back in her mouth. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I see that my little sister looks up to me; she likes having a big sister as much as I love having a little sister. It means I can have a positive effect on her—a series of simple successes, which don’t spring from flow charts, years of planning or hours of mulling in my head or on the phone. And these experiences are my only focus at home—I don’t have a job to rush off to, and the Internet or my favorite TV show aren’t waiting for me. For once, life is slow and unobstructed. I can stop and enjoy a five-year-old’s company, and I can laugh at myself when I realize she has no idea that I have no idea what she’s saying. It’d be easy to get frustrated, but why bother? She’s having fun, and there’s nothing more fun than watching a child, carefree, at play. I can do this for hours; it’s music to my mind and acoustic at its best. Keep cranking out those songs, Armenia. |