Maria Titizian
Autumn in Yerevan this year has been gloriously warm and sunny. Just a
few days ago we were sitting at an outdoor café enjoying a hot cup of
coffee by Republic Square. I was trying to vacate my mind of everything
going on in my life when I happened to glance over and see a big
beautiful old tree a few meters away. I had probably walked passed this
tree a hundred times but had never taken the time to notice it. I have a
weakness for trees without getting too political about them. Many years
ago when we were living in Canada there was this magnificent old tree
in a vacant lot behind our house. My Italian neighbor and I had promised
ourselves that if ever this tree was in danger of being cut down we
would go and chain ourselves to it to prevent its destruction. We came
home from work one day to see that it was gone and in its place was a
large hole and a sign from the city informing us that a church was to be
built there. We were naturally upset about it but there wasn’t much we
could do, it was gone. In retrospect I now realize that back then I gave
up too easily on those issues that meant something to me. Living in
Armenia has changed me and I believe or rather hope that I would have,
at the very least, sent a letter of protest, albeit late, to city
officials if I knew then what I know now…never give up on something of
value.
Sitting at the café in Yerevan, admiring this beautiful tree, looking
up at its branches as they soared toward the sky while sunlight
filtered down through its leaves, I absentmindedly turned to my husband
and said, “Look at how big the trunk of this tree is.” He looked at it
for a few seconds and said, “I bet you this tree was here during the
first republic.”
That’s how things are here – you go through the natural rhythm of
your day, running from work to home and back until you bump up against
history and then you’re forced to catch your breath and take stock of
certain realities. We were both silent for a few minutes as we
contemplated how this tree had stood in this very spot for over a
hundred years, silently and majestically bearing witness to the tides of
our history. How many of our nation’s heroes and intellectuals had sat
under its shade? How many times had this tree felt the misery and pain
of all those past and present Armenians who had quietly walked passed
it? How many times had it seen military parades, protests, celebrations
and victories? Had the president of the first republic, Aram Manougian,
ever placed his hand on its delicate branches?
We finished our coffees and each of us returned to the task of
completing our work day. There wasn’t much else left to contemplate, it
was, after all, merely a tree.
Today I found out that an acquaintance of mine had received her
immigration papers and she and her family are moving to Canada for good.
This seems to be a common and recurring theme in our lives. People we
know, people we have come to love and respect packing up and flying away
in search of a better life. We talk about it, write about it, express
pain over it, but it continues unabated.
We have become a nation of professional nomads, uprooting our
histories, wandering the planet in search of fertile ground to plant new
roots.
I had a brief conversation with my acquaintance who thanked me for
not criticizing her decision to leave when I and others like myself had
decided to come. I wished her the best of luck and said that I hope she
found the happiness she was looking for, she deserved it, we all do.
And then I remembered the tree with strong, deep roots in the soil
near the cafe that I walk by every day. If it had the ability to uproot
itself and move to another, more promising pasture in Canada or a
prettier, more profitable café in Central Europe, would it? I don’t know
but damn it, it is here and while we voluntarily uproot ourselves
leaving behind memories and fragments of lives led, leaving behind the
hope we equated with freedom, with the unbelievable realization of an
entire people’s dream of independence, the tree remains to silently and
majestically remind all of us of the importance of our roots.
And as friends and loved ones pack up their life’s belongings and
slowly and steadily leave forever, I wonder if there will be anyone left
to notice it.
"Asbarez," November 12, 2012
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