21 years ago this week…

21. years. ago.

That seems like ages ago, and then sometimes it seems like yesterday. My parents called us all in the kitchen to share with us the horrific news about a massive earthquake that had occurred in Armenia. We children all stood there in shock.

It was always exciting, albeit rare, when something Armenian was in the news. Whenever we saw an Armenian name in the credits of a film or TV show growing up, we felt so proud and began to call our relatives and friends to alert them… even if we had no clue who that famous Armenian was… it was just such a thrill to see our culture or someone representing our culture in the media.

But this was different. This news event wasn’t something to get excited about. In fact, I am sure I began to cry along with my mom. No one from our family had ever been to the Homeland, but we all felt a deep connection to the home of our ancestors… and we were devastated as we saw the images of suffering, the horrors of the aftermath of the earthquake on the news channels…

As a community, we began to collect clothes, blankets, medical supplies, and money, lots of money to send to the victims of the earthquake. I remember how comforting it was to know that people all across the world - Armenians and non-Armenians! - were donating all that they could to help the victims in Armenia. I was so moved by the display of love that people were showing to my people. For some, this was the first time that they had even heard of Armenia and Armenians, and yet, they poured out their love for the earthquake victims through selfless donations…

We were all so encouraged when we’d hear reports of how many supplies and how much aid money was being sent to the Homeland to help the people who had suffered such loss. It would be just a matter of time before the people there could rebuild their lives, or so we thought…

And then, years later I had the chance to visit Armenia for the first time. I was the first one from my family to ever set foot in the Homeland and I was thrilled at the opportunity. I was seeing this country that I had dreamed about… it was an amazing experience!

And it was a painful experience.

I remember one day driving out away from the city… we were singing in the car, laughing and eating delicious peaches…when all of sudden something caught my attention. “What is that?” - I asked our driver pointing to the large metal gas container that was lying next to the road as we drove right by. “That is a container,” he answered plainly. Well, I knew it was a container… but what I really wanted to know was what it was doing by the side of the road like that. My friend, an American-Armenian who was now living and working in the country, understood I wanted to know more. “That is someone’s home,” she answered quietly.

I will never forget the explanation that followed. These were some of the poorest people in Armenia; they were victims of the Earthquake who had lost their homes, their belongings, and for many, their loved ones. They had lost everything… and now, many years later after the earthquake, they were living in these make-shift homes… in gas containers… all these years later, this was their home.

They were living in containers. Metal cylinders.

I was speechless for a minute. Then I began to cry. “But what about all the money we gathered and sent here?” I remember shaking as I spoke. “What about all the clothes and all the supplies we collected?” People from all over the world had sent aid. So why were these people still living in containers? Why hadn’t we helped them live in proper homes?

Our driver slowly began to explain: “the money doesn’t always get to the people it needs to get to…” he shook his head. Often times, the aid that was sent here ended up in the wrong hands… ruthless people who kept the money, the clothes, the supplies for themselves… people who hadn’t suffered any loss were now stealing from the poorest of the poor.

I could hardly believe my ears… I couldn’t believe that this had happened. That this was happening.

I remember how my heart broke that day. Driving past containers by the side of the road and knowing that people lived inside… people who perhaps wondered why no one had tried to help them after the devastation of the earthquake. People who didn’t realize that we had tried to help. We had sent the aid. We just hadn’t ever expected that what we had sent would never ever reach these victims.

I am remembering that bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach as we continued to drive that day in Armenia…

there is so much to write.. so much welling up inside of me.

Where do I begin?

The last two months have been a whirlwind of emotions… and, yes, I have been singing… I can’t stop singing… my audience has been made up of 2 sometimes 3 people… two of those being some very tiny people. They might very well be my favourite audience members to sing for…

We had our second child about 6 weeks ago… what a miracle!

What a blessed, amazing, awe inspiring miracle this entire 9 month journey has been… that amazing moment when I discovered I was expecting again, realizing that, yes, a life was growing inside of me… oh, what joy! And then, to grow with life while simultaneously doing life with our first born: one curious, enthusiastic person who never ceases to thrill me… and waiting expectantly for the day that our family would welcome its newest member…

And then meeting her for the very first time.

Oh… how can I even begin to put it all into words?! Truly impossible.

But we are here. Our family. With our newest addition.

Life is beautiful.

Enjoy a wonderful article about Mariam’s passion for Armenian folk music and her recent collaboration with the Philadelphia Museum of Art!

We are excited to announce that music from Mariam’s first album Far From Home will be featured in the Arshile Gorky exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. For more information about this exhibit, please visit http://www.philamuseum.org/exhibitions/378.html

I am so grateful for this town.

The South has kindly, graciously embraced this music that I am so passionate about; they have supported me in ways that I never, ever would have imagined. Little did I know that I would find such an enthusiastic audience for Armenian folk music in the South when I moved here a couple of years ago…

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I first arrived here.

Oh, but I have been most pleasantly surprised… and it is a beautiful thing…

Ann Hicks, Arts writer at the Greenville News, has written about my passion for Armenian folk music in this season’s Talk Art magazine. She tells the story so eloquently… I knew when I first met Ann that I was in the most capable hands. She listened to my journey so intently. And she has sensitively crafted an article which captures my heart’s song perfectly.

When I first read her article a couple of days ago, I began to weep.
In the article, she talks about how difficult it was for me when I first arrived here… and my mind went to that time… and I wept.

I remember waking up that first morning in the South, a new bride, so far away from everything familiar, yet together with my husband. I felt so torn, and sometimes so guilty. On the one hand, I was overjoyed, thrilled, and excited to be with my husband. This was the beginning of an amazing journey together! He was and is everything (and more!) I had ever prayed for in a life partner. And then on the other hand, I was hurting deeply. This was one of the most difficult times in my life: leaving everything I knew and loved back home in Canada: my beloved family, my friends, my life… ah, and the mountains and the ocean… it was like my heart was being torn in two…

I will never forget those early days here… one moment filled with utter joy at being with my best friend, my husband; the next moment, filled with despair and longing for the home I had known for so long…

I remember feeling so alone at times. Here I was in a new city, a new country, a new culture… everything seemed so unfamiliar. Everything from the temperature readings, the speed limit (we use the metric system back home!) the climate, the food, the accents, the lack of street signs - all a source of frustration at one point or another! I tried not to compare this new city to where I had grown up, that city with the ocean about fifteen minutes away (!).

But it was hard not to.

Especially when I sought a place of solace, somewhere I could go to and be refreshed, and I couldn’t find a place that was similar to what I was used to: my breathtaking beach back home where I could run and listen to the water and stare at the mountains across the way and dance and pray and sing and walk for hours…

I remember meeting so many people in my husband’s circle here; everyone was so friendly and kind. They all welcomed me with open arms. But once life really began, I hardly saw any of the people I had been introduced to. Either folks lived far away or were busy or something.

I longed for community like I had been used to. I missed my mom and dad, my sister, my brother, my relatives, my best friends, my work, my church…

I was at home working on the completion of my second album, and that took up countless hours. And while it was good to have the time to work on my music, I longed for some sort of companionship on those days when my husband was out working long hours and I was at home.

It is amazing, however, when I look back on that time. While I admit, there were times when I felt terribly alone, it was during those moments in the valley that my faith in my Father deepened. He was the one constant in my life and His sweet friendship filled my thirsty soul with fresh water. On those days when I missed my husband and missed my family and missed the ocean, my Father taught me that He was still there. Be still, He kept whispering to me, and know that I am God. Know that I love you deeply… And He gently drew me even closer to Himself…

And the beauty of it is, I was not alone at all. While my faith grew, I also was blessed with new friendships in our town. These were people that my husband didn’t know, people that I got to know… a group of women who quickly embraced me and loved me and supported me in ways that I am ever so grateful for… they became my mentors and dearest friends… when I became sick, they were the ones, along with my husband, who took care of me… these women who had just met me, who really didn’t know me that well at all… and then, I found a fellow Canadian here, and was overjoyed that we shared so much in common, including a love for teaching! She taught conversational English to the international students here, and she asked me if I would like to help. I was thrilled to have the chance to work with international students again! I had taught conversational English as one of my many jobs when I was in Armenia during my second trip there, and loved it, as much as I loved teaching my high school students in Canada… and here I was teaching again…
And I met a fellow Armenian woman here as well! She and I have become dear friends as we share our lives together and encourage one another…

And soon, slowly, but surely, I began to feel more at home here. Instead of expecting myself to instantly feel comfortable in this new place, I took the counsel of my husband and new friends who wisely told me to give myself time… so I gave myself time…

And now here I am. Growing even closer to my beloved husband here. Giving birth to my precious Little One here. Delighting in my Father here. Developing more friendships here. Becoming more familiar with everything here. I am even giving concerts here. Sharing my love for my Armenian heritage with a new audience. Full of awe at how supportive everyone has been. Still missing my loved ones back home, savoring each moment I get to see them again, longing for a time when we will all be together again, but not full of despair anymore… grateful for this town that my Father has used to teach me so much.

And still singing here. Ever and always, still singing here…