How Can I Explain?

I have been meaning to write a blog post for close to two weeks now. So many new, great amazing things have been happening. Yet, the only thing I can think about recently is Boston and the idea of 'home' that is far broader than the house my parents live in. And while I was thinking about it, I couldn't necessarily articulate any of those thoughts, beyond: "Holy f*ing shit".

Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.

At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.

Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.

There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off.  What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.

There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?

Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.

I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).