Going to Armenia for the first time at my age was both a privilege and a shame. It was a privilege because after years of my upbringing and schooling, I had a grasp of my Armenian identity. It was a shame because I had missed out on twenty years of allowing Armenia to play a role in developing this identity. I knew how to be an Armenian, but I knew little about what it meant. Everything I knew had come through a filter. Whether they were personal anecdotes from my relatives, lessons from instructors, or broadcasts on Armenian Teletime, another person in some way had retold the story. I was proud of being Armenian, but mainly because I was taught to be proud. Fortunately for me, Armenia exceeded all of my expectations, strengthened my identity, and reinforced my pride.

After learning about Armenia’s declaration of Christianity over and over in Sunday School, actually being in the pit where King Drtad kept St. Gregory the Illuminator gave me chills. After listening to church hymns at St. Peter all my life, hearing them at Geghart and at Etchmiadzin proved to me just how timeless the Soorp Badarak is. After learning about the devastation parts of Armenia suffered after the earthquake, being in Gyumri, covered in dust, and lifting boulders, made me feel like I was making a difference. Visiting the ancient churches and monasteries and realizing the labor and detail with which our ancestors built them made me question just how anyone could have no Faith.

As incredible as Armenia is, going with CYMA made my first experience unforgettable. Each person in our family contributed something crucial. From spiritual guidance to knowledge of Yerevan nightlife and from archeological history to culture and music, we had all our bases covered. Whether we were sipping tea in the kitchen of Alikhanian 7 after dancing the night away at Aftershock or whether we were washing each other’s hair with buckets at our homestay families in Gyumri, Armenia brought us close together.

Armenia changed something inside of me. Since I have been back, I have been learning as much as I can about Armenian foreign affairs. I’ve always tried to stay updated, but I now feel like it is an obligation. I also now prioritize attending St. Peter for service every Sunday. While we are thousands of miles away, I realize that the Badarak is the best way to have live access to Armenia’s rich history and Faith. Furthermore, I’ve made it a personal goal to get as involved as possible with my university’s Armenian Student Association. There is no better way of connecting with your culture than building relationships with others.

I arrived to and left from Armenia in tears. But, each time, my tears meant something different. When the plane descended at Zvartnots Airport in Yerevan on July 2nd, I found myself crying because of excitement and uncertainty. When the plane ascended from Zvartnots on July 31st, I cried because of sadness and certainty. After being there for a month, I felt absolutely certain that Armenia was my Motherland and it killed me that I was leaving it behind. I would like to thank my parents, the Western Diocese of the Armenian Church, and the St. Peter Parish council for helping me finance this trip. It was a life changing experience and I am confident that I will return every year.

Tatiana Semerjian

CYMA 2009