Anoush Mouradyan's Stories
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If you turn to my friends they will assure you I underestimate myself but don't believe them. I know me better then my mom or the best friend. Many are the cases when I am in a bad humor or fall into melancholy for very little things, sometimes this happens without any definite reason. It just happens and lasts long. When they speak of something interesting next to me, I find it difficult to keep silent and my blue mood changes. My best friends sigh relieved. Now they don't need to try to cheer me up uselessly. As I already mentioned I like interfering with others' conversation and express my on various matters even though not always successfully. There come days when I just can't stand myself. I sit red eyed in the evenings and then go to bed to sleep calmly. When it rains in the morning I feel joyful, when it is sunny and hot the morning turns to the continuation of the red eyed evenings. I have always loved rain and detested sun, to be frank. I love sky. It is so vast. Especially I like the sunset when the sky is lit up with so many hues. But, please don't take me for a romantic. Or maybe I am one but I am a starter; I have learnt this romanticism from my friends. I was not a romantic in the past, - is the best wording. To tell the truth, I have learnt much from my friends. They are so nice and clever girls. If we take the statement “Tell me who your friend is and I will tell you who you are” as a right one then I have a great plus. Now you see I don't underestimate myself. It is true that from time to time I do things which get on my nerves. It is usually when I do something for the sake of my principles. In any case my friends are by my side to console me.
“Don't get sad, you are a good one, no one is worth your worries.”
The consolations usually last long, though I know they are only consolations. After all I am not that bad. Look, when my sister first saw me she took me for doll with red cheeks. And I take into consideration what my sister and my bets loved people say. I don't know what to write as a conclusion not to sound boring. May be I am too changeable and tomorrow my self description will look different.
Wrote at 14 years old age
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He ran to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, then the oven, he bent over, opened the cupboard, then ran out in despair. The baby went to the bathroom, looked in the sink, didn't find anything and went to the bedroom.
“I missed him. I haven't eaten ice cream for many days, haven't made a palace from sand, haven't cooked a cake from mud, haven't played with my train; meanwhile the passengers are waiting. Where is he? Find him, bring him back, please.”
The baby cried and thumped his feet on the ground. Suddenly his mom entered the room.
“Take your teddy bear, it is under the sofa.”
Look, you're smiling. Isn't it nice? And now imagine a woman, her son's picture and tears, many tears. She can't search and find her son like the boy did with his bear. She can't find her son, who is in the front with the gun in his hand, waiting for the enemy to attack. Maybe it is his last battle. What for? Because some president wants oil or fertile soil. Maybe her son is already dead, lying with his eyes at the sky.
Dear God, you see, I died for a drop of oil, while my mother pays with millions of drops of bitter tears. During a war, everything has a blood cost.
Did you get excited? I knew that.
Wrote at 14 years old age
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This is our neighborhood. So what if the swing is rusty and it's hard to guess what color it used to be? So what if only bent iron strings are left of it and so what if even repairing these strings wouldn't bring it to life? I like my neighborhood. I like the old orchards with trees that don't give fruit anymore, except for the mulberry tree. Usual trees are so old they don't even give buds in the spring. We have a lot of mulberries in the summer, a lot for everybody to taste. The old and the young gather under the tree, and hold a sheet under it. The mulberries first fall slowly, then quicker and quicker onto the sheet, on our heads, and on the ground like hail. The old don't eat the mulberries from the ground; they say they are dirty and muddy, but we don't pay attention to mud and dirt, so we eat a lot.
By the way we, the children, have much to be proud of. We have come to know one another and make friends all by ourselves. In this sense we have had little to learn from the old. The old are not communicative at all. The old men only gather outside to play backgammon. The others are rather cold people. You can never ask them for eggs if you don't have any at home and want to make an omelet. How can they? What a shame!
Our neighborhood is full of strange and interesting people. Look at that tall man standing by the garbage. He is searching for rusty iron pieces that he can get money for. Besides, he fixes all the cars in our neighborhood.
Now, look left. See that man in an old black suit? He is from our part of the building. He always greets everybody in a polite way, even if they fail to do it first. Sometimes it seems to me that this man hates me because he makes a fool of me. whenever I greet him in Armenian he answers me in Russian, but when I speak Russian to him first, he gets insulted and says, “Do you think I don't know Armenian?”
Do you hear the sound of flowing water? Our neighbor is washing his car again. He washes it more often than he drives it. He is a very strict man, and the only man able to control the naughty children of our yard.
Then there comes our “favorite,” Mr.Gerasim. He is a bit strange, and not only the children have noticed this, but also the adults. He buys a newspaper everyday and puts it fourfold under his arm. He is short, walks with a quick, bent-over pace, has a smile on his face, and two agile eyes that move strangely quick for his age. It is not surprising in this context that we strain ourselves at his sight, greet him politely and mock him behind his back. I know this is not nice but he takes us for little kids and we just try to behave like them.
In a word, our neighborhood is a good one.
Wrote at 14 years old age
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When I have to get acquainted with people I use the words from a famous child song. It sings ‘smile gives birth to friendship’. And I smile. You can’t imagine how good it is to smile back and fill everything with warmth. But when someone ignores your smile and a pair of eyes look at you foolishly, then what warmth, what pleasure are you talking about? Is it that difficult to smile, at least with eyes?
I say let smile to everyone, to strangers and friends.
Wrote at 15 years old age
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Oh, how unjust is this world!
Sometimes when my pessimism fits begin, I often come to this conclusion. It reminds me an old woman sitting near a hut and bumping constantly and hopelessly on her knees. I really hate injustice more than anything else in the world. During my pessimism fits I remember my new and old sorrows: for example, my mother loves my sister more than me, one of my friend trust my other friend more than me, this teacher marks me unjustly, the boy whom I love doesn’t love me and generally no one loves me.
Sometimes my fits last long and are accompanied by depression. But I try to console myself by saying that I am in a transitional age and this will end some day.
Wrote at 15 years old age
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I think I have a strong will, but it has already been fifteen winters, springs, and summers that I regularly remember that I’m unlucky and weak and begin to cry. I have been crying since I remember myself, and I often cry now, and I’m sure I won’t survive without crying in the future. Truly I like to cry, because it’s a way of relaxation. I cry when somebody shouts at me but it is without wanting to. I cry when I’m upset. I cry when I can’t answer back to injuries. Generally, I try not to hate anybody, since it is wrong. My big mistake is that I devote myself to everybody a lot and when I don’t like anything in my excitement I am immediately disappointed. I beg my pardon from all the readers and listeners but I have got disappointed in all those whom I have ever admired. This does not mean that there are no people whom I love, I have simply learnt to love people with all their drawbacks.
I hate the sun, no matter how cruel this may sound. I have only admired the sun on the seaside, at dawn. If I were the goddess of weather there would only be fall and gloomy weather. When I was younger I liked staying alone, now I am afraid. Laugh, laugh at me if you think that being afraid of robbers is childish, but who said that I am a grown up? I am tall, fifteen years old, but I feel like I am only ten. It sometimes seems to me that they have made me grow up, because I have never wanted to be old, because I don’t like hardships. I am lazy and if I do not stop being so, I will one day feel lazy to live and breathe.
I have inherited my dad’s brutality and when I get nervous, you better avoid talking to me, since I can really hurt you then.
I am lucky to have good friends. Thanks God that they love me, can pardon me and be true to me. That’s enough.
There is one very strange thing about me: I do not have dreams, except one- to be happy.
My greatest achievement is that I could get rid of my superstition.
I don’t like being surrounded with everybody’s attention, but I also don’t like being left out of attention.
I would like to warn you that I am very blunt and changeable. So don’t get surprised if you see me changed from head to foot when you see me in some two days.
Wrote at 15 years old age
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“Isn’t it possible without a lecturer?” (The school)
Only recently, I came to know that without studying with a lecturer it is impossible to enter a university. One of my acquaintances decided to enter a university by himself. I was told that he was a very smart boy and he would surely pass the examination. The “smart boy” studied all by himself for a long time, but he got an average score and failed.
I wonder why.
Wrote at 15 years old age
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How much I hate this spring… Yes, I hate it. What must I love about it? Rainy streets or crazy weather?
“Look, it smells like spring,” my friend said.
“How can it smell like spring when you are walking near all this garbage from construction?”
“Spring is good, isn’t it, Anush?”
I keep silent.
“It would be better if we were in love…”
“Yeah right, if you were in love you would walk dreamily into a puddle,” I am thinking to myself but not saying it out loudly. Just because I don’t like spring I cannot make my friend stop dreaming.
“If only I had time, I would walk for hours and would enjoy spring in Yerevan,” she goes on.
If she continues like this I will voluntarily get into a puddle to have an excuse for going home and not listening to this romantic stuff.
“Hey, look, this tree has got buds, isn’t it beautiful?”
“Uhhuh, ” I nod hopelessly trying to find beauty in buds on the tree. All in vain; I am not a spring person. I walk home in an apathetic mood.
I hate this weather, what can you do about it?
Wrote at 15 years old age
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