“About Myself” (About Me)
People don’t understand me. And I don’t understand them too. They are my friends, but anyway, I don’t understand them. I don’t know if I am good or bad. It’s me. I’m not very kind, because I don’t help others during the control works. I like to be independent from everyone and everything. My friends feel uncomfortable with me. I’ve many friends, but not all of them are really good friends. And I have no friends which are girls, I don’t know if it is good or bad.
I’m very lazy. Teachers say: "I you would work much, you could be a professor". But I’m lazy and don’t want to work. I begin to work only when I really need something very much.
People say taste differs. My friends say that only I have ‘’blue’’ blood. I like strange things, old music and weird clothes.
And I have a strange name, Ellen. I didn’t like this name when I was little. But when I grew up I understood that no one else had a name like this. It’s good when you are unique.
Wrote at 13 years old age
^ to Top
|
The sky is blue and clear today. Everything is as usual. I think that now, just now we live at peace. People are going up and down the street, some are in a hurry for work, some are walking and me, I am looking at the cloudless sky and thinking to myself: “How peaceful all the things are!”
I realize things are not that peaceful, when for a moment I think about the world, about its present and past. Many people are dying just now; many of them are looking at the blue sky for the last time. The world has never been at peace, just since the creation of human. The reason for this is that everyone, every country thinks about himself or itself, about his or its interests. None of them ever confesses this is true though.
“For the motherland” this is the slogan which “veils” all the wars and evil doings. Selfishness is stronger than the notion of motherland. For instance, Alexander Macedonian who during his invasion was driven by personal interests only did not think of his native motherland. He didn't think about the revenge, which would follow his death.
Maybe me too, maybe I also think about myself when I look at the sky and think of peace.
Nothing is actually peaceful. I'll just stand at the window today and say:” It's nice it is peaceful at least here and now, it's nice the sky is peaceful”.
Wrote at 13 years old age
^ to Top
|
My street or, better to say, my neighborhood, is made up of rows of similar and gloomy houses, and people living here are also gloomy. In the morning the house yards are empty, some people can only be seen yawning and trying to catch a taxi. After a while, the trade booths standing along our street start to open. One can hear the voices of children having come to buy bread, “Mr. Sourik do you have bread.” “For you I have bread, dear,” replies Mr. Sourik heartily, passing the loaf.
In a minute the street is filled with children coming with school bags. Senior students without backpacks, just a copy-book and polished shoes, slowly follow the hasty crowd of juniors. Some senior students come to school by their own cars with music loudly playing in them. They drive their cars breaking all the possible traffic rules and hooting at the girls who c ross the street.
The shoe man, Arsen, wearing an apron opens his orange booth which looks more like a gathering place for backgammon players.
At noon, fat granny Arev appears and she sells fruit on the sidewalk. She always smiles and tells me every time she sees me in the street, “Let God's blessing be with you.”
I forgot to mention the fire station, with high buildings and a square which is also on our street. The station has a large area where children usually play football. The match is interrupted from time to time by the fire-engine horn. These big red cars sound menacing. When they pass along the streets it feels like an earthquake.
There are many children in our neighborhood in the afternoon. One can hear Manan shouting, “You don't play the right way.” A child stands under our balcony and cries out “mom, mom” constantly. To tell the truth, I don't even know who this child is.
I always go out with my dog. It is very kind, but looks very scary. We are walking along the street. A woman is standing afar with her baby in her arms and is crying to me, “Take your dog away!” Old women are sitting on the bench gossiping about this and that. I am passing by these women and hear them say unpleasant things about my dog. I try not to pay any attention. It is so typical to hear them say things like this. What can I do? These people don't like animals and this is perhaps why they look so gloomy.
Wrote at 13 years old age
^ to Top
|
“Ellen can you come to my place tomorrow to see how nice my room looks after the repairs?” my friend asked me at school.
“Surely. I just need to tell mother about it.”
“We can go to the hostel and use their phone to call her.”
“Okay,” I said.
Once the building was a hostel for students, now refugees live there. It was dark there. It looked as if the corridor was once separated into two parts by a rod. Now only part of it was left and the corridor looked like a prison. We went up to the first floor using the half-ruined staircase. It was even darker there. There was laundry hung in the corridor.
The water dripped down onto the floor. Near the laundry, against the walls cracked by moisture there stood a cradle with a crying child in it. A squeak in the quiet and dark hostel… We heard the half-broken door at the end of the corridor open. A gray-haired old man with a torn photo in his hands appeared. He also had some stones in his hardened palm which he played with while talking to himself.
“Grandson, have you seen my tzbeh?”
Two men came out and started making a fire. The corridor lit up. The empty hostel filled with the squeaking of doors opening. In a minute the cold place was full of people. Men talked of the world and of all the injustice in it. The thin women only shook their heads to agree with what their husbands said.
As for the phone, there wasn't one in the hostel, and to tell the truth my desire to see my friend's newly repaired flat was gone.
Wrote at 13 years old age
^ to Top
|
Children's Pages
| Old Sites
| Donations
Newspaper |
Elen Gyoulnazaryan's Page