By Samuel Armen

Shortly after the sun peaked through the windows of our room, a red pen scratched paper to begin these daily entries. The ideas occurred days before, but they were always blurry and disorganized. On this morning, however, the ideas for the first three journals I would write – Days 3, 4 and 5 – passed through me with enough precision and clarity to be written down.

By the end of the work day, I had already typed up and printed out drafts of Days 3-5, and was clutching them confidently while walking with a prideful bounce throughout Yerevan back towards our house.

In the 33 degree Celsius (Roughly 93F) I walked down the long stretch of Hanrapetutyan Street to the busy roadway of Sayat-Nova, turned the first left then turned the first right to climb steps. The heat cast a haze in the air, which increased by the time I arrived at the series of stairwells that led to our house. During this walk I had established three certainties about my assignment: First: Every intern would be anonymously incorporated within these stories. Second: That they would have to approve their presence in the stories that included them. Third: The entries as a whole would be able to answer as many questions about AGBU’s YSIP Program, Yerevan, MY internship, EVERYONE ELSE’S Internship and what our 40-day living experience was like. I wanted to capture everything, general and specific, from how it’s like being a Vegan here, to how some of my fellow interns are handling their medical internships.

By the time I walked into my room and felt the contrast of cool air conditioning against my sun-cooked skin, I had my next move planned: I’d have to isolate the characters of Journals 3, 4, and 5 individually and get their approvals.

I descended the stairs and scavenged for one of my characters.

A single intern sat by the terrace – one of the two laying on the balcony from the entry on Day 4. She would be the first person to read these. She suggested that I read it aloud as her eyes followed along. I read Day 4, and then at her request I read Day 3 – the entry thanking Anna.

The moment I finished and looked up to gauge her reaction, her head turned away suddenly. It wasn’t the heavy silence that made it known but rather her shivering that gave away the fact that she was crying. Before I had the opportunity to ask her what happened, she made quick swiping movement with her forearm to her eyes then whipped around to face me.

“I’m glad I met you. It’s beautiful – you’re writing,” She said with tears below her eyes where are arms failed to dry.

I didn’t know how to react. I wanted to detail to her that her tears were one of the most encouraging reactions I’ve ever received but I lamely settled for the lazy simplicity of, “That means more to me than you think.”

Moments later, on the same terrace, I read Anna hers, to which she listened to while ignoring her consistent phone calls and texts. When I finished she comforted me with a “keep…keep…” pausing, smiling, then finishing with “please make sure you keep everything you write, Sam – just make sure.”

The four reactions were all ones that were so encouraging that I had to draw away from our crowd. I wanted to avoid an inflation of my already large ego, but their reactions were so comforting. I wandered outside – back into the heat – for some time, and then returned back to the house and up to my room before the sun began setting.

A short nap was shattered by the sounds of various noises coming down from the kitchen. I turned to walk towards the stairs. On the way I passed through the common room, where Aline – one of our two supervisors – was talking to one of our interns. The two sat on the main couch, huddled around a laptop.

“What are you two doing?” I asked.

The intern looked up to me, her eyes beaming.

“Aline just gave me, like, five tips for my personal statement and it’s SO much better now!”

I recalled that this particular intern was on her path towards becoming a doctor, and that Aline had gotten into the medical school at UCLA.

“She helped me so much,” She added, turning to Aline, who simply grinned, her eyes still scanning across the laptop monitor.

More noises from downstairs resurrected my curiosity. I descended the steps and turned to face nineteen interns wrapped tightly around Gohar – our chef and house keeper. In front of Gohar was a vat of uncooked chicken, red and green peppers and skillets resting on the kitchen table. With Gohar’s instructions, we all prepared fifty or so kebabs.

As I watched Gohar scurry about from intern to intern, making sure everything was perfect, a quote popped into my head. One of the intern’s described Gohar perfectly on the second day, saying to me, “Oh my God, Gohar is such an Armenian mother.” To this, I asked how, and she responded, “She just asked my roommate if she wants more food three times, and she literally just finished her breakfast.”

Gohar proved the intern’s statement to me first on this particular day.

I sat down at the communal table with most of the interns, together awaiting what would be our first meal at home. The rest of our group poured in through the door, each delivering another plate: Tabule, Choban salad, Kebabs, Cheese, Lavash, and Drinks etc. Being a vegan, I’ve had to put in an extra effort to be full for the first few days. The Armenian cuisine, like most Mediterranean cuisines, is highly carnivorous.

As I watched the girls set all the dinner in front of us, I began reconstructing the menu to lack kebabs and cheese, and thus being edible to a vegan. This proved unnecessary. Gohar walked in through the door and watched me with an excited expression. Behind her was the last intern carrying a tray. With swift movements Gohar shifted plates and trays to make room in front of me, still smiling and making occasional eye-contact followed by an enthusiastic grin and looking down. Gohar then turned and motioned the intern forward. This intern rested the tray with more kebabs – Vegan Kebabs: In between slices of red and green peppers were large pieces of eggplant, fried in oil and a pinch of salt.

I sunk my teeth into it. The intern next to me, who had just done the same, spoke for me with a deep and elongated, “Mmmmmmmm!” followed by several appreciate chews, and finishing with “That is INCREDIBLE!”

As dinner winded down, and I felt my stomach expand to a tranquilizing fullness, a sound like metal hitting glass chimed. An intern rose to make a toast.

The toast was to Gohar, appropriately.

“Gohar Jan, Arach oozoomem kez asem vor menk kez shat enk seeroom yev du mer seeroon, pari, yev kakhtser mamanes. Merci shat vor mezi hamar lav hamov chasheres epum yev mer lvatzknernes anoom. Ko seertut shat makoor, serov, yev kyankov-a ltzvel. Kenatzuh kezi gohar jan! “

“Gohar Dearest, I first want to tell you that we all love you very much and you have become our beautiful, kind, and sweet mother. Thank you so much for cooking us delicious meals and doing our laundry. Your heart is so pure and filled with love and life. Cheers to you Gohar dearest!”

In the following days she accommodated my eating habits just like a parent would; smoothing the edges of a vegan’s stay in Armenia. There was also a vegetarian with us whom she catered to with equal efficiency.

After dinner I leaned against the balcony, again facing a Yerevan night. Before becoming enraptured, I heard my cell phone sound with an email. I turned around and opened the message: It was an email from my brother, who was in New York – nearly the polar opposite side of the Earth. The message was an analysis of my Day 3 journal. In his analysis he made various suggestions, critical comments, thought-provoking inquiries, and then he concluded with, “You are getting A LOT better at this.” These words, expressed by someone as intelligent, well-read and harsh as my brother, were especially impactful.

After finishing the email I turned around and looked forward. An intern was facing out of the balcony towards Yerevan. I joined her, leaning on the terrace beside her.

“Still not used to the view?” I asked her.

She nodded ambiguously. A moment passed mostly in silence, interrupted only by occasional reverberant statements in the conversations upstairs that echoed down the stairwell and outside to the terrace in low murmurs. The intern sighed and tilted her head. She held a small smile and relaxed eyes. As if just noticing me next to her for the first time, she turned to me all of a sudden; her eyes were wide and her expression confused. She laughed at her own aloofness then turned back to the view.

“We’re lucky to be here,” was all she said.