Womanhood

(As posted in February 29, 2012 issue of the Armenian Observer in observance of International Women's Day)

It was a beautiful March morning and I was touching base with Deegeen Dzila again.

"I'm glad you're visiting," she said. She sounded unusually alert.
I poured my coffee.
"Talk to me. What's new?" she asked, commanding, but with the curiosity of a child.
"Well, it's International Women's month," I gleamed with pride. Deegeen Dzila, an educated woman herself, had encouraged independent thinking of women from as far back as I could remember. She had raised the bar for many a young girl of her generation to stand for the right to be equally educated. Women had come a long way from our grandmothers' and mothers' worlds of holding tight to their chests the anger of submission and inequality. In my chest was great pride for the women who had achieved substantial gains in the field of law, business, medicine, behavioral sciences, politics, engineering, the corporate world and other areas of professionalism that were traditionally thought to be man's domain. The Women's Movements of early years and Feminists of the 70's had paved the way to the plethora of choices that became ours as a direct consequence of our liberation, externally as well as internally.
"Women worked hard and with great personal sacrifice," I said, "to give the modern woman the opportunities and powers that we now enjoy in...."
"It's not about getting power," interrupted Deegeen Dzila. "It's about how best to effectively use the power that we have." Silence suddenly dominated the room. It echoed as I set down my coffee cup. She took a deep breath before she continued. "When you come right down to it, our God given power born of millions of years of evolution to carry the maternal mission and nurturing grace of making a home and raising children is our most crucial dominion. It is a woman's reality; a sacred mission."
I felt crushed. Was Deegeen Dzila telling me that after all these years of individual and collective plights of women to prove that we could work as well as men and think as well as men was not to be celebrated as an achievement of our God given right? I understand that in the beginning of our plight, we devalued the feminine, denying ourselves our own unique characteristics so that we could be free to behave like men. Words like "maternal" and "nurturing" were considered feminine and therefore weak. We became tough as nails. If men could make business their bottom line, so could we. Our verve to be out in the world where important things were happening overpowered our traditional stay-at-home and somewhat "meaningless" existence. Housewives became homemakers who became domestic engineers. We became powerful externally as well as internally.
"You mean, our God given mission is to be at home raising children?" I asked somewhat defensive.
"No. Women need to be "out in the world" if that's where they choose to be, but not at the expense of losing sight of our sacred mission to tend to the home and children. Maternal instincts and motherhood are not just for the privileged few. That mission is God given. It belongs to all women. They are the keepers of the balance of humanity, the conscience of nations, the flame and primal homemakers that light the hearth of homes. We are put in charge of raising the future generations. Can man be more powerful than that?" she asked.

At this point, I realized that Deegeen Dzila was not negating the work of my generation and the women of my college years who rose to protect equal rights. She was reminding me that the power of a woman's ability to fiercely protect her young ones just, as every female advanced mammalian species does to survive, is nonpareil. Who better than a woman will fight for the welfare of a child, or any child? And if we used our powers gained "out in the world" collectively, we could insist that the children of the world no longer bear hunger; that the millions be given a basic education; that punishment for child trafficking be seriously enacted; that the brutalization of children be addressed; the list is endless. Yes, we are the homemakers of the world, the mothers of the children of the world, and the greatest power that lies within us is the ability to protect the primacy of our sacred mission and guard it with pride, making the welfare of our children our bottom line.
"Women are the powerful gender." She insisted. "We just have to remember to awaken our womanhood."

Love

(Unedited version of published article in January 25, 2012 issue of The Armenian Observer)

For years, for what seems like forever in my life, I've known Deegeen Dzila. In her younger days, Deegeen Dzila knew pretty much everything. She was a fighter for pacifism and human rights among her own with weapons of the heart and soul...weapons like confidence, audacity, sheer gumption and faith that led to victory. Now, in her older years, she has made peace with humankind, allowing for weaknesses, but her intolerance of that which causes pain to any child can be seen in anguished contortion on her face at the sound of a child's cry. It was not until my later years that I realized how richly indulged I was to have her in my life for all the wisdom and "know how" that she has shown.

I went to visit Deegeen Dzila the other day. She was resting in her favorite chair humming an aria tune from an opera. I could tell she was forgetting again. I recognized the look in her eyes as she kept repeating the tune in search of the words to the song. "It's not important," she said after a while. "The words aren't important...it's the melody that creates the mood that makes the song anyway." She was trying to skit around her forgetfulness. She looked vulnerable. All the hard edges of a tenacious youth had softened, but her voice was still earnest and commanding. She leaned over as though to reveal a secret. "Love is all that remains," she said. "Nothing else really matters."
She lowered her voice, almost apologetic. "I forget faces. I forget people and their roles in my life. I forget words and I forget names. Places I've been and things that I've seen all seem to disappear," she continued. "Sometimes, I don't even belong ...not just to this world, but even to myself, I don't belong."
"That's not true," I blurted. She ignored me.
"I don't know much these days," she continued, "but I do know what's inside," she said as she placed her graceful hand over her heart and thumped a few beats."It's love... etched in my bones. Love. It's...stronger..." She was searching for the right words. "It's stronger than the individual, the self. It is what flows like molten lava from the core of my being into my heart and through my veins. This feeling is larger than any need to be right. It's all encompassing. There is no explanation. It's simply there. It tells me I've been loved, but more than that," she said as she looked me in the eye, "more than that, it tells me that I feel love. That's something I won't forget...I can't forget. " She stopped for a moment as if to catch her breath, then, with the same tenacity she added. "It's really not that complicated, my dear. Truth is, love is and has always been the key element in life."
Deegeen Dzila's words began to sink in. She wasn't just reciting something that had been said and quoted in books from the begining of time. She was describing and clinging on to the only thing that she was sure of never losing... the emotion of love. I sank deeper into thought. Love is ubiquitous in different forms. But how well had I understood these terms of love conceptually? Romantic as I am, I had already passed that stage of often mistaking love as generally being just romantic. I could not ignore the majesty of the feeling experienced through a tender mother's touch, a fatherly concern or a sisterly/brotherly affection, or a passionate lover's kiss. The story of my life...as a child, coming of age, wandering adult, falling "in love," settling, parenting, testing my commitments and recognizing my mortality... unfolded through love. Whether is was security love, friendship love, romantic love or unconditional love, it was these 'loves' that had been the motivating forces in all that I did.
In other words, the experience of love, omnipresent, is a matter of survival. As infants, we need to be held and touched and swaddled in the arms of parents or caretakers in order to survive. This need for love continues throughout our lives. We experience it satiated through puppy love, infatuation, obsessive love, self-love, brotherly love, conditional love, tough love, paternal love, patriotism, eros, romantic love, Divine love. We require regular doses of it, through touch, physical contact, companionship, friendship, care and affection, in order to feel good, to feel like we belong in this world.

Deegeen Dzila coughed as she moved to find a more comfortable position in her chair. She took my hand in hers and I felt the intense warmth of her delicate hands. "Love is everything," she repeated. "It is the ultimate in selflessness of mind, body and soul."
At that moment, time and space disappeared. Deegeen Dzila had drawn me into her realm.
"But what happens to the love when mind and body don't function?" I dared to ask, having caught her in such a lucid moment.
"That's why you take care of your soul," she replied. "Love lives in your soul."