I’m an Armenian girl. Okay, that was a terrible start. Now you’re so gonna associate me with a bunch of things that I can’t say I’m very related to. Partially, of course, but whatever.

I study programming. Doesn’t tell anything either. I mean it does – but not much of the truth.

I love writing political essays and romantic poetry and novels. Could be, could be – that’s better at least.

I love photography. Where did that just come from? Skip it, please. I mean, there is so much I love – hopefully I didn’t list them all. Specially the part about the music and all.

‘kay, lemme get serious. I’m Gayaneh and I guess this is how it works when you’re honored to get your grandmother’s name. And if by some chance it’s also a “name with a history”, than congratulations, you’ve got a certain burden on your shoulders. You know, I really don’t like it when I meet someone from another country and they just go on asking: “Oh, what an interesting name, does it mean something?” Should I go on telling them it’s my amazing gram’s name? Or do I tell the whole story of virgin Gayane being brutally martyred for propaganda of Christianity among pagan Armenians all those years ago, when I’m an atheist myself?

Probably I sound pathetic right now, like a teenager, trying to convince the world, that “She’s herself!” But it’s been 3 years I’m no longer a teen, so nope, gotta get over the phase.

Maybe I better tell something more relatable.

Sometimes they call me Windy. It actually started on a July night several years ago, on top of a hotel roof in Georgia. There were 5 of us – me, a Russian girl, a Ukrainian girl, an Azerbaijani guy and this Lebanese guy. The Russian girl was drunk because of the beer, the Ukrainian girl was drunk of Georgian wine. Me and the Azerbaijani guy were drunk with love, but it’s another story. H… – the Lebanese guy was the only sober person among us. We were talking politics, talking literature, talking peace, talking love and I think, if I remember correctly, we also talked about some movies – “Dead poet society”, I think. That night, at exactly 2:17 am, when I was about to go to my room to finally sleep, H… said: “You know you’re like wind, right? How on earth can you change so suddenly, so all the time, so drastically? How come you’re so unpredictable? You – crazy windy girl.”
That’s was it. I was Windy from then on. Even though me and H… haven’t met for maybe half an eternity. Even though I can’t clearly remember the color of his eyes. Even though me and the Azerbaijani guy hide our chats and photos, just in case. Even though, the Russian girl is gone forever….

You can still call me Windy…