Nobody around the town really knew Anush. Most of the neighbors had some sort of a pity for her, though they shouldn't have. She doesn't need any pity party.
If you were to walk down the streets of Arabkir, a small town in Yerevan (Armenia, if you aren't aware already, we're talking about Armenia), you'd most likely see an old woman, not too old, early or mid 60's, tiny, with short, balding hair, which is dyed a dark red-brown, because it's the closest color she could find to her natural color, which is long lost now. She's probably missing a tooth or two, because she keeps delaying her dental meetings, because she needs to save money for her only son's wedding. Her small purse is clinched to her side, tight. She holds onto it for dear life, because anxiety is nibbling at her soul. Her pace is too quick for her, you can see that because she's very clearly running out of breath. And if you were to approach her, she's start stuttering like crazy, asking you how she can help you. And if you ask for a spare 100 dram, even if it's the last 100 dram she has on her and she still has to get home by a bus which costs 100 drams, she'll hand it out to you, hands shaking, hurrying for her purse.
That's Anush.
That's my hero.
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Moments Like These
Non-FictionMore often than not, we treat the people with mental disabilities or disorders, if not unfairly, but differently. It seems like they're not human, at least that's how it was in Soviet Armenia, where Anush was born. This book looks at a little girl'...
