I am an aspiring writer and epidemiologist. When I am not writing my own poems and short stories, I am working on a new book, reading about epidemiologic discoveries, and learning new languages. Follow me on IG tatevosian.tamara Thank you
A Mother's Journey
Nina stared deeply and fervently into the peaceful sea that served as an escape from the peeling walls and rusting pipes that defined the atmosphere of the room in which she was locked. Within the rustic frame, the painting of the ship on the horizon continued to slowly degrade in the moist air that encapsulated the room, it felt like the oxygen was being pilfered in an attempt to get her to break. Nina raced to the door to make it be known that she was still angry, banging on the creaky wooden door that slowly conceded to her force and pushed forward with a mighty groan.
Capture the Wild
For this writing challenge, adventure ended up finding me in a beautiful gem of an island called Curaçao. National Geographic 4k images always fascinated me, you wonder; those artists and photographers don’t panic, they go out there with camera in hand, and witness some of the most beautiful natural phenomena in some hidden gem of a locale that only Walter Mitty would imagine on one of his daydreams, and for an extraordinary journal no less, and it’s totally worth the money.
April Fool's Vignettes
Funny you should bring it up, considering that just recently we had April Fool’s Day. What I will share is personal, still makes me giggle, yet sometimes I wonder if it is too mischievous.
A Date with Myself
The glass of Merlot had spilled onto the white tablecloth adorning the round table in the beautiful new French restaurant that had opened right around the corner. "It takes a few weeks until Les Huguenots allows the general populace to enter, celebrities are first in line", my friend cautioned when I told her that I wanted to try it out. It was like taking a page out of “My Fair Lady” for me to prepare to speak to the soft-spoken French hostess with an air of confidence and ease, I even threw in a few words in French as best as I could. I have always been a Francophile but never made the time to learn the language, so I finally decided that I would fill my life with beautiful French scarves, French wine, French-girl styles, and, eventually, the French language. I was committed to becoming a bon vivant but with a purpose, I would begin posting more and engaging others on my Instagram account, and gaining followers that would see me as the classy, well-read girl I wanted to project. However, at that moment, the wine was seeping through the tablecloth and spreading to my new favorite lace crocheted doily, which was beginning to bleed red into my newly purchased, very expensive, sleek handbag I wanted to show off online and tag the brand. I began to prepare my phone, for it was my plan to take a quick selfie with my purse in the hot, ensuring I captured the small sign indicating I was in the restaurant. I took it out, centered it on my face while the waiter watched in horror as I tried to smile and hold the glass from fully falling on the floor and capturing more attention. I snapped the picture, but before I knew it, the glass shattered, causing three different couples to wince at the pathetic nature of this display. Shame waved its red flag, shattered pieces of one of their finest glasses had usurped upon the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant, and I was mid-selfie trying to finish my task before fleeing the crime scene. Poe himself would cringe at the macabre scene I had concocted in front of the good people of Les Huguenots. My short journey into next level blogger-hood suddenly took a screeching halt, I turned as red as the wine that had spilled while the panic-stricken waiter ran across the restaurant to quickly handle the situation. My situation needed to be handled. With my tail tucked between my legs, I began to scurry out of the fancy restaurant when I bumped into them. Suffice it to say, I was not the first one after the breakup to find myself shrouded in a cloud of adoring gentlemen. Would I spend the rest of my life alone? Would this sense of isolation gnaw at my heart any longer, or would I finally find a solid social circle, followers, and a loving partner with whom to travel? My job paid handsomely; I could take days off if I wanted to yet there was never the right opportunity to take off any days. I had nowhere to go, or so it felt. Morning after morning, schlepping from work to home and vice versa takes a toll, and my skin was beginning to show it. The dark circles seemed to expand, the number of co-workers reminding me I looked tired was exorbitant, and my binge-watching tv-shows well into 3 o’clock in the morning did not help. My movie and tv-show fantasy life ate into my sleep, my job hours ate into my vacation hours which timed out by the end of the year, and my self-resentment grew with a monstrosity of a tapeworm that would soon hijack my brain. My helplessness, dependence on someone making the time for me, instead of the other way around, continued to torment me. I was very much done with the weirdos that did not respect me as a person and I was done waiting for quick replies, dating virtually is a disaster. The more I started to gain insight into the dependence I had cultivated inside me, the more powerless I felt against it. This was my life.
Vicki and Ani
The vastness of the lonely long road ahead of me, that one teacher that disapproved of my homework and announced it to the class as a lesson of what not to do, and shaky hands did not help my anxiety on my way to the first day of third grade. First day of school in Armenia felt like a whole new challenge, my cold grey desk awaited me as did the same students from last year who did not use to choose me for group activities. My grandmother walked with me every day, everyone in our neighborhood knew each other and I got to see the other neighborhood kids walking to school with similarly anxious face expressions. Just the day before, we had been playing tag, building random structures with sticks and stones, and anything else we would think of on the spot. One of the older kids used to walk me up to my apartment on the fourth floor where my grandmother would stand at the doorway shaking her head because I had yet again disobeyed her order to get home early, and by then it was dark and scary for me to walk up the flight of stairs alone.