‘Rabiz’ Turk (Spring 08)

Melissa Koc
mkoc@ucla.edu

Bari or.
Yes sirum em hats yev panir: the very first phrase I learned in Armenian.

I can say other essential phrases and conjugate my verbs too. So, if you dropped me off in Yerevan I could probably survive on my own…that is, until the locals catch onto my thick Turkish accent. Then I wouldn’t be so sure that hats or panir would do me any good. Maybe I should invest my time in learning more practical phrases such as I come in peace.

Instead, I have progressed into writing my own Armenian rabiz style music. Some even have their own rap remixes. I generally enjoy singing them to my friends as we walk to and from class. The current work-in-progress, entitled, "Kuro Ferra Hedevet Tenam," is definitely a crowd favorite.

Unfortunately, I have to be sure to keep the singing down as I pass by Kerckhoff patio, the legendary Armenian hang-out at UCLA. My eyes generally remain at a downward gaze to avoid intimidating looks from the crowd who see a nationality and not an individual when they look at me. Can’t they see? I’m just a little girl.

After class I go home and make chai and force borek, dolma, lahmajoon, and whatever else in my fridge down my friends’ throats. Never mind that they’re like family, any guest in my house must be force-fed until I run out of food to offer.

On a typical day, after a feast, I bust out my favorite Tatoul song and sing along, "Chem uzum chem Uzuuumm…." Sadly, I don’t get away with it too long before my Armenian friends turn it off and yell at me for being too Armo. It’s okay though, I usually just put it back on when they leave.

I guess they just don’t comprehend the depth of Tatoul’s talent. However, as Armenians, they do understand me better than anyone else in matters of social constructions. Who else gets why I can’t stay out past 10 pm even though I’m 21 and almost too old to marry?
Yet, sometimes I think that maybe I should befriend people in another culture similar to mine, like Greek or Kurdish. But wait…that won’t work either. Vay ara! The condition of a Turk is not so pleasant.

Weekends usually entail going to some Armenian event I probably shouldn’t be at. But how can I live my life without seeing Andy or Harout Pamboukjian live at least once before I die? And God knows I am too weak to resist the enticing calling of a shourj par.
But mainly, I just like the looks on the faces of the V-techs and Gorgors who approach me, when I tell them I’m Turkish. Too bad they never really have a chance anyway; they just aren’t ‘stanci enough for my liking.