It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. This wasn’t how it was scripted.

On the edge of this multicultural metropolis, miles shy of the suburban promises of Americana in Orange County, thousands of cars have come to a halt on a massive multilaned interstate in Buena Park. Cars, new and old, foreign and domestic, weave an incomprehensible tale of multicultural harmony in our globalized 21st century.

In a haunting phonograph recording from 100 years ago in Paris, the scratchy and hollow, melancholic and faraway voice of genius priest Komitas comes to life via 0’s and 1’s, bits and bytes, on an iPhone 4S in Hawaii.

“Sone le le” from Andre’s 1000x album is blaring in your earbuds as you battle your default human nature of being unsatisfied, lazy, suffering, lethargic and ennuied.

On Friday, April 24, 2015, I walked among hundreds of thousands snaking through the reflective pathway to the needle monument and concrete slabs nesting our eternal flame.

BY PAUL CHADERJIAN

Once there were and there were not…
Trade winds keep the Tiki lounge overlooking Waikiki breezy and cool. Frozen and blended tropical drinks with rum, strawberries and bananas have made everyone giddy.
“To free and fair elections,” says one of them.
They laugh and drink.
“Wait, wait,” says another. “To the Genocide museum in DC.”
They take another [...]

On this small island in the middle of the Pacific, you’re bound to eventually run into someone you know or run out of land if you just keep going. You’re bound to speak pidgin and start saying ‘howzit’ and ‘bra’ and see the cast and crew of “Hawaii Five-O” in action. Or you may be forced to stare right into the dark eyes of the Armenian Genocide.

We call them cancer, and for several weeks now, not a day has gone by that I haven’t had to write about cancer at work, interview cancer patients, hang out with friends when talk turns to cancer, or see a movie about cancer.

A massive jetliner approaches Honolulu International. It is the size of a feathered crane from six miles away, wings spread, neck sticking out as it passes above a miniature Coast Guard Cutter that’s gliding across the sun-drenched, orange and blue harbor

This afternoon I pulled off the two-lane Kamehameha Highway on the North Shore of Oahu to watch the mighty Pacific and the brave surfers riding her waves. When I reached for the ignition to kill the engine, I became mindful that blasting on my stereo was Karnig singing “Leran Lanchin.”

You press the record button on your camera, and through the viewfinder you see the relic, an ancient spear bathing in golden light. You zoom in, pushing past its glass casing, and you realize you are inches away from the object that Christ felt tearing open his body.

Last week, while undergoing a routine check up at a doctor’s office, it hit home that one of the routine questions that doctors’ offices ask is: family history. For many years, I had not paid attention to the family history section. However, this time around, when the doctor asked the questions, I realized that I had a very limited knowledge about my family medical history. I told my doctor, that my family’s past medical history stops with my maternal grandparents.

Some days the Sun seems closer to the Earth. Rays push down like a hundred pound weight. Temperatures soar past 99 degrees. Circulation, respiration, neurons, and cells work overtime, in concert, to keep us functional. We thirst for water, for ice. We crave for shade, for air-conditioning. We want to slow down, to sleep.

“Please sit down,” ordered the Russian stewardess to the passengers on the Aeroflot flight bound to Yerevan, Armenia. Most of the passengers were Diaspora Armenians on their way to Armenia, to visit relatives or visit the country. The order was followed by a head count of the passengers. My husband, Garo and I looked at each other with apprehension. Why the count? After all, the Cold War was still on! When the flight took off from Paris’ Charles De Gaul Airport, the rattling noise of the bottles in the kitchen of the plane had unsettled our nerves. The navy blue uniform clad flight crew offered hot tea to the passengers, based on the head count. The steaming tea was poured from kettles, directly into the passengers’ cups. Any disturbance at a high altitude would have resulted in lawsuits, had it been an American airline. One bathroom, at the back of the airline served the needs of the passengers. Lack of paper towels was made up by a single cotton towel, which was for communal use. Hand sanitizers did not exist at that time.