No 23 — Helen A.

Our Selves, As Humans

Read time: 20 minutes.
Interviewed November 3, 2020. Published January 19, 2021

I'm Helen, a 30-something year old female living in London. I love travel, technology, and learning.

What does home mean to you?

If you'd asked me this a couple of months ago, I would have given a, "Home is a feeling," kind of answer. This has been one of the hardest questions. I think home is different for everyone. I’ve read what some other people have said in your stories, and it’s made me realise how much your upbringing has to do with how you explain ‘home’. 

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think my answer is—home is where you're rooted.

I've traveled a lot and there's definitely been places where I've thought, "Oh my God, I love how I feel here. I would love to make this my home." But ultimately, I'm not rooted there. I think about the situation with what's going on in Armenia (I’m ethnic Armenian), and it becomes ever more important that we're almost privileged to say that home is a feeling. Home is where you're rooted, and there's history, there's family, there's community, there's memories, and there's meaning. This is my current state anyway - and I think this will change as circumstances in my life change. 

[What happened in these past few months that made you rethink your definition of home?]

So, the whole conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh is definitely playing on my mind and heart, including the whole definition of home. There have been other Armenians I've spoken to who just say, "Well, why don't these people just move?" And I think, giving up and moving would maybe be the easier option in terms of saving lives. But I try and put myself in that situation and I just think, God. Imagine leaving everything that brings your life meaning behind. Yes, home is where your people are and where your heart is and where your family is, and you can rebuild the physical space. But, there still comes a massive trauma with having to be pulled out of that. And trauma that can't be undone. Trying to put myself in the situation of these people who are being forced to leave their homes, I can't even imagine...

You know, I'm in my West London apartment, and I have the comfort and freedom and flexibility to choose to be here, to choose to make this my home. I can't imagine the feeling of being forced to give that up, not out of my own choice. I choose to live here because I have the freedom to choose that, and I have the privilege to choose that. There's a lot of people who don't have that freedom and choice, and that's really made me rethink the meaning of home. And to clarify, when I say home is where you're rooted, it's not in the materialistic sense either. It's where your life is.

Growing up, my parents went through financial difficulties, my dad was bankrupted, we lost our house, we had to move a couple of times, but I never really felt like I lost my home. Because I've always been in West London. It's all I've ever known. If I was to move out of West London, that would be by choice, and then I could choose where to build my next home. The choice is a big part of it.

Quite a few years ago, there were the London riots. In my local high street, there were these riots, and there were store lootings, people were breaking shops, they were just vandalizing people's houses and businesses.

And I had this thought of, "Oh my, do I not feel safe at home?" But it was momentary, it was done and over within days. That was the first time that I recognized how fortunate I am. I don't live in a conflict zone. To not feel safe when you're at home is unbearable.

This is my current state - and I think this will change as circumstances in my life change. I used to say that this planet is my home, but threat against my Armenian identity bring the things that are important to me so much closer.

What does community mean to you?

Another hard question! When I think of community, I try to think of, "Where have I used this term before?" I usually refer to community as a group of people that have a similar group of interests, or similar things that we like to do together. For me, I have a community of friends that are Armenian, I have a community of friends that are from a particular course I took, examples like that. That's sort of one element of community. And I think generally when I look at those communities, it's usually to fulfill a particular part of my life, whether that's the part of my life which is traveling, or having fun, or dancing, or support and self discovery. Community for me is founded in the roles that groups of people play in my life at particular times. They're not necessarily attached to a particular place (be them physical or virtual), but probably attached to a particular time. There's particular communities that you're part of that you move in and out of.

What are you most afraid of right now?

I am most afraid of one day having kids and a family that lose the cultural heritage that I would want them to know, to understand and to recognize. I know it's a long shot, but my fear at the moment is that there are people on this planet that are adamant to destroy others.

My fear is that there's enough complacency to let that happen, and that I will have to turn around to my kids and say, "We just didn't do enough to keep hold of our heritage and our culture and our history." That's not an option for me.

[I think that answer is fascinating, especially being a first generation Chinese-American. Living in a country where your language and your culture is not the primary one, I understand personally how losing heritage can be easy.]

Two months ago, this hadn't even occurred to me. I used to be of the mindset of going to Armenian community events to have fun or when I wanted to speak the language or when there was a particular event, but now, suddenly, this is a big part of my identity. Whether I portray this identity everyday or not, it's a lot about how I've grown up, and there's this existential threat to it. For the first time ever, I'm actually scared that we might lose that. I'm first generation in the UK. My parents are Armenian, but they weren't actually from Armenia. They were from Iran and India. There's a long history before we go back to Armenia, but our culture and heritage has always been something that generations have passed down, and it's been very embedded and very ingrained in us. Before this realization, I was part of the first generation to say, "I don't want to go to Sunday school. I don't want to learn that. How does that benefit me? Why can’t this be easy? Why am I so different? Why can’t we have normal food?" Thankfully they would force me to go to Sunday school and eat my delicious food. Now, I appreciate it and I'm grateful.

What's the happiest moment of your life?

One of the happiest moments of my life was graduating with my master's degree. It was a postgraduate in Mental Health Studies, and I graduated from King's College London, which I was very proud to attend. I was the first person in my family to graduate with a degree, and then to graduate with a postgraduate degree. I was incredibly happy about that. I remember specifically on the day of my graduation ceremony, there was a moment where you're getting your cap and gown and headshot and stuff, and holding this ridiculous scroll—I remember holding that, and my dad was on one side and my partner was on the other side, and I had just found out I was pregnant, there was little baby growing inside of me. I remember thinking, wow, this is awesome. This is a really happy moment. That was one of the happiest moments in my life. I then went on to lose the baby, but that's another story.

What’s the saddest moment of your life?

The saddest moment of my life is a very distinct moment I can remember when my mum passed away. My dad and I were driving to the hospital and we were going down this road that we always go down. And the hospital had been calling the house in the morning. My dad was out, I was in the shower, and I never used to answer the phone. So I just ignored it. And it just kept ringing and ringing. When I finally picked up, the voice said, "Hi, it's the hospital. We'd like you to come by." Just as I put the phone down, my dad comes home and we both head to the hospital. I was meant to be leaving town to go visit a friend, but we jumped in the car and we're driving. I remember this drive, and I remember being so self-consumed at that moment. I wasn't even thinking about our destination, I was just thinking, oh I'm going to be so late for my coach...

And I looked over at my dad and suddenly realized, oh, he's scared. Why does he look like this? I was 19, so I was not too young, but young. We get to the hospital, and there's this woman outside the hospital who is in the same ward as my mum. And she turns around and says, "Hey, you're the family for the woman who's just had the crash team!" I didn't even know what a crash team was. What does that mean? We get in the lift and we go upstairs and we walked down this corridor.

My dad—I've never seen my dad run. He's speeding down this aisle. He walks through the door and the moment he opens that door and I see my mom lying there—and I get it.

I get exactly what's just happened. And my entire being just crumbles and I just fall into the ground and I'm curled up in a ball and it was just... That moment was the saddest moment.

[I'm so, so sorry. That must have been so hard.]

It's a really good question because it's about the moment, not the saddest day or the saddest time—it's that moment. It's just so vivid every time I think of it, every time I replay it in my head. I can see that door opening.

[Were you close to your mom?]

There were times. I got closer to her the older I got. There were lots of things that we didn't get on about. She was very, very traditional, and I was very westernized. I rebelled against some of the things that she tried to instill in me growing up. We used to fight a lot because of that. I grew up with very different values and very different principles to her. And that's fine, I mean, teenagers argue with their parents. But as I got older, as things leveled out a little bit, I got over my adolescence. But we weren't as close as we could have been. And that's the thing, years later that I sort of realized as I look at my friends—they graduate from university, they get jobs, and they take their moms out for lunch. Their moms become a part of their adulthood. They can finally be better friends. That's what I miss out on. That's the thing that sort of marks and seals that relationship for me, and that's the thing I'm missing. So that's my perspective.

Who's the most influential person in your life?

I don't think I have one particular person. I think there's lots of strengths in lots of different people that I like to borrow. I did a program in NLP years ago, and they talk about this concept of modeling excellence. I look at excellence in particular people.

I am a big, big fan of Brené Brown. I absolutely love her. She's funny, she's credible, she's engaging. Her work is amazing. I take a lot of the principles of empathy, sympathy, vulnerability, shame—I love all the stuff she does about that. A lot of the time when I'm trying to figure out a hard situation, I have a little Brené Brown voice in my head that goes, "What would she say? What would her advice be?" It's usually something around vulnerability and connection, and that really resonates with me.

I’m also a massive fan-girl of David Attenborough! I admire and respect how his life work has evolved and I love him for all the attention he’s brought to the crisis of our natural world! 

Have you ever experienced prejudice? And if you have, how so?

I think I've been pretty lucky not to have experienced it growing up in London. There's moments of people's biases and prejudices clearly show, but nothing that I think has significantly impacted me in my work or in my career or in my life. I've been pretty lucky to have not been subject to prejudice, but I also look at some of my friends who have been, and I think maybe if I had a different personality, I might have seen things differently. That's a thing—especially up until my early to mid twenties, I was very happy-go-lucky. I didn't really let stuff bother me. Nowadays I’m a lot more conscious of how people communicate with me, how they behave with me and I’m more empowered to call stuff out and to take a second look back and say, “That wasn’t right.”

Have you ever thought about privilege? How?

All the time. We were touching on it a little bit earlier in that I'm privileged to never have to worry about where my home is. Also, I appreciate that I'm a first generation in the UK and that in itself is a massive privilege. I feel like everything that my family and my parents have done before me has allowed me to be here.

I was having a conversation with a friend a few days ago and we were talking about massive parenting fails; things that our parents did that were messed up, that kind of stuff. And she said, "Why were our parents so mean?" And I said, "Because they never really had the privilege to know better." There's also sort of a privilege of being alive and at my age, at this point in time. Me and my dad argue a lot; we have a very turbulent relationship. I love him to pieces. He loves me to pieces (he’ll never say it). But we're just like each other, so we constantly butt heads. He's stubborn, I'm stubborn. We have our views. And I realized recently that I'm privileged more than him because I have access to information, to communities, to a wider network, I can know better.

My dad's values and my dad's principles are based on what he grew up with, in a world where there was no Internet, where you had to go to the library to get a book, where education was very much based on who founded the school, and what religion you were.

Knowing that suddenly puts a lot of things into perspective—the parenting fails that my parents had, all the values and principles I don't agree with, I can disagree with them because I'm privileged enough to do so.

[I think that's super valid. It's good to remember, or try to know, where others come from, especially when your viewpoints don't line up eye to eye. People are always the way that they are because of something.]

Exactly. Everyone has a story. Isn’t even being in a position where you can recognize that other people have stories is a privilege in itself? And with that comes a responsibility. My friend said after that conversation, "You're so forgiving." For me, it's not about being forgiving. I'm not forgiving. I just try to recognize that I'm in a position where I have access to Brené Brown. I have access to countless podcasts and e-books for self-development. I live in an age where people have the privilege to take time for mindfulness. If you'd said that to my dad, when he was in his twenties, working 3 jobs for rent in London, he would have told you to, "Jump on your bike. I've got work to do. I've got bills to pay."

What was one pivotal moment in your life, and how did it influence you?

When I was 13, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma, which is a type of cancer of the lymph nodes. I had my treatment, and within six months, they said, "Yeah, you're all good, off you go." Obviously there was a whole experience, and trauma, and everything that happened with that, like losing my hair at the age of 13, and not being able to do what all the other teenage kids were doing. Anyway, six months after I finished my treatment, I relapsed, but it was much worse, so the treatment they had to put me through was much stronger. They put me through much heavier chemotherapy and I had to go through radiotherapy this time as well.

One of the moments that still lingers with me was having to choose whether or not to have egg harvesting, because they said it was likely I might be left infertile. I was 14 at the time, and I had to figure out if I wanted kids? And at the time, egg harvesting hadn't been proven. It wasn't a very tried and tested method. This was almost 20 years ago. So I went to the consultations and they told me about the surgery process. And I said, "You know what? I don't think I want yet another surgery." I passed. I thought, if it's meant to be, it will be.

I went through to finish my treatment, and luckily my results that came back showed I didn't have to do the highest level. They decided I just needed another 10 rounds of radiotherapy to my chest. I remember the moment where I was having my last radiotherapy treatment. I was strapped into this machine. They'd made a cast of my chest and they tattooed me on each side of my boobs so that I would always be aligned (I never understood how that worked if I was to gain or lose weight!). I remember being strapped to the table with this machine over me, and it took two seconds for the radiotherapy treatment to go through. It sounds so stupid saying it out loud—I remember thinking to myself, "Die, cancer cells, die! Be gone!" I imagined in my head that this thing would come out of this machine and it would kill all the cancer cells, all these little cells running around inside me would just be gone. That moment has always stayed with me. I don't know why, it was the most ridiculous thought. I was talking to my body, to the cells in my body. But I always think of that. I think overall, that whole experience basically sent me on a value of—live life.

Don't wait around for stuff to happen. Just go for it. Tomorrow's never promised, right? So try and live life to its fullest while you can.

[Earlier, you mentioned that you had a miscarriage around your graduation. Having opted out of the surgery, do you want kids or have kids?]

Yes, I do want kids. When I fell pregnant that time, I was 23. At the time, I'd only just started trying to figure out if I was even fertile— the doctors said to me I was most likely going to be infertile. They had told me to call them when I was ready to look into it, so I had actually just started that process. When I went to the hospital to do the tests, to find out if I was fertile, they said, "Congratulations, you're pregnant! But you're having a miscarriage. So at least you know you're fertile, although this probably wasn't the right egg." It was a bit of a shit way to get great news.

Where are you from and how has being from your home shaped who you are today?

I am from West London. I'm from Ealing. By being from here, I've had access to everything I've ever wanted. Anything you ever want, you can get in London. It's a major hub. I can go pretty much anywhere in the world from here. We have all types of food, all types of restaurants, we have all types of bars and drinks and languages and people and cultures and religions and everything. That's probably shaped my perspective of how open the world can be. At some points, that's put me in tricky situations. Not every city is as cosmopolitan as London. It's also given me an appreciation for diversity—having so many different communities around us gives perspective to things that many of my colleagues in Europe may not have ever had the chance to experience. London has shaped my open-mindedness. 

What's one thing that always reminds you of home?

Anthony. My partner, he reminds me of home. I love travel. I have this tendency to just decide to go somewhere. I'll travel alone. There've been times I've just taken off for a few months, and he's been at home with his family and I've been off in India, or Central America, or somewhere. The thing I miss is him and cuddles. It sounds so cheesy.

What's something that you've accomplished that you're proud of?

There's two things. Number one is traveling. I'm very happy and proud of myself—I hate saying I'm proud of myself, but it's true—for traveling when I did. When I was 22, I had just finished my undergraduate degree and I took off to Southeast Asia for five, six months by myself. I went to Australia, met some family, and then I went to the Philippines and Singapore and a whole bunch of other places. I spent some of it by myself, and some of it with friends that flew out to join for parts of it. I'm really proud of having done that when I did, especially the Philippines. It was my first Southeast Asian stop—a massive cultural shock, was not expecting to be ripped off at my cab ride, but it happened. I didn't book any accommodation, I just sort of turned up at the airport and was like, where shall i go now? Managed to find myself a really gross hostel with some really dodgy hostel mates, it was awful. Looking back, I'm like, oh my God, what was I thinking? I was getting in cars with strangers who were like, hey foreigner, nice to meet you, we'll take you out for dinner. All the things I would tell my daughter not to do, I did. But I'm proud of having done it. I'm also glad I made it out in one piece.

I trusted the good in people, and it was worth it. 

The second thing was late last year. Anthony and I did our first skydive and that was absolutely amazing. I hate flying. I love traveling, but I hate flying. I hate being in planes. My anxiety levels are almost uncontrollable. So strapping me onto a parachute in the back of a plane with the doors wide open—the hardest part was booking it. Everything after that was just a massive adrenaline rush. It was possibly one of the best feelings of my life, ever. Although now I want a parachute every time I get on a plane.

What's something about yourself that you don't like talking about?

Myself, most of the time. It's uncomfortable. This is a bit uncomfortable. And I mean, people like talking about themselves generally, when it's part of the conversation and it's natural dialogue. This is a bit uncomfortable, but I’m surprised that I’m liking it.

What's one thing that you wish you could share about your culture with the world?

Oh, everything! Okay, I can get specific. This makes me think of a particular memory. There's a particular song that my friend heard when we were in Guatemala, at Lake Atitlán, in this little town of San Pedro, and she heard this song. It was a techno remix. And my friend goes, "Oh my God! This is an Armenian song—you've got to hear it!" They'd basically taken this old Armenian traditional song—the song itself is played for the memories of the Armenian genocide, it's melancholy but beautiful, beautiful song. She heard it across town and we ran all the way to listen to it clearly.

Months later, I played that song for a colleague. I asked, "Do you feel anything when you hear this?" He said no. It surprised me! How could he not have any feeling for this song? And it pulled me back to that moment. I wish I could transfer that feeling you get, when you listen to particular music and particular songs. That's what I wish I could share, that feeling.

I'm not talking about the feeling you get when you listen to any music. And I'm definitely not a big listener of Armenian music—that was the first time I'd heard that song, but instantly it struck me.

I know exactly what feeling that song has, because it's part of my culture. It's a really strange thing. 

There's an instrument that we use a lot in Armenian music - it's called a duduk, it's like a pan flute. It brings a sound of—I can't explain it, sorrow and love and tradition and suffering and hope. It's just a feeling. That's something I would love to share with people.

That, and coming home with friends, slightly drunk after a night out to your mum’s home-cooking. That was perfect. 

What would people be surprised to know about you outside of everything that we've talked about?

I had to ask my best friend about this earlier. We came up with some things. And then, the thing I mentioned surprised even her. So... I love food. I love wine, I love cheese, I have a very proactive relationship with food. I love it. But when I was younger, probably about four or five, I had some sort of an eating disorder. I barely ate. It was so much so that my mom took me to the doctors to have an injection in my butt. She'd force me to eat stuff, she'd hide particular ingredients in the food that she would cook me. I didn't like garlic, onion, tomatoes, basically everything she cooked with, so she'd blend it so that I wouldn't know it was in there. She'd make rice with onions, but blend the onions so I had no idea. I had a really unhealthy relationship with food when I was younger. For anybody who knows me now, where my life is around food, my socializing is around food and wine, I'm sure they'd be surprised to know that. 

How do you feel sharing this stuff?

It was interesting. I've realized I'm quite uncomfortable talking about myself. But it's quite nice to do something different, and quite nice to take my mind off what I've been thinking about. This has been a nice experience. 

Last question. Can you please reintroduce yourself?

I'm Helen, 30-something year old woman living in London. I love travel, food, technology, and learning. I'm learning every day.