Rusmenglish: Recuperarea alfabetizării mele armene (și de ce ar trebui să-ți recuperezi și tu)    

My fascination with unconventional ideas began at the dinner table. My grandpa, an enthusiastic Soviet-era historian and educator, filled our dinners with exchanges that turned mealtimes into debates. Peppering his many teachings with anecdotes from his own life in Soviet Yerevan, he made conversation on seemingly abstract topics like political theory and history both vivid and immediate. From the Pan-Slavic movement to Holodomor, we explored a range of perspectives, amid the clink of silverware and the comforting scent of Babulya’s tolma. Our dialogue — a blend of Armenian, Russian and English — was characterized by what my grandpa affectionately labeled “Rusmenglish.” To me, it has become an ever-evolving representation of fluidity — connecting past and present, tradition and change. In part through “Rusmenglish,” my ability to bring people together through dialogue was also born at the dinner table.
My family’s journey to the United States followed the familiar yet complex arc of many immigration stories, beginning with Armenia’s energy crisis amid the Soviet Union’s collapse. Upheaval plunged the country into what came to be called the “dark and cold years” — a period marked by widespread job loss, poverty, hunger and freezing winters. Just months away from completing the dissertation he had devoted years to — one that would have made him the youngest person in Armenia’s history to defend a Ph.D., at age 26 — my grandpa packed up everything and moved to Russia, determined to build a better life for his family. In Moscow, my grandparents pieced together a modest living through their new business selling obscure items, including fur coats and toothpaste, in the city’s vast underground metro system. 
As many adapted to life abroad, they forgot or overlooked the language that connected us so deeply. Yet, just as my grandpa held onto the Armenian language and traditions across two foreign countries, I bear the responsibility of doing the same, ensuring that my children and grandchildren understand the importance of our heritage. Many Armenian communities, like mine in Los Angeles, have established language schools in churches and community centers that offer Armenian classes for children. 
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However, I didn’t have the opportunity to attend a formal language and cultural immersion school growing up. Unsurprisingly, my family’s everyday use of “Rusmenglish” didn’t focus on written Armenian. Despite my fluency in spoken Armenian, I struggled with reading and writing. Inspired by the dinner table conversations that were an integral part of my upbringing, I set out to reclaim this missing piece of my heritage: my Armenian literacy. 
I knew I had to get creative in my pursuit. I began slowly. First, I learned the alphabet, with help from many YouTube videos and flashcards. Then, I dug out a book that my grandma would read to me when I was a toddler: a compilation of clas