Chris Khatschadourian in Yerevan

I Missed My Flight

Can you believe it?
I missed my flight.
I was supposed to be in Yerevan,
but here I am still
in Lebanon
having fish at one of my favorite restaurants.

The sea – sometimes blue,
other times silver –
surrounds the restaurant.

Looking out the window now,
I can see
it’s such a beautiful day to be
somewhere else

Waves splash on the rocks, try to hold on to the rocks,
but their destiny pulls them back,
their destiny pulls them back
into infinity.
Repetition… eternity.
The day the waves stop trying to escape their destiny
is the day the world ends.

My fiancée is facing me.
A smile remains frozen on her face.
It is a forgotten smile,
a lingering, sardonic, masochistic smile,
a tragedy turned into something funny,
the echo of a shock.

“We can only laugh about it now.”
“We were supposed to be unpacking
in Yerevan, but here we are.”
“The alarm didn’t go off.”

We’re having fried fish and fries
and hummus.
I’m sipping on arak;
she’s enjoying a glass of white wine.

“Don’t worry,” I say.
“We’ll catch the next flight.
For now, let’s enjoy our lunch.”

The table is a work of art.
It reminds me of the Last Supper.
but we were supposed to be
experiencing something else,
not this.

April 27, 2021

November 26, 2020: Untitled

It’s the need to say something
that makes me want to write.

However, the need to say something
doesn’t necessarily mean that I have anything to say.
It’s been almost a year since I last produced a piece —
a short story — that I thought was good.

Since March, my mind has been deteriorating.
I have been deteriorating.

It hasn’t been a good year, and it all started late last year.
A pseudo-revolution in Lebanon back in October 2019.
I believed in it and was part of it,
but it turned out to be nothing but noise!
Then, as 2020 began, Lebanon defaulted on its debts.
Covid-19 became a pandemic soon after.
Beirut’s port exploded on August 4.
The Nagorno-Karabakh war began on September 27
and ended on November 10 with Armenia losing.
Yes, a bad year for the world,
a horrible year for a Lebanese-Armenian like me.

Then, last Wednesday, on November 18, my grandmother died,
and we buried her where we had buried
my father and my grandfather less than two years ago.

And here I am at my desk now,
trying to work,
to live a normal life.

I want to write about something, and there are
so many things to write about.
But I have nothing to say.

My question is:
How can I get rid of this brain fog?
It came once and never left.