April 24: A Wound That Lives Within Us
April 24 is never just a day on the calendar for Armenians.
It’s something we carry in our blood, our bones, our very being.
This year, as I reflect on the Armenian Genocide and everything April 24 represents, I find myself thinking back to something I wrote many years ago — a letter I posted online at a time when I was not as actively involved in the community. At that point, expressing my grief and love for my people was as far as I could go.
The wound still feels just as fresh and close to the surface today — that hasn’t changed — but what has changed is that I am now in a stage of my life where it is time for me to pass on what I carry.
Not just to speak it, but to live it and to give it to the next generation.
Revisiting an Old Letter
Reading it again this week transported me back to that moment.
I had poured out raw emotions — anger, grief, love for my ancestors, and a refusal to ever let their memory be erased.
I wrote about the pain of imagining what could have been if they had survived; about the fury of hearing the brutal stories passed down from my grandfather; about the invisible but undeniable cord that ties me to those who were lost.
One passage especially stayed with me:
“Today and every day, with this inherited blood that courses through my veins, I am always connected to them, and this gaping wound.”
That wound is still there. It always will be.
But today, I find myself in a different place — not because the pain is any less, but because the way I carry it has evolved.
I no longer only bear it; I am building from it.
I am preparing the next generation to carry the memory with pride, with strength, and with an unbreakable sense of who they are.
Living the Legacy: This Year’s April 24
This past week gave me many moments to reflect on that.
It wasn’t a journey marked by dates on a calendar, but by the different ways I was able to educate, represent, and transmit our heritage — whether to Armenians or non-Armenians.
Proclamation at Burbank City Hall
On April 22, at Burbank City Hall, I stood before the mayor, city council, and a room full of community members as we received the official proclamation recognizing April 24, 2025, as Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day.
I gave a short speech, sharing a few words from my heart about why remembrance matters — not just for the past, but for who we are today.
Leading the Next Generation at the Protest
On April 24, I led our AYF Juniors chapter at the protest at the Turkish Consulate on Wilshire.
This wasn’t just about showing up — it was about guiding the next generation, helping them understand the importance of standing firm, of being visible, and of knowing why we raise our voices.
I was proud of them.
I am proud to contribute to their experience — proud to help lay down the building blocks that will one day become the foundation of who they are as Armenians.
Speaking at Burbank High School
I was honored to be the guest speaker at Burbank High School’s Armenian Genocide Assembly, addressing a full auditorium of students.
I chose to speak about Elizabeth Sultanian — a name and story that carries deep personal meaning — sharing her survival, her strength, and her legacy.
It was my first time giving a 15-minute presentation of that scale, and it was deeply moving to see the students listening, connecting, remembering.
Our Weekly Gathering at the Agoump
And as usual, like I do every Friday night, I was back at our community center — our Agoump — for our weekly AYF Juniors meeting.
Another few hours spent teaching, sharing, and building proud, nationalist Armenians who know their history, their strength, and their mission.
The Unshakable Core We Build
When I think back to when I was their age, attending AYF meetings in Montreal, I realize:
I don’t remember every detail.
I don’t remember every speech or every event.
But what stayed with me — what was planted deep inside me — was an unshakable sense of who I am, where I come from, and where I am going.
That was the gift the AYF gave me, and that is what I hope to pass on to these kids.
Rooted in Memory, Rising with Strength
Reading my old letter reminded me that the pain is always a part of us.
It hums underneath everything, like a second heartbeat.
But today, surrounded by these incredible young Armenians, I see something stronger:
Identity. Strength. Future.
And so, while the memory keeps me rooted,
it is the strength and the pride of knowing who we are that lifts us.
It is what I work to pass on.
And it is what ensures we will never, ever be erased.
