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I often think about what my life would have been like if my parents had decided to weather the Iranian Revolution and stay put in Tehran. As a woman, there is little doubt that I would be subject to some kind of discrimination, certainly if I was involved in a movement or in media.
At least on a superficial level I would look different, forced to wear a chador if and when I decided to step out of the house, but would my life be any different? Having been raised in the United States, I will never know what my future in Iran would have been like and because I have never lived in Armenia, I cannot speak from first hand experience about the trials and tribulations Armenian women face in their country.
As an Armenian-American however, a title I have finally begun making peace with, I can speak about the experiences, struggles, disappointments and long road ahead to progress women who struggle to blend two identities face.
Its tentacles reach outward in every direction, having a hold in every aspect of your life and the decisions you make for it.
And worse, if you don’t pop out some kids no later than a few years of being married, what will you ever have to look forward to?