A handful of homeland: Meri Sargsyan’s long road to Atan

2026-01-28 - 16:31

“It has happened so many times — I have simply sat down and cried while carrying water. I’d be carrying it and crying, I’d fall with the buckets in my hands, my dog would jump on me. I wanted to leave, to write my resignation and just be done. But in the end, it’s important to understand: Why did you come here?” This is how Meri Sargsyan describes her daily life in the village of Atan. Her journey began in Aparan, where she was born and raised, before she moved to Yerevan to study at the State University of Economics of Armenia. Since childhood, Meri wanted to become a teacher, though at the time, it felt like an unconscious dream. She believed her personality was not suited to the profession. Still, she had a powerful example in her Armenian language and literature teacher, Mrs. Antonyan. In seventh and eighth grade, Meri dreamed of growing up to be just like her. Life, however, took a different turn, and she entered the field of marketing and business organization. Despite choosing the humanities track in high school, Meri realized that mathematics was closer to her heart. She enjoys analysis and asking “why.” For her, math represents precision and stability. “If it’s this way, then it’s this way; there is no other option,” she tells the Weekly. “There is a formula and there is its solution.” Click to view slideshow. She was drawn to that consistency, which she felt was missing in linguistics, where a word could function as a noun in one context and part of a verb in another. During her student years, Meri continued searching: “I didn’t know who I was, what I was doing or what I wanted at all.” Initially excited, she later became disillusioned. In marketing, she felt like “a rooster in the city.” She tried working in her field at two different places but did not stay more than three months. Her main job was in a bookstore, where she adored the books and the work itself, but she could not imagine a future in sales or advertising. It was there that she realized connecting with children resonated most deeply with her, while cleaning and organizing her home brought her mental peace. The turning point came after the war. Meri felt a strong desire to help her homeland. She realized that everything begins in the village: “If the villages are emptied, our homeland will shrink.” Her family reacted strongly to her decision. Many believed she was destined to work in a bank, especially since she had already been employed by a marketing company for several months. But Meri spoke up, making it clear she had other plans for her life. Though her family has not fully come to terms with her choice, her path was set. She was initially assigned to a different village, but due to an urgent need in Atan — where there would otherwise be no teacher — she was asked to go there instead. Meri agreed immediately. On her first day in Atan, the roads were not yet paved. Dressed formally, she stepped out of the car and immediately fell into manure. She recalls the moment with laughter now. That muddy beginning became the preface to a quiet, meaningful story. The school principal was delighted by her arrival. Meri was especially touched when the principal opened a bottle of cognac and offered her her first drink in the village. She felt truly needed. The next day, Sept. 3 — her birthday — she entered the classroom for the first time. She asked each child about their hobbies to understand how to include them in lessons. When the students asked about her birthday, they thought she was joking when she said it was that very day. The staff welcomed her warmly, and getting to know the children brought her joy. Now teaching grades four through nine, Meri has a sixth-grade student she calls her “little Meri,” a girl who shares her name and reminds her of herself. The student later told her that when Meri first walked into the classroom, she expected a very “dry” teacher — but her smile changed everything. The most difficult adjustment to village life was carrying water, especially in winter. Meri already knew how to light a stove; she has since learned to make pickles and yogurt. After classes, she enjoys cleaning the house for mental clarity or baking pastries. She is also working on her master’s thesis. Click to view slideshow. In warm weather, she goes with the children to the “dmakner” — the surrounding woods, mountains and forests — to understand their lives more fully and to show them she is one of them. Though she never planned to become a blogger, Meri began sharing the reality of village life online. Comparing her life to curated social media posts once made her feel she was living incorrectly. Eventually, she realized that people rarely show broken walls or daily routines. Village life, she said, is lived without pretense. When one of her videos reached 246,000 views, locals were baffled. “What is so interesting about that?” they asked. For Meri, her greatest achievement is not improved math scores. What matters most is that the children see her as not just a teacher, but as a friend, a sister and someone they can rely on. In a village, it can be difficult to explain why math matters when children believe they will never leave. Meri had to bring math into their daily lives, using examples tied to their everyday experience, such as cows and other farm animals. “When they say, ‘Give me meat,’ what do you say?” she asks. “How much meat do you want — a meter, a millimeter or a kilogram?” She wants the children to understand that they need this knowledge here and now. She describes her students with one word: “empathetic.” They understand others’ feelings surprisingly well, and that empathy forms the basis of their value system. Through this journey, Meri’s sense of self has fundamentally changed. She has found a peace she never experienced in the city. “Now, I don’t fight with myself anymore,” she said. Among the children, she finds her “little Meri” and begins to heal her own school-related traumas. She became a teacher, she admits, because she lacked the kind of teacher she needed growing up. Now, she gives her students what she was once denied. “I tell the kids, use these school supplies as much as you want — until you’re satisfied, until you’re tired of them,” she explained. Having lived far from everything familiar, through hardship and longing, Meri believes there is little she cannot overcome. Once quick-tempered and irritable, she has learned patience and emotional awareness over the past two years. Despite rumors that the school may close, she cannot imagine leaving her profession or the province. She has fallen in love with Lori and its people, whom she describes as extraordinarily kind and “from another world.” Her message to girls who fear change is simple: “There is no need to be afraid. This is also Armenia; this is also my land and my homeland.” Perhaps at first, people in the village are curious about who has arrived in their community, but that is natural. Meri does not hide the hardships — the moments she cried while carrying water, fell into mud or wanted to run back to the city. Each time, she said, the same question stopped her: “Why did you come here?” Recalling the final lines of Bedros Tourian’s poem, “My Pain,” she grows emotional and leaves her thought unfinished: Հեգ մարդկության մեկ ոստը գոս՝ Հայրենիք մը ունիմ թըշվառ, Չ՚օգնած անոր՝ մեռնի՚լ աննշան, Ո՜հ, ա՛յս, է սոսկ ցավ ինձ համար: I am only one branch of humankind; I carry a desolate homeland, To which I could give nothing but a small, unremarkable death. Oh, this is my only grief. For Meri, patriotism is not about grand words, but about action. “Is my life worth living,” she asks, “if I die without doing something good for this handful of a small homeland?” All photos are courtesy of Meri Sargsyan unless otherwise noted.