Liana Aghajanian, a freelance journalist who relocated from Los Angeles five months ago as the second Write a House literary support winner, shares settling-in reflections at the nonprofit program's blog.
Liana Aghajanian: "No one can make better use of space -- especially discarded space -- than an immigrant." (Photo by Anna Clark)
The new Detroiter received an upgraded home in a neighborhood north of Hamtramck, where the 31-year-old writer works in "an upstairs room that overlooks most of my street," she posts. Scenes below gain significance and resonance, thanks to a writer's perspective and storytelling skill:
I sit in front of a window that day after day, gives me a look into the heart of modern America.
A sea of men wearing their taqiyahs, the traditional Islamic skullcap, make their way down to the local mosque for Jumu’ah prayer every Friday and come Saturday, partake in a tradition as old as this country itself: sitting on the porch.
At around 4 p.m. neighborhood kids happily ride their bikes around, up and down overgrown alleyways, reeling with the residue of a housing crisis. A group of young Bengali men fix cars, driving up the street with "#FuckISIS" bumper stickers and sweaters covered in the American flag, while also blasting Bengali music out of their fixed up cars.
My neighbors have turned their gardens into massive greenhouses, growing fruit and vegetables that they will sell or trade with one another. Space is one thing Detroit has plenty of, and no one can make better use of space – especially discarded space – than an immigrant. . . .
Life and people (and cities, especially Detroit) are complex and complicated, and details are important, understanding people’s stories are important. I am familiar with the double, intersecting life of the people I live amongst.
I look at them and remember my childhood, the struggles of adapting, of trying to fit in and never really getting there. Perhaps they don’t realize this – this familiarity that I feel. A few weeks ago I went to a wonderful local music performance of a renowned Bengali musician. Before he began to sing and play the harmonium, he turned directly to me and said that it was hard for him to explain the deep meaning and symbolism behind the lyrics, that not understanding Bengali meant that grasping the full magic of the ancient folk songs he would be singing would not be possible. I nodded, and knew to an extent he was right.
No, I do not speak Bengali, I wanted to say. But I get it, I understand, I know how special this music is, I know it is important to your story, your cultural heritage, I know that you should treasure it and sing it and share it, especially with those who don’t understand it.
The more time I’ve spent in my writing room, observing what is going on around me, the more I walk around in my neighborhood, I am convinced that I have never had such close access to a story before, a story that isn’t just a part of Detroit, but really, part of America. Now, I just need to figure out how to tell it.
Write a House, a unique, four-year-old venture, selects recipients of homes that become theirs after two years. A current fund-raising drive supports work on a house purchased through the Detroit Land Bank for the third winner. It also will have fund-raising dinners and brunches Aug. 4-7.
-- Alan Stamm
