When I told people I was taking a 19-hour train ride from New York City to Chicago to attend a System of a Down concert with my sister, I was met with a variety of responses: 

“That’s so cool!”

“What an interesting experience!”

“Honey, if you need money, we can pay for your flight.” 

But the most common response was: “Why?!”

What a silly thing to say! To me, it simply made sense—and not just because it was indeed cheaper than flying. As a writer whose full-time job is not writing, the idea of 19 hours with my laptop, scenic views and no distractions is heavenly. Plus, my office is closed for the holiday, so I have the time. When would I get the chance to do this again?

And I’m no stranger to what I would call a “sitting marathon.” After all, I did attend the AMC 12-hour Best Picture Movie Marathon—what’s seven more hours?!

But as the trip got closer, the “why” was starting to nag at me. Why do I feel compelled to take this trek?

NOW APPROACHING: Albany, N.Y. — 16 hours left

As the train meandered up along the Hudson River, I was alone with my thoughts and flooded with memories. Suddenly, I knew: this was a pilgrimage. 

NOW APPROACHING: Syracuse, N.Y. — 12 hours left

I had packed a ton of snacks for the trip, but still managed to buy more food while underway. I found myself eating a classic BLT sandwich and Airheads candy—my childhood favorites. 

My early childhood was spent in the suburbs of Chicago. Around Christmastime, my family would drive around the Lincolnwood Towers neighborhood to see their extravagant decorations and light displays. My sister has always been my best friend and we dreamt of living in neighboring mansions there: mine red brick, hers white brick. This way, when we were adults, we could still hang out all the time. We were even planning to build an underground tunnel that would connect our houses, as one does. 

Fast forward 10 years: she went away to college, then I did. As life continued, we stayed… away. We’d make an effort to see each other every month, but schedules fill up, partners come into our lives, pets get adopted and suddenly, it’s been three months since I’ve seen my best friend. 

When we do finally see each other at a family gathering, she’s different; I’m different. Our lives have diverged and taken on influences from our friends and partners; we’ve adapted to our surroundings; and now our lifestyles—our personalities—are unfamiliar. 

I miss the girl I would sing belt Disney and Broadway duets with while driving down the highway.

I would sing the male parts. 

I miss the girl I would only speak in movie references with.

“The whole time? THE WHOLE TIME?!” IYKYK

I miss the girl I would have dance parties with in the living room when our parents weren’t home.

… Until we heard the garage door open and scrambled to cool down, and when they asked why we were so red and out of breath, we lied and said we did a workout video.

It’s not until we spend time together, just the two of us, that I realize that girl is still there. “A Whole New World” comes on and once again, we’re 8 and 10.

This weekend will be just that, and this journey, a pilgrimage. 

Peekskill Bay in Peekskill, New York (Photo by the author)

NOW APPROACHING: Erie, Penn. — 8 hours left

In college, the Amtrak train was my main form of transportation between home and school. A seven-hour journey from San Luis Obispo down to Irvine, nestled between the California coastline and the Pacific Coast Highway. 

As the train travelled from town to town, I, a wide-eyed freshman, would look out the window and imagine a million different futures for myself. 

What would my life be like if I lived in Carpinteria? I’d definitely need a car. 

What about Malibu? Maybe I should learn to surf! 

Maybe I would become a different person in college, with different friends, hobbies and interests. With a head full of dreams and a heart full of hope, the future possibilities were endless. 

But then, we’d pull into Los Angeles’s Union Station, and the one true dream would come back to the forefront: Hollywood. 

As a kid in California, in love with movies and TV, the LA film industry was the ultimate. And I had a plan, too: I would intern at various studios, then leverage those to land a job in film marketing. After some years, I would get an MBA—this, of course, was my ticket to the C-Suite. After building a career and rising through the ranks, I would be the next logical choice for CEO of Disney. 

Everything always goes according to plan, right? 

Wrong! 

Today, looking out from the train car at a very different water view, I couldn’t help but laugh at this child’s foolish notions. None of those things happened. None. 

Instead, I moved across the country just a few months after graduating from college and have been here ever since. December will be 10 years. 10 years! 

I’m a different person now; I’m a New Yorker. I have different life and career goals. I have a husband, a cat, a house—none of this was on the 10-year plan I drew up. 

And yet, in this train seat, alone, with Mumford & Sons in my headphones, I can feel all those same feelings again, just for a moment. I’m living a life my younger self had never even dreamt of.  

Catskill, New York (Photo by the author)

NOW APPROACHING: Waterloo, Ind. — 3 hours left 

I had the privilege of seeing System of a Down perform seven years ago in San Diego. I was already living in New York and my sister was in D.C., but we flew back to California for what turned out to be the greatest concert of my life (Def Leppard is a close second).

System has been part of my life for almost 25 years—just thinking about it fills me with emotion. My parents let my sister and me listen to the “Toxicity” album when we were much too young, simply because the band was Armenian. 

As a moody middle schooler, I would print out their song lyrics and put them in the front of my school binder. There I was, in seventh-grade honors social studies, with: 

All research and successful drug policy

Shows that treatment should be increased

And law enforcement decreased

While abolishing mandatory minimum sentences—and the rest of the “Prison Song” lyrics emblazoned on my binder. Lyrics to Serj Tankian’s “The Unthinking Majority” later made several appearances on my binder.

But of course, as a girl, there’s no way my fandom of System was genuine. Girls can’t be into System! *insert eye roll* The boys in class would make me prove it. 

“Oh yeah? Name one of their albums.” 

My spunky, no-nonsense middle school self threw back: “I can name all five!” 

It’s “System of a Down,” “Toxicity,” “Steal This Album!,” “Mezermize” and “Hypnotize,” by the way. 

 For this weekend’s concert, I could have just as easily attended one of the New York or New Jersey ones. But no, I’m choosing instead to travel across five states to see them in Chicago. Again, why?

I believe System of a Down is just as much an Armenian icon as the Cascade Complex or Little Armenia.

System concerts are a rare occurrence and, much like the appearance of the Madonna on a potato chip, not just worthy of a pilgrimage, but deserving of one.

So here I am, armed with my Armenian flag—which has marched in Genocide protests and cheered on Henrik Mkhitaryan—and ready to see my community show up in full force to support four of our very own: Serj, Daron, Shavo and John.

NOW APPROACHING: Chicago, Ill. — Final destination

For me, a visit to Chicago is not just a vacation; it’s visiting my hometown. Chicago was my first home and will be my forever home. Though we moved to California when I was just a kid, I will always say that I’m from Chicago. I will always prefer deep-dish pizza. And I will always be a Cubs fan—my trusty Cubs hat has traveled the globe. 

Since time travel doesn’t exist yet (or so they say…), the only way we can visit the past is through memories, stories, photos and songs. 

This 19-hour train ride has been my gateway to my younger self; it’s my DeLorean, if you will. I’ve gotten the chance to look back on who I once was—and still am: a Chicago kid rocking out to System of a Down with her big sister. 

Not bad for 75 bucks.

Rosie (Toumanian) Nisanyan (she/her) is a writer, artist and tea entrepreneur based in Brooklyn, New York. She grew up in the vibrant Armenian communities of Chicago, Illinois and Orange County, California before moving to New York to work in Broadway advertising. Rosie’s writing spans poetry, arts reviews, consumer trend reports and screenplays; she’s now excited to focus her efforts on spotlighting Armenian artists of the Diaspora.