I remember the smell of dust and iron. The concrete walls of the school in Stepanavan were cracked, its library almost empty, its science room missing a microscope. Yet, outside, boys played football with plastic bottles and called it fun. I did not know what it meant then, but I do now: their joy could be numerified, and their needs, even more so. Not numbers in a spreadsheet, bur rather data that smelled, walked, laughed, cried. Data no one was collecting.

Years later, in a lecture hall in Cambridge, I was holding a different kind of dataset: CSV files, geospatial coordinates, water contamination levels. But when I started mapping it all – when I layered the nitrate spikes from our Teevial pilot over the village wells, I recognized the pattern. The dots on my screen were no longer abstract. They were the places and people I had left behind, and the silence surrounding them was a policy failure, not a natural one.

The Problem
Across Armenia, the gap is not just in infrastructure, it is in information. Too many of our villages are invisible on the policy map. They do not appear in statistics, not because nothing happens there, but because not many go to listen. Without reliable, localized, real-time data on environmental conditions, public services, and infrastructure breakdowns, we are stuck reacting instead of planning. The result? A rural Armenia that is seen only when it burns, floods, or migrates.

The Path Forward
Teevial began as a small initiative – one borrowed phone, a handful of surveys, a drive to understand why water tasted off or why the clinic was always closed. But it grew because people spoke. They pointed, drew maps, and shared knowledge. We built dashboards and collected samples. At Harvard, I have learned how to model uncertainty, how to validate civic data, and how to think in systems, but it is the memory of forgotten wells and unopened books that drives me to keep building.

The Solution
I do not dream of a shiny solution dropped from above. I dream of a republic of listeners. A place where citizens are trained to measure, document, and report the world around them. With the Huys Scholarship, I will scale Teevial into a network; young researchers, school students, and local journalists armed with sensors and stories, trained to turn lived experience into civic evidence. The idea is simple: if we want to govern justly, we must see clearly. Teevial will become Armenia’s civic microscope, small enough to see the village, large enough to hold the nation accountable.

My Commitment
This scholarship would not simply support my education; it would activate a lifelong return. Not a symbolic one, but a functional, embedded, unromantic return. My goal is not to “give back.” It is to give shape to what has always been forming beneath the surface, a generation of Armenians trained in data and driven by justice. Huys would give me the opportunity to train others, to institutionalize what we have built, and to ensure that no part of Armenia remains unseen.

We are not waiting for change. We are preparing to measure it.

I am aware that Huys Foundation is granting the Huys Scholarship to me with the anticipation of my good faith pursuit and implementation of the projects and undertakings described in this letter, to which I hereby commit.