Twenty Six Years in the Making
I was in the backseat of an SUV on the way back to Stepanakert, returning from Yerevan after having been there for less than a day, having come back to meet with my Uncle Jiro who happened to be in Armenia for a brief visit.
It was cold, I was tired, so I huddled in my jacket to try to get some rest before having to go to work that morning. The driver, also tired, kept engaging me in conversation even though I had been explicit in my desire to sleep.
The conversation tilted to the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, an ever present topic amongst Armenians from that region. Having been in Stepanakert, the capital, for several weeks now, he asked my thoughts on the matter.
I offered my opinion, that the opportunities presented when the war first ended were the most favorable to Armenians, but time, pride, and bad decisions have made the situation much more uncertain, and the likelihood of war, one we would surely lose, had increased.
He listened, but disagreed. He had fought in the first war, and knew with certainty that if a second war were to take place, Armenia and Artsakh would be more than ready.
Later that year my coworker Alan approached me. Always looking ahead, Alan asked me to help him fill out an application to a study abroad program at the University of Boston.
Alan was a young man who had gone from student at TUMO to instructor on the filmmaking team, which is when first I met him. Alan was different from most young Armenian men that I encountered. He was open about his fluid sexuality, self-confident in his dealings with others, and willing to admit when he did not know something, and thus always willing to learn.
Needless to say, I found Alan to be an interesting individual and counted him among my friends.
Over the course of a week, I looked over his application and essays, providing comments and criticisms on how he could improve his chances. Alan, for his part, took these to heart, returning with updates and edits to the material.
When ready, Alan sent them in, and within a month or so received a response. He had been accepted.
That should have been the end of the story.
Alan realized he needed to defer his mandatory military service, and was unsure if he could do so. Rather than attempt the paperwork, Alan chose to forego his participation in the study abroad program and start his two years of service.
He quit TUMO and enlisted.
Prior to being stationed, he stopped by my apartment. We spoke briefly, hugged, and I wished him well.
A short time after Azerbaijan attacked. Drones rained down death from above. Armenia was barely able to retaliate. And bit by bit, the Azeri army took large swathes of Nagorno-Karabakh. During this assault, Alan, intellectual, pan-sexual, and self-confident, became one of the casualties.
Time, pride, and bad decisions had killed my friend.
It was cold, I was tired, so I huddled in my jacket to try to get some rest before having to go to work that morning. The driver, also tired, kept engaging me in conversation even though I had been explicit in my desire to sleep.
The conversation tilted to the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, an ever present topic amongst Armenians from that region. Having been in Stepanakert, the capital, for several weeks now, he asked my thoughts on the matter.
I offered my opinion, that the opportunities presented when the war first ended were the most favorable to Armenians, but time, pride, and bad decisions have made the situation much more uncertain, and the likelihood of war, one we would surely lose, had increased.
He listened, but disagreed. He had fought in the first war, and knew with certainty that if a second war were to take place, Armenia and Artsakh would be more than ready.
Alan was a young man who had gone from student at TUMO to instructor on the filmmaking team, which is when first I met him. Alan was different from most young Armenian men that I encountered. He was open about his fluid sexuality, self-confident in his dealings with others, and willing to admit when he did not know something, and thus always willing to learn.
Needless to say, I found Alan to be an interesting individual and counted him among my friends.
Over the course of a week, I looked over his application and essays, providing comments and criticisms on how he could improve his chances. Alan, for his part, took these to heart, returning with updates and edits to the material.
When ready, Alan sent them in, and within a month or so received a response. He had been accepted.
That should have been the end of the story.
Alan realized he needed to defer his mandatory military service, and was unsure if he could do so. Rather than attempt the paperwork, Alan chose to forego his participation in the study abroad program and start his two years of service.
He quit TUMO and enlisted.
Prior to being stationed, he stopped by my apartment. We spoke briefly, hugged, and I wished him well.
A short time after Azerbaijan attacked. Drones rained down death from above. Armenia was barely able to retaliate. And bit by bit, the Azeri army took large swathes of Nagorno-Karabakh. During this assault, Alan, intellectual, pan-sexual, and self-confident, became one of the casualties.
Time, pride, and bad decisions had killed my friend.
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