It’s the shared history, the moments, the behavior, the common relatives and experiences that are the glue that holds this nation together. The production crew and I sit at a table working over the script for our show, and an older couple walks up to the picnic; they don’t want to disturb, but we insist they sit, we are finishing up with work. They offer us coffee, and we begin telling stories. The woman, while cleaning barbecue-blackened eggplant, says she is from Stepanekert, and she and our producer start singing a song about the capital. These moments can only exist within a small, homogeneous country, a place where there is only distance and 2 acquaintances which separate you from the person you just met.
The older man stood strong and proud, with his tight dark blue jeans and bare chest, telling tales of the war. I can feel the loyalty and dedication he commands with his stance and his words; he’s lived a hard life and it shows, but always with his back straight and head held high. He is ready to die for this land, not out of nationalism, but for his people, his ancestors, his children and children’s children. His only regret is that we didn’t take back more Armenian soil. At this moment, I want to be like him: strong, experienced, and ready to die for something. I can now picture myself taking up the gun to protect myself, my family, my values, my way of life, for us.