With myself

 It is strange that lately, for some reason, I began to compare an Armenian of 2019 with the one of 1988 very often. To be more simple and clear, I’m not comparing two different persons, but the same person: one is twenty-twenty-five years old and the other is fifty-fifty-five or sixty, can you imagine? It turns to quite a beautiful, though a bit unclear picture, a modern canvas, quite appropriate in any “izm”.

So putting them together and comparing, I'm surprised, admired, disappointed, happy... both are good, they are mine, but I beg your pardon, that one of 88’s is more closely related to me, some kind of, how to say, more closely and determined, both wise and naïve, persistent… devoted to hid ideas, you can’t change him; distracting him is simply impossible, illogical… His eyes are shining, his voice is ringing, his walk is like a commander’s, who has won thousands of battles, always awake… out of personal life, away from the crowd… the purest…Have you ever seen such a person? Don’t say “yes”, I’ll not believe, anyway. I’ll even laugh at your unawareness.
This one, I want to say the one that is fifty-five years old, is different. No, I have nothing to say against, they are the same, but let me tell he is no more that twenty-five years old guy. It’s surprising, but there is little in common between them, a little work reminds of them and the thinking is another. I repeat, the man has changed, years have done their job, and the man, I can understand, could have not always resisted the glory, victory, praise, and sometimes lost the sense of reality, often not differing the false and the honest, the right and the wrong from each other.
I ask, whether that could have not happened… I suspect ... I'm not sure… although I wish it was… I wish he could resist…I wish he could overcome… even if changed, then a little, unnoticeable…
What can I say? That’s not good, I want to say these changes, this distance, this difference, the very idea that a person does not fit in his house, does not fit in the yard, neither does he fit in the city nor in the country…doesn’t fit… There is narrowness…always something is not enough…something is missing, something is disturbing…
In contrast, there was nothing in 88’s, but everything was enough, there was not a house but there were full of guests, we rejoiced together and together we got sad, the material had nothing to do at our places, the gathered and united thousand people were not a crowd. And the struggle was for the country, for the past, for human dignity and rights, for our firm, divine place on the planet. Nothing else interested us; the rest was just a game, unacceptable, funny, as well.
Really, I dare say, in the last several 100 years we thought an Armenian had never been so beautiful, so attached to the country, with sense of self-esteem, self-knowing and self-worth, having vanity, idea and, let me say, having everything. It’s difficult not declaring love to him, not kissing his forehead and not adoring him. I would not say; that would not be right, not honest, speaking more honestly, the Lord would neither understand nor accompany us in our future wars.
I would like to say, as it is appropriate, I am not a fan of the past, the epic of the past has lost its ability of inspiring me a long time ago, though I never miss the opportunity to travel to the past, I don’t even avoid the most difficult meetings, and always bring something with me, definitely new, undiscovered, unread. But let me say, I do not let him interfere with my new ideas and affairs, be with me, follow me at every step…because I do no doubt my present, my past and my future… I mean the present is my ally, my comrade in arms, the most relative, the most reliable, and the closest, as well… I was the same at 1988, maybe just at 1988. The worship of weapon and power was also from 1988, and rejecting the idols, as well. My idol was my ego, and then it was ‘We’, to be more accurate, thousands of ‘Me’ in ‘We’. Otherwise, we would lose, again leaving in the past tears, mourning, land and a naive and incomprehensible desire to spit on justice.
Now…
31 years later.
No matter, what anyone says, that Armenian still has his courage, we don’t complain. But the madness misses. I have nothing to hide, we also suffer from memory loss, I mean we began forgetting ourselves, our past, our right and wrong, our defeat and victory, our deeds and failures, but more often our wrong, our defeat and our failure…
Aren’t you afraid of devaluing the life lived?
I am scared of it, more than of war…
You know I say so, because the war can also be won, though all the wars always end with making new idols, with the so called new value systems, long-live dedications…
Let me say one more thing; maybe the most important.
The Armenian of 1988 was not a half-Armenian. That Armenian involved in him from Sea to Sea Armenia, the lost and the gained… I mean that Armenian of 1988 had something from every part of the earth. If he were an only native of Stepanakert, Yerevan, Gyumri or Sasun, he would lose again… He was just an Armenian, an Armenian raising those who had lost their freedom in the depth of brotherhood, friendship and soviet ideology to the level of commander and God.
Where are you, Hrant Matevosyan?
I am crazy for this Armenian. Is there anyone who is not crazy for him, or doesn’t want to know him?
This one seems to be a little, too little changed. The country in him is a single whole, sometimes from town to town, sometimes from sea to sea and sometimes just what he has… Well, at least that one of 1988 can assure this one that the country is not complete just by the capital city, nor by the village that keeps the border on its shoulders, and that the country one day begins from the border, one day from the childhood district, sometimes from the farthest village… that the country is not complete when it is in part, cities are not a country, neither village to village is a power…And this is not a past. The past is incomprehensible, intangible; as if someone else’s… somehow carefully protected …whoever goes after him doesn’t manage to come back. Some remain on half way, often disappointed and empty...
Whatever you say, I can refuse neither the first nor the second. Both are mine, the most relative, the best, and the most important is that neither that of 88’s can now live without his today’s brother, nor that of nowadays is able to carry his burden without the other…
Besides, both have the same country, the same heaven, sun, tree, field and lost seas ... dignity ... freedom ... And, will never, I mean neither today, nor tomorrow, nor the other day, give the other the right to make a mistake ...