Without Memories

I remember our mountainsides

The cool gurgling of the springs

The eternal fires of the shepherds

My mountain deer lovers' black eyes

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains lush with flowers ...

I remember my mothers' voice

The sheep grazing on the rocks

The sweet sound of the shepherd's flute

Sitting under the dark clouds

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains filled with flowers 

Our mountain flowers are in my heart

Their sweet smell is in my heart

Flower scented, mountain air drenched

Our song's springs are in my heart

Hazy mountains, breezy mountains

Bring my childhood back

Mountains luxuriant with flowers

Lyrics by Gooson Ashod

Translated from Armenian by

Armine Zohrabian

Who are we without our memories? I wasn't raised in the mountains of Armenia which I regret immensely, but the song speaks to my yearnings of my childhood in the dusty streets of Arak. I remember our quaint small church, the kindergarten, our school, the pageantry of our New Year celebrations, the tall Christmas tree, the Santa Clause and his sack full of goodies. Our school chorus singing enthusiastically year after year all the wonderful songs that filled our hearts with pride and deep sorrow. The songs we sang gave us visions of a motherland we had never seen. We sang about heroes we had never met, sacrifices they made we could never be fortunate enough to make. But in general we were happy children, we had good parents, good teachers, a peaceful predictable life. The years rolled by and we always celebrated New Year, Christmas, Easter and all the other big and small traditional Armenian holidays. Every year in elementary school when the school year was over on our way home we would throw away our old notebooks and take off our uniform before getting home and then our summer adventures would begin. For me and my sisters it was playing hide and seek in the evenings with our cousins, it was bicycle rides at nights and playing endless games of tag and dodge ball. We payed house and school and we had lots of dolls. But what I most liked about summers, was that I could read to my hearts' content. After tiring of games I would stand in front our large library and would chose a fat volume. Sometimes I would ask my fathers' opinion and he would gladly recommend something. I mostly loved historical epics. It was awe inspiring to read about Armenian history, our great past civilizations and dynasties, all the great battles and minor wars. I learned who I was and where I came from through these books. They gave me self confidence and self worth. They were the building blocks of my cultural education. I read other books also, books by well known Russian, English and French writers. Every time my father would go to the capital, Tehran he would bring new books along with dolls and clothes. And then, there were our friends, school friends, friends from youth groups and cultural organizations. Friends that shared our school days, summers and winters and everything else in between. We partied together, danced and sang together and grew up together. Friends that even after thirty years of separation still remember each other and are happy to see each other and say hello. We would all be hollow soles without our memories of the past. We are who we are today because of who we were then. 

I miss everyone and everything in my childhood but, that's life.