Recently, I often recall a joke of the Soviet period. Under certain circumstances, a Russian girl says to an Armenian boy «не торопись» (no rush!). Our boy says, “No, I must suffer.” If suffering is considered a purpose or merit, then we can find hundreds of reasons for it every day. Suffering is an integral part of rabiz lyric poetry. The plot revolves around the following scenario: “I love you, you refuse me, but I will never forget you and will always grieve, mainly with a glass of vodka and in puff of smoke.” In other words, suffering is such lofty, soul ennobling and beautifying situation that it’s worth demonstrating, telling the whole world about it; it can even be an act of heroism through the “arts”.
Politicians also stress the suffering. “O, my people, I see how you’re suffered, but I’m coming to save you from these sufferings.” Those who say so also suffer, mainly, of course, spiritually, and this entire mourning incurs reciprocal pleasure: to the one who mentally suffers, because living with people’s grief and sorrow, he is raised in his own eyes, and to the one who listens to these touching words, because they once again are pitied. They feel pity, it means they love. How many times have you heard on the streets over these 25 years, “well, don’t you feel pity for these people?” If you are a patriot, then at least three times a day you should ask this rhetorical question. There is one more paradoxical form of suffering for the nation. Finding fault with the same nation, again, usually after emptying a couple of glasses. “Nope, this nation will never be straightened up, it’s just a burning thing.” People who voice such extreme opinions keep one “prerequisite” in mind: allegedly, they are an exception popped up from I do not know where, who, naturally, should not be burned.
Soon, the Armenian Genocide Centennial will be marked. No doubt, it is a wonderful opportunity to suffer and recall the grief, and be presented to the world in the view of being killed. In this event, we should also enjoy pleasure, because if they pity us, we also think here that pitying is a sign of love. And the one who does not join the heart-breaking wailing about the bitter fate of the long-suffered and distressful nation, he does not love this people, perhaps, he is even a “domestic Turk”.
…Often readers commenting on my articles in the website, write (or better to say, shout) approximately the following: “How I am sick of, torture and suffer reading your articles.” Do you want me to hint at how to get rid of this pain? Or, maybe you can guess yourself?
ARAM ABRAHAMYAN
