There is a theory stating that our personalities are highly affected by the landscapes in which we are growing up. That those landscapes are parts of our identities and they shape us in a way we are not always aware of. While the families and communities bring us up, those landscapes show us the world from a certain perspective, through certain lenses. They influence who we are, what choices we make, what kind of boundaries we build around ourselves.

I am a child of flat endless steppes, where you get to see everything in kilometers around you. The sky is broad and bright there by day and full of stars by night. The rivers are deep and quiet. The world seems to be as flat as a plate.  It is enough space for everyone there to establish their borders and find their peace inside them.

Here in the mountains, it’s different.

Once you get in the mountains, everything starts to feel sharper and stronger in a way you don’t quite understand. The air is fresher and cooler here, the trees are taller, the sky is closer to you. There is no horizon. Suddenly, you know that the borders are already established for you. Here in the mountains, people are getting closer to each other than anywhere else. The communities seem stronger. Everyone knows one another. It is like a big family brought together – even if not every face is familiar to you.

So maybe there is no coincidence that all of us the young writers ended up here surrounded by the gloomy peaks of Caucasus. We are here to get to know each other, to explore our boundaries and most importantly – ourselves, our identities. For it is easier to hear your own voice somewhere where you can catch its echo after all.