There are a bunch of ways to describe and group cuntries in Geography, however, I’ve got a new nickname for my country and if needed, I’m good to share with others as well.

                                                                                                                                                                                   – Author

My head really hurts today, and an effective begining is beyond my abilities. However, I’ll write about “Horton Hears a Who!” _ one of my favorite books by Dr. Seuss, which some of you may know as a cartoon adaptation as well;  We will completely ignore a hilarious and clumsy  elephant – Horton, who happens to be the main character of the text. Meanwhile, I want to focus on a tiny town of even tinier creatures, called Whoville, just existing on a clover plant.  Do you know what a clover plant looks like?

Here, let me show you:

So, Horton is a bit odd, however, with his enermous ears he can hear better than most of the animals. Voala! Yes, of course he somehow had heard the voice of the city folks and here we are – a  great adventure begun. In the unavoidable climax of the text, where a devil force wants to destroy the clover plant and announce the elephant a complete crazy idiot, fun part happens.

Tiny creatures of the Whoville, scream and shout, make unbelievebale ammount of noise – to prove one simple point. “We are here!” – they scream.

We are here, we exist, we exist – Isn’t it what we have been shouting for so long? We have a culture. We have a history. We have a voice, We have our lives, We had our lives, at least.  There is nothing poetic in my text today, nothing spectacular. it is just an observation that popped in my head when I saw this wall in the park of Dilijan earlier this evening: This place has a history – it says.

It has been a while since a part of the world is trying to figure out the right and wrong narratives of history, either post-soviet countries have ever existed without their “Great Saviour”, or do they even have a culture, language.  Aren’t they kinda mostly the same?

And the clover plant cuntries keep screaming – we are here, we were here, we exist.