When I was 6 years old, I imagined that I am a pirate. I’m genius fighter, of course, I have a great saber and a big snake in my own cabin. And in a free time I write a memories about our pirates adventures and stories about our ship. I imagined all details: gold rings on my fingers, my snake brings me fruits and tells me some secrets about another pirates on our ship and I write all my memories in a heavy book with yellow pages by my goose feather. 

When I was 9, I imagined that I am a witch, I am 104 years old, I am from Australia (I don’t know why) and I should to find some person to transfer my knowledge about magic secrets of this world. And I imagined how I write my memories about this magic stuff. 

When I was 12, I imagined that I live in the train and all my life is round the world journey and I try to describe in my manuscript what I see in the window of my truck. 

When I was 13, I understood my problem: I like writing  and all my life I try to imagine that I am someone who write something. And I decided to stop imagine and try to do it in real life.

Now, when I am 19, I have the opportunity to sit surrounded by writers and to discuss literature in the mountains in Armenia. And I still a little bit pirate, and witch, and vagrant, and sometimes I imagine that I am a lumberman in the mountain forest, but every time the most incredible thing is to imagine yourself a writer.

Тож, я дуже щаслива бути тут. Писати у Вірменії – це любов.