Dear Kima Shamirovna,
It’s funny to write this letter at this time. Now that the war with Armenia is flaring up in Azerbaijan again, this is quite a risky thing to do for me. I’m deeply saddened by all the young men dying in Azerbaijan as I write this letter down. Seeing my compatriots’ Facebook feeds fills me with dread and fear. It’s got pretty serious again, just like back in 1988-1989 when I saw you for the last time.
Even though you will probably never read this letter, the act of writing it to you may be interpreted as a betrayal of my own country and nation. Pretty charged, right? Pretty crasy, too.
Because your only fault is being an Armenian.
Your ethnicity never bothered me. You taught me music since I was 5. You also showed me that I am loveable. You played games with me while we waited for my grandpa to pick me up from yours. You talked to me like I was my own person. You sought my advice. I felt important with you.
I’m sad you had to leave the country when the war began. We still kept in touch for a while. But once I left my home town and my life took an unexpected direction, our correspondence stopped.
I still hope that one day I might find you. You are probably in your 70s by now. What are the chances of me finding you in some social media network?
It’d make me so very happy though. It could give me a chance to say:
‘I love you.’