In various cultures, there exist unique ways of expressing emotions. "Let me take your pain away" or "I will bear your pain" (ցավդ տանեմ)...This saying is deeply rooted in the Armenian concept of emotional expression and remains untranslatable into other languages. It embodies an intimate form of cohabitation and is a cornerstone of how Armenians convey profound feelings.

For Armenians, 'I will bear your pain' or 'I will die for your life' (կյանքիդ մեռնեմ) represents one of the primary ways to communicate deep emotions. Whether it's moments of great joy, love, or profound sorrow, Armenians frequently turn to this expression.

However, it's essential to recognize that deep emotions can also manifest through behaviors and customs unique to each society. These underlying feelings, regardless of the outward expression, are often universally relatable.

In recent times, with the recurring and seemingly unending chain of wars that persist over the past decade, such expressions are becoming increasingly commonplace in today's world. 

In the news, in the thoughts, in the work, in the sigh, in the greeting, every time, something is missing that was there before, but it is consistently decreasing every day. 

The absence of peace makes unnatural things common. Our world has taken on the somber hues of a military uniform. In this disquieting context, words like 'posthumous,' 'hero,' and 'victim' lose their luster as they become commonplace, drained of their inherent meaning and significance by this overuse. We empty them in coffee umps, conversations, news, mechanical noise of political arguments, and calls for new wars, where there will be posthumous heroes again.

Who are these individuals who have made the ultimate sacrifice for your life? Their number becomes so large that sometimes our psyche becomes defensive and refuses to fixate on the fact that these are not faceless, abstract lives, or a chain of tombstones, but living people who loved candy, or the girl next door. They hugged their mother, missed their sister, took care of their father, read "The Little Prince" or joked with their friends to dispel their fear and despair, just one minute before they died.

While documenting the 44-day Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict of 2020, I found myself amidst the aftermath of destruction. In this war-torn landscape, I stood surrounded by old graves on one side and the shattered monument commemorating the Second World War victory on the other. Ahead of me, explosions continued to erupt, a stark reminder that with each blast, the potential for more graves and future monuments increased.

In this surreal moment, I couldn't help but ponder a paradoxical question within myself: Could the immense grief experienced here find a new home within another monument? This contemplation spurred a post-war quest to identify all the "vessels" in which people contain their sorrow for loss, aiming to comprehend where this profound sorrow could be appropriately housed.

During my visits to the families of fallen soldiers, I observed poignant memorial corners within their homes. These sacred spaces featured the soldier's image alongside their awards, and they also held items that had been with them during their final moments: a last piece of candy, the final bit of money, a poignant photograph of a loved one stained with blood, and a broken cross that had rested around their neck, shattered by a landmine, right over the heart. Parents cherish the last things left at home, which they found in their son's pocket after his death. They are physical ties between the soldier and his family, which document the last moment of life, which stopped at some point.One of the parents kept her son's t-shirt, which still carried the boy’s lingering scent. And at the moment of acute longing, she tried to breathe it in to relive her memories. In these items associated with loss, a profound sacredness seemed to emerge. Here, grief transcended mere emotion; it didn't allow for forgetting, tearing apart, or severing ties. Instead, it compelled the bereaved to gather and preserve their pain, crafting a new reality and a fresh set of memories from the fragments of the past.

A photograph found in a soldier's breast pocket as a result of the 2020 war (of his father, mother and himself) takes on a different meaning in my hands. I am careful: the picture burned by a fragment can suddenly fall into pieces. I'm taking a photo. The one "looking at me" from the photo is the smiling family, and just below, in the middle of the photo, is the hole pierced by the fragment…

In 1997, I served as a soldier myself. During that time, I received a letter from my friend's family, who I was living with in Moscow. As I opened the letter, a familiar perfume wafted from the paper. It was a scent distinct from the heat, soil, and sweat of Horadiz where I had been stationed. I made it a habit to inhale that fragrance regularly, as it connected me to memories of myself before my military service.

It makes me wonder, what thoughts must have crossed the soldier's mind when he retrieved a photograph from his pocket in the midst of a trench, under siege, amidst the deafening explosion of an incoming shell, who’s “pain was he taking”, "who’s life was dying for" at the last moment?