I have been travelling back and forth between Spitak and Yerevan for the past week. Work started, but it will really kick off for me after the holidays. I have started my battle with OVIR for a one-year residency permit.

Like last year, I spent December 7, Earthquake Remembrance Day, in Spitak. On that day people visit the graves of their beloved ones who died during the earthquake. I have visited the town's cemetary several times over the past years and every time I go there, I am caught by the somewhat surreal atmosphere of the place. For starters, the cemetary is way too big for such a small town. By far the majority of the people buried there, died on the same day, December 7, 1988. And there are so many graves of young people....

People here hang pictures of their deceased relatives on the wall of their living room (I don't know if it is a local Spitak tradition connected to the earthquake or if it is a general Armenian tradition) and there is hardly a house in Spitak that has no pictures hanging on the wall. I can think of literally less than a handful. One of them is my friend A.'s house. I remember the first time I visited her at home and how it immediately struck me that the walls of her living room were empty. It is the absence of pictures that is noticeable in Spitak, not the presence.