“Hey! Where are you from?”

“Armenia. You?”

“Ahh… Armenia… The Kardashians. I see, I see. ”

My nationality has often been the provocative theme behind my most interesting conversations and resulting friendships. Ranging from the interrogative “Where is it?”, all the way to “Oh, Albania!?” or “Romania!?”, it has often been challenging for me to explain where my motherland is. It is geographically Asia, culturally Europe and historically referred to as the Caucasus. I would say, “It’s somewhere in the center of the world.”

In rather rare cases, my international interlocutors know about Armenia. Well, at least they know about The Kardashians - yes, Kim’s father was an Armenian-American - and more rarely, about the Armenian Genocide. But is this what I would like my country to be known for? Is this the real image of my culture and identity? Isn’t there anything more special and notable about us? Anything beyond the mourning, anyone beyond The Kardashians.

I remember once being asked if Armenia was a small city in Russia. I will never be able to explain what I felt at that moment, but my response was stronger than it would be if that person had offended me. I started speaking about my home country for 20 minutes — about the place where the first official church, Echmiadzin Cathedral, was built and where the oldest shoe in the world was found. I talked about the village of Areni, where the world’s oldest winery is located — a place which had produced wine over six thousand years ago. I mentioned my hometown Yerevan — a city that is 29 years older than Rome. In 301AD, we were the first country in the world to adopt Christianity as a state religion.

I do not know how steadfast and scary my tone was, but it made her apologize for asking the question. However, that tone did not derive from a spontaneous response. Rather, it was a wild expression of built up, accumulated emotions of revolt for who I am and against who and what I am known for.

During one of my film classes, we watched a video about great minds who had contributed to the development of film and television. The video mentioned everyone who had left their mark in the film industry, except Hovhannes Adamian — an Armenian engineer who was the first person in the world to successfully design and produce color television. Oftentimes, the innocent reasoning behind such exclusion seems to be that, “Well, Armenia is small, untraceable on the map, and so are the contributions of the Armenians to the world. Small, untraceable, unimportant, unworthy of credit… Let me talk about Lumière brothers! France has the power, then so do the Lumière brothers!”

I wish I lived in a world where the information about my nationality would be followed by an exclamatory expression, but not for the Kardashians. Or at least, not only for them. I would like an exclamatory expression for a story about Dr. Raymond Damadian, the Armenian doctor who invented the MRI and the first to perform a full-body scan to diagnose cancer. For Luther George Simjian, the Armenian who invented the ATM, color x-ray and self-focusing camera. For Varazdat Kazanjian, the founder of plastic surgery. For Christopher Ter-Serobyan, the Armenian chemist who developed the uncopyable green color formula still used in the American currency. The inventor of the quickie wheelchair. The creator of the waffle ice cream cone. The pioneer in the field of ethnomusicology. The legendary chansonnier of the 20th century. The creator of the first textbook of arithmetic problems. The Sinatra songwriter and cigar legend… Ah, these Armenians! The ones whose names always remain a secret.

Yet, in my mind, these names always play like a tune. A tune that is a kind reminder of who I am, where I come from and where I have the potential to go.