DANCING ALONE

Let’s never forget our Armenian dances—the way we came together at picnics and family gatherings, connected by joy, tradition, and the simple pleasure of being with one another. The smell of Armenian cooking filled the air—grilled meats, fresh herbs, spices that lingered in the breeze. It was more than food; it was a signal that we were home. That place brought people together, to connect and share stories, laughter, and life. For me, it was a beautiful, joyful experience.

There was a man named John Vartan, whose band played at many of these Armenian affairs. He was an excellent musician and loved by everyone. At some point, I got to know him and we became good friends. I hired him to play at all my children's weddings, my sister’s anniversary, my mother’s birthday, and other family celebrations. I loved having big parties with lots of dancing. And when I was on the Parish Council, I created a Kef Night—his music and the delicious food attracted lots of people. His participation made the event a bigger success.

I remember one man in particular, always dancing alone. Every time the music played, he would rise to his feet, his hands and head reaching toward the sky as if grasping for the stars. I couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerizing in his movements, something both beautiful and lonely.

He was always alone at these events, yet I didn’t want to pity him. Instead, I found myself drawn to him, always searching for his presence. When the music began, others joined in—holding hands, forming circles, dancing together. We didn’t all know each other, but in those moments, we were family.

I never danced. I don’t know why—I just couldn’t bring myself to join in. But I loved watching others, especially those who danced with joy, like performers on a stage. I love singing, though I can’t sing. I love instruments—the guitar, the piano—even though I’ve never learned to play. Still, the music lives in me. It stirs something deep, something tender. Maybe that’s why I remember the dancer. He moved like music itself, and in his solitude, I saw something of myself.