The weather was a little bit windy. I was walking through the Asatrian Street in Tbilisi. The buildings are beautiful and archaic on this street. One of those buildings stole my attention immediately while I was observing the around. It was big building with white walls. It also has big brown door, which reminded me some of the doors I always see in Yerevan. I wanted to continue my way when I suddenly saw those small decorative aspects at the edges of the building. They were so beautiful; I decided to take some photos only than to go on.
– They look strong right? – asked the old man, coming to me along the street. He said that in Armenian.
– They look strong, but tired,- I said by looking at that old man. He had white hair.
He gave me a soft smile and said ‘I guess they look for justice.’ Then he stood next to me and looked at those building as one would look at his old friend. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you something.’ For a moment I thought about rejecting but for an unknown reason to me I didn’t. While I was thinking he already passed the gates separating building and the street.
– Wait, are we allowed to be here, what people do here?
– This is a Georgian public school nowadays. But when I was studying here it was an Armenian school. I had many Armenian friends with whom we were running around this building and shouting about future. Those were the times when the entire Tbilisi was praising Mantashov for creating this building. 
-Wait what? This building was an Armenian school created by Mantashov?
He didn’t answer to my question and only pointed out an old and broken sign. The sign was barely hanging on the front wall of the building. ‘A. Mantashov’ was written on it.  The sign was there, and that building was not the only one created by Armenian famous architecture Alexander Mantashov. There are lots of those kinds of buildings in Tbilisi. The problem is that people stopped to notice those signs. Beka, the old man, remembered the times when Georgians were praising Mr. Mantashov and his art. Beka’s eyes filled with tears while he was talking about his youth spent in that building.
The signs are hanging on, the buildings look for justice, and the old men like Beka are there to tell the stories. The problem is that we failed to be listeners.
P.S. It’s about you seeing
Armik Israyelyan
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