We are in Europe, the place that most young people in Armenia dream about. There are two of us - me, and the young man I will call Arsen, respecting his wish to remain anonymous. I met him on a bus, when I was talking to my sister on the phone. After I had finished, a young man sitting a few seats in front of me turned around smiling and asked, "Are you Armenian? I would never have guessed. I thought you were one of them." He was an ordinary young Armenian, dressed perhaps slightly differently from most of the other young Armenians I knew. I replied, "I'm Armenian," my thoughts still on who "they" were.

That was how I first met Arsen. We started to meet from time to time and would have long conversations. We became close friends at some point. How had Arsen, from the area of Yerevan called Bangladesh, ended up in this small city in distant Norway? He answered this question the third time we met. "I had never thought of coming to Norway. There was nothing to do in Armenia - I didn't have a job, or the opportunity to continue my education. One of my uncles had long been living in Austria and invited me to come over. I really wanted to go and work there, live the good life, help my mother and sister."

By doing business for a year and selling the apartment his father had left him, Arsen managed to get enough money to go to Austria. It was only when he arrived there that he realized what was required for his "good life" - besides the job offered by his uncle, he needed to get permission to stay in the country. "My application for a residence permit was rejected twice. Many illegal immigrants marry locals to solve that problem. The government there is very cautious now, and you can't fool the locals as easily anymore. A young Russian I knew then told me that it would be easier to go to Norway, which is a rich country. I had never thought of coming here. All that I knew about this country was what I remembered from my geography books. But I couldn't go back to Yerevan. It would be shameful, and what would I do if I returned, anyway?" Arsen recounted.

After living in a refugee camp for two-and-a-half years, Arsen settled down in a small city. "I've been here for four years now. I have a job; I've learnt a little Norwegian, which comes in handy all the time. I manage to help my mother and sister as well, but not too much. I mean, you know how high the cost of living is here. It's not easy."

Last summer, seven years after leaving home, Arsen visited Armenia for the first time. "Everybody in Yerevan looked at me with envy; they thought everything was excellent here. How can you tell them, who would believe, that the 'good life' that everyone dreams about does not exist here? Everything that they have in Norway is good for the Norwegians. We are different; we barely manage to get along here. Would you believe me if I told you that besides you, I only have a Russian friend, a friend from Pakistan, and one from Somalia? There was a young Armenian guy I stayed with at the refugee camp, but he was refused residence recently. I think he's in Ukraine now."

He paused for a minute, as if collecting his thoughts. "You know, it's not your land, so no matter how free and democratic it is, it's for them, not you. You are a foreigner. No, this life is not for Armenians - we are a proud race."

"Why don't you go back home?" I asked him one day.

"What am I supposed to do there once I get back? I don't have a college education; I haven't even really finished school. Then there's the issue of my military service. If I'm taken to the army, who will look after my mother and sister?"

I will soon have to leave the country where Arsen lives, but with a heavy heart, because it means this young Armenian man in the distant North will have one fewer friend. When I return to Armenia, I will write to him and definitely tell him that he is right, but like the old Scandinavians saying, "As long as there is a house standing at the end of the road, the journey back is always open."

Emma Khachatryan 
Norway