The Crossroads of Time
By Jayden Kyryluk On the outskirts of the Armenian ghost city of Ani, I sit in an abandoned terrace carved into the mountainside with a crumbling fresco adorning the arched roof. I see two angels above what appears to be Jesus Christ. The fading colours within and without the outline of figures and crumbling plaster are all that's left. Surrounding me are the signatures of people who have visited this room. I see messages in Armenian, Georgian, Arabic, and Turkish script dated 1916, 1886, 1908, 1880, and 1968. This room is the crossroads of time, culture, language and religion. This room is the very crossroads of humanity. Over a hundred years ago and more, people just like I discovered this fresco, struck by its beauty. They wrote their names down. Perhaps to remember the day, or to be remembered in history. Now, hundreds of years have gone by and the meagre handwriting on these walls is all that remains of their story. History has forgotten their race, religion, and names; all t...