Alex and I didn’t agree on a few things. Or maybe just one, sort of big thing: politics. Still, without a doubt, I loved Alex Kasparian. A sort of torturous love because: how could anyone really LOVE a Republican? Or so my pre-teen brain thought when I first encountered Alex’s charms. That moment in 7th grade, was just the beginning of me falling in love with men who I disagree with, men that I don’t understand. Alex was always quiet, calculating and of course, neat. His blue folder swayed gently by his side as he strode down the hallways. Inside all his assignments were laid perfectly on top of one another. I, in complete contrast, was loud, overly gregarious and desperately disorganized. I was (and still am) always creating new systems to fool myself out of the inevitable mess I carried around with me. Alex would watch me search desperately for my math homework (“I’m sure its in here…”) as he shook his head. Simplicity, he lectured, is always best. It was fate of course that brought us together. Kasparian, always next to Greenstein. And so we sat next to each other: class after class, year after year. Until the occasional instance when we were apart, and I felt myself drawn to him anyway. To his calm, his smile, his brilliance. I lived through not just one, but two presidential elections with Alex. By the time George Bush was running for re-election, tensions were high. Well, tensions or flirtations. Depending on how you saw things. I’ll never forget that Wednesday morning I walked into 2nd period English to find Alex grinning. Grinning, despite my sorrow. I averted his eyes and buried by head in my notebook. Could he have really wished this upon us? But despite our entangled and seemingly contradictory passions, Alex always made me smile. What’s worse is though I rarely agreed with Alex, he didn’t seem wrong, or mean-spirited. Could we both be right? Could we love each other anyway? Thought at the time it confused me, I knew we could. Now I know that love has nothing to do with politics. And laughter can fuse any two souls, no matter how disparate. Alex of course, was just the beginning. Now I live President Bush’s home state, and I love it as much as he does. Maybe George Bush and can find some common ground, after all. By the time we got to senior year of high school, we had all lived what seemed like a lifetime together. As we saw the reality that our paths were soon to split, we began to compulsively day dream about our futures. Which of us would become famous and rich? Which of us would live an artist’s nomadic life? For Alex, we all expected great things. Him and I joked that he would take over the world, sort of ‘Pinky and the Brain’ style. It seemed like the most logical path for him. In his infinite kindness, he promised he would share the wealth with me. "When I take over the world, I’ll spare you a small country." "By the water?" I would ask with a smile. Sure, by the water. And while it felt a little like we were joking, I didn’t doubt him for a minute. We all knew he was destined for greatness. If anything, we could just ride the wake. Still, that wasn’t all that was in store for Alex’s future. Atop his drive for success, innovation, and justice, was his desire to live peacefully. When tensions got high as we were all furiously applying to the most competitive schools we could find, Alex was cool as a cucumber. Nah, I don’t think I’m going to go to college, was the only response he would offer. No, I think I’ll move to Greece, and start my own olive farm. He smiled. At that moment, I believed him. He could do it all. Rule the world, and still have time to savor the each day’s beauty. Now as I inch closer to adulthood, I find myself wondering how I can do that, too. In the moments when I get most caught up in meeting growth goals and scheduling away every precious moment I can spare, I discover fleeting solace in romantic thoughts of escape. Maybe, I’ll grow grapes in Chile. I’ll return to Israel and pick nectarines. I’ll wander through France, tasting all the wines I can find. Or better yet, I’ll join Alex, in Greece. I think of Alex more often than I would expect to. In 2008 when Obama was elected, I was in a sea of people who shared my elation. But of course I though of Alex. What would he say? What would this moment mean to him? One time Buenos Aires, Argentina I was desperately looking for a salsa bar on a busy strip of downtown and instead happened upon an Armenian Community Center. I wandered inside and remembered the flag Alex would post on each desk as he taught us about the Armenian Genocide. Who was telling that story in his absence? He jumps in to my thoughts, and into my stories all of the time. First I remember his quirks, his passions. Then, his tragic death. Should I share what I’m thinking, or keep it to myself? Inevitably, I wait till I have everyone’s attention in earshot, and I tell the tall tales of Alex Kasparian. Because if anything, we’ve got to take Alex with us. On all our adventures, through all our sorrows. Its our only way to keep him alive. Definitely, I’ll take him with me when I finally move to Greece, to watch the sunset, grow olives and live in peace. I’ll think: This is a nice spot, Alex, but I’m still waiting for that country I can call my own.