My time in Armenia has run out, and as I sit in my home back in America, I find myself thinking about the extent to which my trip has affected me and about where Armenia will fit into my life after having come here, lived here, and worked here.

Though my time in Armenia was brief and really only gave me a glimpse into the social, political, and economic landscapes of the country, there was something about being there and seeing things firsthand that made it difficult to leave. There is a saying—“there must be something in the water”—that is used to rationalize inexplicable behavior and feelings. In Armenia, they admit that the local water makes their fruits and brandy the best in the world, but I think there must have been something in the water that made it so hard to leave.

Throughout my trip, I continually encountered questions about my plans to return to Armenia, whether for a long-term stay, a permanent move, or short-term visits. Whenever I heard this question, I drew a blank, both because at this point in my life I do not have concrete plans for my future and because I am still trying to figure out my place in the confusing web of Armenian identity.

I started my first “Letter Home” by asking instead of asserting, “Because I am Armenian?” as a response to questions about why I came to Armenia. Eight weeks later, I think I am ready to take the question mark off that sentence and defend my “Armenianness.” Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there is not one standard definition of an Armenian. Armenian history precludes such simplification. Rather, we are all forced to acknowledge the diversity of experience, appearance, location, and even language that makes up Armenian identity, while also valuing the similarities that bring us all together and make us feel our unity.

Why shouldn’t I consider myself Armenian? Because I was born in America; because my parents and grandparents were raised in Bulgaria; because I speak Western Armenian; because I had not visited “the homeland” until recently? People can throw many objections at me. However, over and against all those objections, I feel ready to assert and defend my Armenianness because I believe that it is precisely the uniqueness of Armenian experience that allows for a person like me to claim her Armenianness, to feel Armenian, and to be connected to a country I neither grew up in or visited for most of my life.

With more Armenians living outside of the country than inside of it, it is an unavoidable, though perhaps unpalatable feature of Armenian identity to be more flexible in terms of who qualifies as Armenian. Rather than difference, division gets us in trouble and impedes us from utilizing each other. This in-fighting within the Armenian community does nothing to further the interests of any Armenians and only holds Armenia back from realizing potential sources of strength and untapped assets waiting to be discovered through collaboration and cooperation.

While my time in Armenia showed me the persistence of these divisions between groups of Armenians, it also gave me hope for a future in which Diasporans, Hayastanzis, Barsquahays, etc. will stop identifying as such and just be Armenian. It might take some time, but I look forward to the day when this sense of unity and solidarity will be attained. Until then, I will continue to assert that I am Armenian, replacing the question with the imperative—I cannot help but be otherwise.

Elizabeth, 22, is studying anthropology at Columbia University in New York City, her home. She was in Armenia as part of the Armenian Assembly of America internship program. She is first generation Armenian-American. Her immediate family stems from Bulgaria, where her grandparents were moved following the Armenian Genocide.