Going away, moving away, moving, separation, hugging, saying goodbye, are the frequent words of these days, of the last months, of the last years.
I saw it last night… We met for a coffee… We met when he was taking the kids to school… How is it possible that he left?
Every day I feel a sense of emptiness, of insipidity in my soul. Wonder that man has moved and will move to see, to walk, but not like this, without return…
Cities, villages with one or two or three houses, or countryside of which they no longer have a name, because they have been erased from memory and from the map, are emptied. What a pity! It seems that cities have lost their brightness, they lack their lights, they have lost their liveliness. Yes, yes… liveliness, because the people give it breath, it gives life to the city.
Freedom of movement, being free citizens of the immense world, does not give us the right to turn our backs on this land, with this beautiful name: Albania! This land, which God himself has blessed, this land that has high and rocky mountains, has a blue sea, blue, like the sky, has lakes, verdant forests, as the great Renaissance poet Naim Frasheri sang; this land has everything but it does not have its people, it does not have the Albanians, it does not have families united, to share the water that quenches your thirst even without sipping it. You see foreign countries, you are enchanted by their beauty, but very quickly, the nostalgia for your homeland tears your heart, for the garden, for the threshold, for the door (which opens even without knocking), for the table full where there is everything, but there is no love, there is no affection… I miss you, man!
I don’t know why, but even in cities with great crisis, no one thought of leaving so many. And why? Did they love our country more? Perhaps they were more faithful and patriots? No, I don’t believe it! They have remained here, in this land, in these houses, where the bread tastes of the scent of the mother, of the father, because it belonged to them. And today we must love it, develop our homeland, right here, because to love the homeland means to love freedom, life, our language written in golden letters by patriots. I don’t know why a few verses come to mind:
“Emigration, friends, immigration
those who went and did not stay…”
Or the scenes, the narration of the book “The Valley of Tears”.
Therefore, we must not repeat history with tears, but with songs, with Sunday wedding dances, with courtyards where the lively voices of little ones can be heard and not closed classrooms and elderly people who end up in retirement homes, because their children live far away, so perhaps, even the grave will weigh on them. What a pity! How sad!
Houses closing, shops lowering their shutters, cities falling into a lethargic sleep! What a void! Almost scary!
But you, man, wake up! You start living!
Observe with your heart what you miss in this land, in this place called Albania.
Prepared Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
