If someone were to describe to me their role in this turmoil of the last drama that perhaps Shakespeare could have called “The Rise and Fall of a Nation,” I would be a more optimistic person. And perhaps happier than those who once taught us the history of this country and who were called “liberators of the homeland.”
I'm talking about the liberators of the serfs. A story that touches me quite a bit. But in fact, I feel pessimistic. Because I can't promise freedom. And this sounds ironic and funny, in today's homeland. Like an old Ottoman chronicle (I would say). Because it reminds me that the more they wrote at that time about equality and the peasants were made free by changing God; the more the rhythm of the difficulty increases for what makes me take on this whole action, about the Albania of the past and the Albania of this time.
The weight of a decision is like the life of an adult, while predicting a completely different response from what he saw 30 years ago: Is this what growing up is? Therefore, today I refuse the generosity of the response to both the child I lost and the nation we are no longer.
Misfortune or success; share it yourselves, brothers who signed the “new commercial privileges of expulsion”. What does this mean? That the more we are expelled, my brothers, the more coldly we will learn to speak. But you do not know this. Although there are also those others who do not speak at all anymore, and, more than ears, I find that they do not even agree when they want to do the latter for the good of Albania.
Of course, woe to us who did not know the times and woe to me who comes here and there with Noli's books around, losing besides them, the whole stack of newspapers that I carried with me and with them; a good handful of regrets that no one saw. Because Albanians, more than Samaritans, fall for the donkey. And this only brings to mind this phrase: "I want a teacher, to teach me to tell lies".
Do you know when this happened? After Noli goes to a beer bar in Boston and asks the waiter if there is something burning and after he brings him beer and whiskey; the latter replies:
– What about the animal that burns and confuses the mind, don't you have one?
So is the work with the dhaskali. After I put the words of the Poor Fool in Shakespeare's play King Lear; I can be a more optimistic person, because if I find a role in all this turmoil of what could be everything; but never a work, I could even title it "The Rise and Fall of a Nation".
Of course everyone would only want to know about the king. And he always has a habit of leaving the nation orphaned. But that's another story and maybe this is the last piece I write about what could have been a success for Albania.
