The most powerful feelings, the most beautiful images are expressed in the shortest and simplest sentences. Read more
The elements that interest us in others, whether people or objects, are difficult to define. Read more
One of last year’s best moments occurred, coincidentally, during one of the gloomiest periods. I wouldn’t call this period dark because it does not quite deserve that extreme of a term; the period in question was just a plain tasteless gray. Read more
Murgeshat nuk përbëjnë një temë që e mendoj përditë. Por, kur shoh ndonjë duke ecur rrugës, gjë e cila çuditërisht ndodh shpesh, përpiqem të kap ndonjë detaj që mund të më ndihmojë në zbërthimin e misterit të këtyre qënieve. Read more
I first felt a deep sensation of pity mixed with regret regarding a creamy woolen cardigan-jacket which experienced a tragic end resulting from my excessive love of it. Read more
Self-mutilation has always been one of the most puzzling phenomena for me. Read more
I remember once, in a mutual exchange of compliments, the chef of a restaurant, who was an acquaintance of my mother, complimented her on her appearance and ours, her daughters, of whom he said “my mother must have really enjoyed making.” At the time, I remember I was both Read more
The shopping center next to my job is both a relief and a kind of a prison as it is the only place to have coffee and food during these dragging summer days. Read more
My favorite foreign city is Istanbul. I anticipated a ruined type of beauty, a gloomily romantic kind of place as I had just finished at that time Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul: Memories and the City (2003). I didn’t expect to like it in the way I did and as much, but part of the reason for this unforeseen love and fidelity is the city’s (or rather the parts I saw) unexpectedly unabashed, showy-to-the-limits-of-being-excessive, beauty. In short, beauty unafraid of being present and of expressing its power, capable, if unleashed, of drowning out everything else which might be more important logically but not strong enough to match its irrational influence. What I remember most vividly is the city’s greenery and, most importantly, its flowers. Istanbul made me aware of a sleeping sense of nostalgia for parks and botanical gardens which inherently contain that same kind of overwhelming and unsubtle beauty; the soothing green punctuated by bright, lush colors.
Of course, being an inhabitant of a city polluted by concrete, layers of dust, and unhappy-looking people only increases this mix of nostalgia and desire for something that fights and outweighs everything else just by existing. While it may seem that thinking of gardens in Tirana is the same as watching a lot of movies during times of war (which has happened) – the city has so many other, seemingly more exigent problems – I keep thinking that more than anything, I want a garden. Instead of imagining a comfortable house inside, I dream of the outside and I suddenly understand all the weird older people in the U.S constantly tending to their yards – garden is too romantic a word for the U.S – with their patience and gardening shears. Is this love of gardening and flowers a sign of getting older or just maturing? Let’s say that I don’t know but I think that Istanbul, the city I expected to love in a melancholy dramatic way as I read it in Pamuk, completely surprised me with its joyous colors and awakened a dormant love within me. In beauty I trust!
The path of a magnolia flower coming towards me as a gift was interrupted by someone else who sneakily took it away. Read more