"telefon celular" .. Nuk e di

Me ka ndodhur qe telefoni im te mos pushonte nga thirrjet e shumta
Me ka ndodhur qe te mos dua ti pergjigjem telefonatave, jo sepse ata qe me merrnin ne telefon ishin njerez me te cilet nuk doja te flisja, jo sepse ata me bezdisnin.. thjesht nje force e mistershme sikur nuk donte qe une te hapja telefonin, nje shikim shperfilles mbi telefonin tim , thua se nuk doja qe ai te ekzistonte, thua se nuk doja qe te pergjigjesha e te thosha se jam mire apo nuk jam mire.
Me ka ndodhur qe (sikurse tani) ta mbaj telefonin shumfunksional, me shume per te pare oren, apo per zilen e mengjesit sesa per te telefonuar, deri ne piken ku tani dhe kur bie zilja nuk e degjoj ( e kam bere te heshtur). Ajo qe eshte me e bukur fare eshte se nderkohe qe nuk i pergjigjem telefonit iu pergjigjem mesazheve..thua ti se ndonjehere jemi me te predispozuar per te komunikuar me ane te te shkruarit sesa me ane te te folurit. Mbase sepse kur shkruajme nuk themi pyetjen : A je mire ? apo : ç’kemi ?, por komunikojme me direkt ne kete menyre indirekte. Me duket se kjo vlen sepse ne kur na drejtojne pyetjen a je mire, nuk e pyesim veten ne te vertete se si jemi , thjesht e kalojme duke thene « mire , faleminderit . Po ti /juve ? Dmth fillojme nje bisede ne menyre fallco. Nderkohe sikur te jemi te sinqerte ne nuk hapemi me te gjithe, dhe mua personalisht nuk do ma kishte enda qe ti thoja te gjitheve se si ndjehem. Nuk ka te beje thjesht me gjuhen shqipe, kjo fraze eshte krijuar si etnonim ne shume gjuhe te tjera (mos te themi te gjitha) dhe eshte bere si njelloj kodi per te hapur bisedat. Se fundi telefonin tim nuk e perdor me per telefon..e megjithate ne menyren me falco te mundur ai quhet i tille.

Sa bukur:)

Dje duke ecur ne nje rruge ketu ne Tirane, pashe keta du qene apo qenushe :) qe po flinin, rreth tyre ishte nje qen tjeter qe sillej . Me beri pershtypje menyra si ishin pozicionuar keto dy kafshe, dhe mu duk pamje shume e bukur. Nxora aparatin tim per ti fotografuar nderkohe qeni i trete po me vezhgonte, ne ate moment ai vihet perpara tyre dhe dukej sikur po i mbronte ato nga aparati im qe mbase per te dukej si nje arme :) . Dhe siç e shihni i mori kete pozicion :) Ajo qe eshte me e bukur eshte se mua mu duk sikur ai po pozonte enkas per mua:)) Juve si mendoni:)

Notre Dame de Paris song 19 Belle

E di, fakti qe un e adhuroj kete kenge nuk do me beje te veçante. Ka miliona njerez qe e adhurojne kete kenge e cila eshte bere thuajse hymn i muzikes franceze ne kohera. Por eshte pikerisht kjo ane unike e kesaj mrekullie muzikore, kjo kenge ne tekst ka melankoli, ritem, muzike te alternuar ne melankoli dhe force, nje ndjeshmeri maksimale, derideri sa momente te caktuara ka nje kristalizim perfekt mes forces se dashurise dhe trishtimit te saj, nje perzierje qe ne pikture do perkthehej me rrymen e Impresionizmit. Duket sikur ka nje ane hyjnore ne kete kenge. "Notre Dame de Paris" kenga 19 "Belle"

Shades of childhood..

While reciting, since I was very young, thought that drama would be my life career, one day all this passion collapsed, as I understood the subject of poems recited by me was to praise the wrong person.
I was a very little girl when I started loving reading and reciting. About 5 years old, my aunt would teach me poems to learn by heart, different ones, but mainly patriotic themes.
I know that today everyone would be surprised to hear such a thing. Children nowadays
learn poems about trees, pigs, flowers, and bunnies even in Albania, but at the time, it was not exactly like this.
Everyone thought I was so talented that, whenever there were feasts, I was asked to
recite in front of my schoolmates and teachers. There were around four hundred people paying attention to what I was reciting, how I would play with my voice in lower or louder tones, with my arms accompanying the context of the poem and face expressions as well, since I used to feel very strongly every single word coming out of my mouth. I was only 8 years old .
From a very early age, I knew I wanted to be an actress. Yes, I know, all little girls dream of such things, but in my case it seemed that the adults all believed in me. I had won second place in a nationwide competition for young talents when I was five. People always clapped their hands once I had finished reciting. Also, my parents were so proud of me that whenever we had guests, or friends coming to visit, I was the little robot. You would push one button, and with a big smile, the show would begin!
I would go on reciting whatever mama and daddy wanted to hear from me, of course,
from 1980 to 1990. During this period poems about Enver Hoxha were the fashion. Poets around the country wrote poems to honor him, poems which where very sad and
melancholic. I would even end my poems by shedding tears in the end. I would make my
audience roll some tears as well because the “dictator” was dead. So I became part of the local theatre as well, acting in small plays. I loved drama, theatre, and poetry and I was a very dynamic participant in different activities. Little girls on the street would identify me with the name of the character I had played the last Sunday theatre the“Pioneer’s House”.
But one day everything changed. This very special day, Enver Hoxha‘s statue that stood in the center of our capital was demolished by angry crowds of people, mostly students, that where sick and tired of the dictatorship, extremely determined to change the system and to bring down this dictatorship that had turned into prison a whole nation. The unfolding events made me happy on one hand and very sad otherwise. I started searching for better explanations. I was not six years old any more, I was thirteen.. I do not know actually how sad I was. I can not measure it, but in a very silent and gradual way I stopped reciting. I didn’t like to learn poems by heart anymore. I did not like to be on stage either. Something made me think that it was not just that. I did not just stop reciting, I also forgot the art of reciting.. The other day one of my professors asked me to read aloud a poem. I realized that my voice came out just as though I read a newspaper.
Something has been buried deep inside me and I have to struggle to revive it.

...Heshtje e trazuar

Nuk dua te flas

Nuk dua te shkruaj

Dhe mendimet perpeliten brenda meje, sikur rrotullohen

Sikur ecin me vrull..
diku diku dhe me pergjerohen ti shkruaj , ti them , ti bertas ..

Dhe un e pameshirshme mbyll deren e hekurt duke iu pergjigjur

Serish pa folur , serish pa shkruar

Thjesht duke menduar “Jo nuk dua”


P.S Kjo eshte poezia e pare qe shkruaj pas me shume se 14 vjetesh..

Michelangelo e dua shume / I love it

Ndotja e...

Shume here duke shetitur ne forumet internacionale (kam fatin qe flas dhe kuptoj rrjedhshem disa gjuhe) bie ne mllefe te papara balkanike..Na shajne ne, shajme ne ata, shahen dhe ata mes tyre. Me sakte jemi te gjithe te share!! Kur do e kuptoje njerezimi i ballkanit se nuk ka rrace superiore, kulture superiore , se baza e shoqerise eshte individi dhe duke qene e tille nuk mund te paragjykohet. Eric Emanuel Schmitt ka thene :Racizmi nuk eshte frika se tjetri eshte i ndryshem nga ti, por se tjetri eshte i ngjashem me ty.

Eshte fraze e thelle dhe duhet te mendohesh mire per ta peshuar..se fundi i jap plotesisht te drejte.

English version:



Polluted…

It happened very often while surfing in the international sites ( I am lucky enough to understand, and speak fluently several foreign languages) come across incredible Balkan hatred posts. They insult us (Albanians), we insult them(Serbs, Greeks, “Macedonians”) they insult each –other( Serbs –Croats, Bosnian- Serbs, Greeks with “Macedonians”), saying it with other words , we are all insulted!! When will Balkan people understand that there is no superior race, there is no superior culture. When will we understand that the base of a society (nation) is the individual, and being so we cannot prejudge societies and nations. Thinking about all this it comes in my mind a phrase of Éric-Emmanuel Schmittt:
“ Racism is not the fear of other being different from you, it is the fear that the other is similar to you”

I know, you have to think deeply in order to understand this phrase, personally I think he is right.