Every time we see war or unrest on the TV, we hear about political implications, global implications but few people talk about the personal stories of those who are affected by it. I was 13 when my country, Albania, collapsed; I was grown up enough to understand what was going on, and little enough to have my bubble burst! Until that time, I had only one dream. I wanted to be a famous violin player. They say classical music is an acquired taste, but I deeply believe there is a place within with is out of reach from everything except of classical music. It is as if we are born with it but we need to discover it at some point in our life. I did, and it left a mark within me forever.
I started playing violin at the age of 5, and went to a music school until I was 14. For almost 10 years me and my violin were inseparable. I remember my first violin was a tiny one a ¼ as musicians call it, and then, year after year I got a 2/4, a ¾ until I proudly got the big one, the 4/4 at the age of 12. I remember the day when my teacher told me the news “We will switch to 4/4, you’re all grown up now”. Oh, I will never forget that day! I felt as if I finally got my fairy wings. All those years of sacrifice and studying hard 4-6 hours per day paid off. I had a big violin just like those who play in the orchestras and now I should practice more so that I could be part of an orchestra myself. This happened when I was 13, and then I also had solo performances at my recital concert of my class. That year I started also taking piano lessons which were compulsory, in case we would pursue composition in high school. Albania, my country got the music schooling system from the Russian System. Our Conservatoire was amazing, and also the music schools were rigorous. In my mind at the time, I was envisaging myself as a violin solist in the notorious stages of the world.
And then, one eerily beautiful day of March 1997 , my country collapsed; looted ammunition depots, unrest, chaos. This entire wonderful world I was living in, with Mozart in it, looked so far away that dawn when my mother was quickly packing a few clothes, weeping, while my father was trying to secure a driver to get us in the border with Greece (which fortunately was 35 km away). Everywhere in my hometown you could hear Kalashnikovs being fired in the air, you could see nothing but armed people in the streets. We left our house at precisely 6 a.m and didn’t get back until 6 months later. I don’t want to go through the feelings I had while escaping that living hell, maybe I will do this in another post, but all I can say is that that very moment changed me. At that time I believed that the place had changed, my country had changed, and people had changed. Certainly they had; but while growing up I realized I changed as well, innocence was lost.
Photo by Alex Majoli
Source: http://pro.magnumphotos.com
Things got pretty normal (in the surface at least) in my country after 6 months, but I could see the discouragement in the eyes of everyone. My father was encouraging me to continue to study violin with the same passion as before. But how could I while I was hearing a gun being fires while I played? So, the day came when I had to decide whether I would continue the music high school or go to a normal high school. After being in a dilemma for some time, I finally made up my mind and separated from violin forever . The thrill was gone, the school was not the same, my country didn’t welcome artists.
Parenthesis: I didn’t touch the violin for almost 3 years. It was a kind of defence mechanism in order to distance myself from something that was part of me but it wasn’t anymore. I had to do a clean break, didn’t I? Perhaps I had bad memories associated with it; perhaps I had lost dreams associated with it.
Coming to terms
Fast forward to a party in 2000; some old friends came to perform live music. A battery, 2 guitars and a violin. They started playing “Sweet Dreams” unplugged and all of a sudden, everything I had supressed in the last 3 years came back to me. I realized I had lost an important part of my self-identity. I felt a void in my chest and it became bigger than me so I couldn’t hold the tears. In truth, it was painful, but simultaneously it was utterly liberating! I also ended up my abstention by playing some pieces that night, my hands were not exactly lithe, like the old times but the sound was sweet and the vibrato was warm. I had come to terms that I will not become a violinist as I had dreamed since I was a little girl, but violin would always be a part of me.
It’s been many many years since then, I do play times and again and it is like a cure to me. After two hours of playing it’s as if I have been in another world. The bad memories from March 1997 have also vanished. I have read a lot, and talked a lot about that time and I understand me and my family were among the lucky ones who managed to get out of the country in the Day 1 when trouble started. My son, who is 6 now has already started piano lessons. He seems to love it, but I will let him chose whatever he feels, without interfering with his passion. He asks me to tell him stories when I was his age and studied music. I do, but not this one.
