Why did all this happen? Did any of these sacrifices serve in any way to benefit the country? Enver Hoxha and his friends, in spite of their ignorance, should have realized they were leading their country towards the abyss.

It’s amazing how many questions can be asked that have no answer. It’s like trying to find the tracks, in water, air and fog, of some strange amphibian that has terrorized and then disappeared. In spite of the cold and humidity, one feels, for a moment, that the monster never existed, as if the drugged and deeply afflicted survivors of this terror have only been sleepwalking. In truth, they remain unable to tell the difference between their sad dreams and bitter reality.

During the tumultuous past there were so many who lost their children, parents, brothers, sisters, or were themselves mutilated for life, myself among them. Although grateful for liberation from the horrors of the past, I feel sometimes still a spiritual numbness, when, unsummoned, these memories overtake me. Unwillingly, I have learned to be philosophical about life.

One seeks a certain consolation in the past, found only in recalling one’s childhood and one’s lost people. The memories of these people fly about one like invisible spirits. Sometimes these spirits remain only ghosts, but sometimes they radiate a light so strong the dead are brought back to life.