Shkruan: Blerina Ademi Sahiti<\/p>\n
Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb…<\/p>\n
T\u00eb gjitha p\u00ebrrallat e bukura nisin k\u00ebshtu…Historit\u00eb m\u00eb t\u00eb bukura t\u00eb dashuris\u00eb, madje edhe goj\u00ebdh\u00ebnat e pleqnar\u00ebve k\u00ebshtu nisin.<\/p>\n
K\u00ebshtu, po e nis edhe un\u00eb tregimin tim. At\u00eb q\u00eb akoma m\u00eb dhemb dhe kurr\u00eb s’qava se thonin \u00ebsht\u00eb turp t\u00eb qajn\u00eb burrat. Po un\u00eb s’isha burr\u00eb at\u00ebher\u00eb… Isha ve\u00e7 11 vje\u00e7.<\/p>\n
Kisha \u00ebndrra e kisha jet\u00ebn p\u00ebrpara. Kisha n\u00ebn\u00ebn e babain. Dy motra m\u00eb t\u00eb vogla n\u00eb mosh\u00eb. Ah, sikur t\u00eb isha un\u00eb m\u00eb i vogli e mos ta ndjeja dhimbjen kaq fort… Ose, ah sikur t\u00eb isha vajz\u00eb e mos t’m\u00eb thonin \u00ebsht\u00eb turp t\u00eb qash e asnj\u00eb s’t\u00eb pyet sa dhemb plaga e shpirtit.<\/p>\n
Jeta qenka si kafja e zez\u00eb! T\u00eb till\u00eb ma paska shkruar edhe fatin n\u00eb ball\u00eb Per\u00ebndia si duket dit\u00ebn q\u00eb m\u00eb krijoi p\u00ebr k\u00ebt\u00eb bot\u00eb. Ishte prilli i vitit 2003, dit\u00eb e enjte. At\u00eb dit\u00eb ra aq fort shi e fryu aq fuqish\u00ebm era, sikur edhe qielli u m\u00ebrzit prej asaj q\u00eb ndodhi. Sapo i kisha mbushur 11 vje\u00e7. Biciklet\u00ebn BMX ma bleu babai p\u00ebr k\u00ebt\u00eb dit\u00eblindje. I lakmoja f\u00ebmij\u00ebve t\u00eb lagjes dhe ma kishte premtuar babai. Ishte njeri i fjal\u00ebs. Burr\u00eb prej s\u00eb v\u00ebrteti.<\/p>\n
\u00cbnd\u00ebrroja t\u00eb b\u00ebhesha sikur ai, por kurr\u00eb se kisha menduar se do t\u00eb ishte i fundit njeri, fatin e t\u00eb cilit kurr\u00eb s’do doja ta kisha. E donte nan\u00ebn pa mas\u00eb por mbi t\u00eb gjitha kurr\u00eb se kisha d\u00ebgjuar ta r\u00ebndonte me fjal\u00eb, nj\u00ebjt\u00eb si b\u00ebnin v\u00ebllez\u00ebrit e tij me grat\u00eb e tyre ose edhe nj\u00ebjt\u00eb sikur tregonin f\u00ebmij\u00ebt e lagjes p\u00ebr baballar\u00ebt e tyre ose p\u00ebr fjalosjet q\u00eb i p\u00ebrjetonin.<\/p>\n
Ndoshta, sikur t’i kisha vjet\u00ebt q\u00eb i kam tani do t\u00eb mendoja se nana ime ishte grua perfekte dhe s’i jepte arsye te sillej keq me t\u00eb, por at\u00eb bot\u00eb isha ve\u00e7 11 vje\u00e7 dhe s’kuptoja asgj\u00eb. P\u00ebr mua t\u00eb bukura ishin p\u00ebrrallat, ishin darkat q\u00eb i hanim e pitet q\u00eb i gatuante nana t\u00eb enjteve si\u00e7 e donte zakoni. Eh, dita e enjte… E enjte e prillit t\u00eb 2003’t\u00ebs… Babai at\u00eb nat\u00eb ishte n\u00eb nd\u00ebrrimin e nat\u00ebs n\u00eb pun\u00eb. Ishte zjarr\u00ebfik\u00ebs dhe rrall\u00eb ndodhte t\u00eb mungonte. Ishte kryepun\u00ebtori aty dhe i duhej medoemos.<\/p>\n
At\u00eb dit\u00eb nana s’gatoi pite ani pse ishte dit\u00eb e enjte. Mbaj mend i tha babait se i mungoi pak hargj dhe nuk arriti ta gatuante… Por, ani pse kjo ishte ve\u00e7 justifikim, babai s’nxjerri z\u00eb nga goja. Hangr\u00ebm dark\u00eb maz\u00eb e djath. Tri \u00e7aja i piu at\u00eb t\u00eb enjte ai dhe si i vrenjtur n\u00eb fytyr\u00eb u nis p\u00ebr pun\u00eb. At\u00eb nat\u00eb na p\u00ebrqafoi fort dhe befas ama jo rast\u00ebsisht syt\u00eb iu mbush\u00ebn lot\u00eb. Sikur, t’i kisha vjet e sodit do ta kuptoja sigurisht se po p\u00ebrsh\u00ebndetej me neve, por at\u00ebher\u00eb isha ve\u00e7 f\u00ebmij\u00eb dhe secil\u00ebs puthje t\u00eb tij i g\u00ebzohesha pa mas\u00eb.<\/p>\n
At\u00eb nat\u00eb nana as te dera se p\u00ebrcolli. Nuk ishte dit\u00eb e zakonshme ajo dit\u00eb, ajo fytyr\u00eb e babait dhe ajo sjellje e nan\u00ebs sime, por ishim ve\u00e7 f\u00ebmij\u00eb dhe po e kund\u00ebrshtuam nan\u00ebn, kriste dajaku. Kriste shamata derisa vinte babai. Prej tij kursehej ose ta them m\u00eb mir\u00eb para tij paraqitej e p\u00ebrkryer. Por, at\u00eb nat\u00eb ra maska. Ra e p\u00ebrkryera. At\u00eb nat\u00eb, na shtriu n\u00eb dhom\u00eb m\u00eb her\u00ebt se zakonisht. Na detyroi t\u00eb flinim… Motrat ishin t\u00eb vogla n\u00eb mosh\u00eb. Nj\u00ebra 7 e tjetra sapo kishte mbushur 2. Motra e dyt\u00eb m\u00eb ngjante fiks mua, nd\u00ebrsa e vogla si t\u00eb mos ishte gjak imi, asnj\u00eb vij\u00eb s’na p\u00ebrputhej. Bile ishte e bardh\u00eb e shpesh babai e ngacmonte n\u00eb shaka nan\u00ebn mos e ke nd\u00ebrruar n\u00eb lindje.<\/p>\n
Qeshnim me t\u00eb madhe. Qeshte edhe nana. E bile, thoshte poo bree po qysh po e din si me qen\u00eb evlijah. Eh, i thoshte baba, e njoh un\u00eb bim\u00ebn q\u00eb mbien nga fara q\u00eb kam hedhur. K\u00ebshtu vazhdonin si n\u00eb shaka shum\u00eb her\u00eb, p\u00ebrzienin \u00e7ajat dhe kurr\u00eb si shihje nervoz\u00eb n\u00eb fytyra. I lakmoja babait. Ai ishte heroi im. Nana ishte gruaja ideale n\u00eb momentet e qeta t\u00eb saja, sepse sa her\u00eb babai s’ishte, ajo b\u00ebhej tjet\u00ebr grua.<\/p>\n
At\u00eb nat\u00eb fjet\u00ebm nga zorri. Fjet\u00ebn motrat se un\u00eb u b\u00ebra sikur po flija derisa s’u d\u00ebgjua m\u00eb televizori n\u00eb sallon. U binda q\u00eb edhe nana fjeti dhe mora frym\u00eb lirsh\u00ebm… \u00cbnd\u00ebrroja sy hapur. \u00cbnd\u00ebrroja se kur t\u00eb rritesha do t\u00eb shkruaja tregimet m\u00eb t\u00eb bukura t\u00eb jet\u00ebs. Do t\u00eb b\u00ebhesha shkrimtar dhe librin e par\u00eb do ta titulloja «Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb»… do t\u00eb flisja p\u00ebr heroin tim, p\u00ebr mbret\u00ebresh\u00ebn time. P\u00ebr z\u00ebnkat me motra madje. I kisha lidhur duart rreth qafe dhe ndjehesha mir\u00eb me k\u00ebto \u00ebndrra.<\/p>\n
K\u00ebshtu m\u00eb zinte gjumi kur babai ishte n\u00eb pun\u00eb dhe detyroheshim t\u00eb flinim vet\u00ebm se nana gjithnj\u00eb preferonte vetmin\u00eb n\u00eb dhom\u00eb, ani pse m\u00ebngjesi e gjente n\u00eb dhom\u00ebn ton\u00eb dhe babai gjithmon\u00eb e kishte p\u00ebrshtypjen se ne flinim me arom\u00ebn e saj sa s’ishte ai. -Kraaap…. -Kraaap… Disa xhama t\u00eb thyer m’i prejt\u00ebn n\u00eb gjysm\u00eb \u00ebndrrat at\u00eb nat\u00eb.<\/p>\n
T\u00eb shikoja se \u00e7’ndodhi kisha frik\u00eb se tashm\u00eb ishte nat\u00eb. T\u00eb shkoja te nana n\u00eb dhom\u00eb do t’ia nxirrja gjumin… Me siguri ajo si d\u00ebgjoi se sikur t’i d\u00ebgjonte do t\u00eb vinte t’na largonte frik\u00ebn. Se n\u00eb t\u00eb githa p\u00ebrrallat e bukura personazhin m\u00eb mir\u00eb e luan nana. Por, e jona at\u00eb nat\u00eb s’ishte personazhi i till\u00eb, ajo bile at\u00eb nat\u00eb u b\u00eb personazhi kryesor… -Mos ikkk! -Ndaluuuu t’kofsh burr\u00eb!<\/p>\n
D\u00ebgjohej z\u00ebri i babait n\u00eb oborr, brenda dhom\u00ebs s\u00eb tyre vinte z\u00ebri i nan\u00ebs teksa qante me t\u00eb madhe. I f\u00ebrkoja syt\u00eb se mendoja jam n\u00eb gjum\u00eb. Babai ishte n\u00eb nd\u00ebrrim t\u00eb nat\u00ebs dhe nana duhej t\u00eb ishte n\u00eb gjum\u00eb. Motrat flinin qet\u00eb dhe p\u00ebr ta nana ishte shum\u00eb normale at\u00eb t\u00eb enjte prilli… -Ndaluuu! -Bamm! Bamm! U d\u00ebgjuan dy krisma pushke! Ishte si n\u00eb filma. Dhe un\u00eb ende vazhdoja t\u00eb mendoja se mund t\u00eb isha n\u00eb \u00ebnd\u00ebrr. Por, tashm\u00eb isha n\u00eb korridor dhe drita n\u00eb dhom\u00ebn e nan\u00ebs ishte e ndezur.<\/p>\n
Xhamat n\u00eb dhom\u00ebn e saj ishin t\u00eb thyer n\u00eb dhjet\u00ebra copa dhe ajo ishte mb\u00ebshtjell m\u00eb \u00e7ar\u00e7af krejt e zhveshur. S’ishte n\u00eb pixhame qysh flinte zakonisht. Shihej se di\u00e7ka s’\u00ebsht\u00eb n\u00eb rregull, por isha ve\u00e7 f\u00ebmij\u00eb dhe s’doja ta besoja at\u00eb q\u00eb po e shihja me sy… Ajo gruaja e p\u00ebrkryer s’mund t\u00eb ishte e till\u00eb dhe un\u00eb doja t\u00eb isha gabim. -Baaaam!<\/p>\n
U p\u00ebrplas dera e hyrjes. U fsheha pas foteles n\u00eb korridor q\u00eb mos t’m\u00eb shihte babai. U fsheha ama syt\u00eb e mi shihnin gjith\u00e7ka. Babai i kishte duart me gjak, nd\u00ebrsa n\u00eb dor\u00eb mbante pushk\u00ebn e me dor\u00ebn tjet\u00ebr zhag e ngrehte litarin e bunarit… Gjith\u00e7ka pash. Gjith\u00e7ka d\u00ebgjova at\u00eb nat\u00eb. Sot, i kam 32 vjet ama sa her\u00eb vjen prilli, zemra m\u00eb ngrihet. Sa her\u00eb shoh motr\u00ebn e vog\u00ebl kujtoj pabesin\u00eb e nan\u00ebs e kujtoj hjekat e bab\u00ebs. Ajo ishte motra ime, por s’ishte vajza babait tim. Kurr\u00eb se mori vesh. As sot nuk e din! Jeta qenka e zez\u00eb si kafja!<\/p>\n
T\u00eb till\u00eb si duket ma paska shkruar edhe fatin n\u00eb ball\u00eb Per\u00ebndia dit\u00ebn q\u00eb m\u00eb krijoi p\u00ebr k\u00ebt\u00eb bot\u00eb… Prill i 2003’t\u00ebs ishte. Shkruan t\u00eb gjitha gazetat e vendit at\u00eb jav\u00eb. Ngjarje e r\u00ebnd\u00eb n\u00eb nj\u00eb familje. Burri vret gruan me litar, nd\u00ebrsa plagos me arm\u00eb zjarri dashnorin e saj… Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb… Po, po na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb nj\u00eb djal\u00eb ve\u00e7 11 vje\u00e7, q\u00eb prej der\u00ebs pa gjith\u00e7ka. Pa si iu vra nana nga babai. Ishte tmerr! Syt\u00eb prej vendi i dol\u00ebn nan\u00ebs dhe me duar p\u00ebrpiqej ta largonte litarin prej fyti. Babai e shtr\u00ebngonte me sa fuqi.<\/p>\n
E kapa k\u00ebmb\u00ebsh babain… E luta mos! Nisa t\u00eb qaj… Qava fort bile, por tashm\u00eb nana ishte e shtrir\u00eb n\u00eb tok\u00eb, p\u00ebrmbi e mbuluar me \u00e7ar\u00e7af dhe babai i ulur e me duar mbante kok\u00ebn. -Mos derdh lot\u00eb! -Burrat nuk qajn\u00eb! Ve\u00e7 k\u00ebto fjal\u00eb mi tha dhe m\u00eb s’foli asgj\u00eb. Deshta ta p\u00ebrqafoj. M\u00eb shtyu. -Mos e paq fatin tim! -Mos u b\u00ebj vras\u00ebs ti, por as pabesin\u00eb mos e duro! Dhe p\u00ebrs\u00ebri shkrepi arma n\u00eb dhom\u00eb. K\u00ebsaj here shkrepi mbi kok\u00ebn e tij. Vrau edhe veten! Jeta qenka m\u00eb e zez\u00eb se kafja madje. M\u00eb e err\u00ebt se nata. U rrit\u00ebm jetim. Pa nan\u00eb tradh\u00ebtare e pa bab\u00eb vras\u00ebs. Dashnori i shp\u00ebtoi plag\u00ebve, por as sot e asaj dite se dita se kush ishte. Halla s’na lejoi ta kuptonim. Kurr\u00eb bile! Se sikur ta dija do ta p\u00ebrfundoja at\u00eb q\u00eb babai e nisi e ta qoja deri n\u00eb fund. Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb… P\u00ebrrallat m\u00eb t\u00eb bukura nisin k\u00ebshtu. K\u00ebshtu po niskan edhe trishtimet m\u00eb t\u00eb m\u00ebdha n\u00eb jet\u00eb. Edhe vaji i burrit q\u00eb su pa kurr\u00eb. Edhe dhimbja e tij… Burrat nuk qajn\u00eb. Kurr\u00eb s’m\u00eb lan\u00eb t\u00eb qaj.<\/p>\n
Jo p\u00ebr nan\u00ebn q\u00eb shkoi mbuluar me turp. As p\u00ebr babain q\u00eb vrau veten, por p\u00ebr fatin tim… S’ma lan\u00eb dhimbjen me m\u00eb dhimt… S’ma lan\u00eb jet\u00ebn me g\u00ebzu e as f\u00ebmij\u00ebrin\u00eb me shiju. Sot, m\u00eb marrin p\u00ebr t\u00eb \u00e7mendur… Mbledh kanaqe sa p\u00ebr kafshat\u00ebn e goj\u00ebs… Heshtjes sime ia kan\u00eb frik\u00ebn edhe f\u00ebmij\u00ebt e lagjes. Po vjen budalla, k\u00ebshtu m\u00eb thirrin. Kush se din hjek\u00ebn time. Hallet e mia… Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb nj\u00eb 11 vje\u00e7ar por sot mbeti ve\u00e7 nj\u00eb i \u00e7mendur…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Shkruan: Blerina Ademi Sahiti Na ishte nj\u00ebher\u00eb… T\u00eb gjitha p\u00ebrrallat e bukura nisin k\u00ebshtu…Historit\u00eb m\u00eb t\u00eb bukura t\u00eb dashuris\u00eb, madje edhe goj\u00ebdh\u00ebnat e pleqnar\u00ebve k\u00ebshtu nisin. K\u00ebshtu, po e nis edhe un\u00eb tregimin tim. At\u00eb q\u00eb akoma m\u00eb dhemb dhe kurr\u00eb s’qava se thonin \u00ebsht\u00eb turp t\u00eb qajn\u00eb burrat. Po un\u00eb s’isha burr\u00eb at\u00ebher\u00eb… Isha […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2484,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-2483","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-vendi"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2483","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2483"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2483\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2485,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2483\/revisions\/2485"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2484"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2483"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2483"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/syri.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2483"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}