Let it be forgotten as a decade without survival

For 7-8-year-old Albana in the village, brilliant in mathematics, but surrounded by hunting dogs

For the 14-year-old Fatjon, yes, in the village, passionate of literature, languages, but which in the best case is surrounded by relatives being looted in the private mini-sign below the village ambulance.

For Fatlum, my uncle, between the remnant here and the newcomer to Germany

For 16-17-year-old Sunday's pledge to late class

For the Union, the new historian I wish not to poison students with a history whose credibility passes through Roshaja

For Rita, who not only feels powerless about the cause of feminism when she sees women being murdered with axes but also losing hope in this vile country

For excellence, neighbor and fellow player who was killed by basketball passion

For Home Gas, which as far as the batta knows needs employment

For Samir who like me fades the bush

Hannah's being killed by artistic genius.

For Visca, my older sister, the strength and the drive for me, and that the age difference does not stop us from assembly until we get to the village...

For Grace, the Queen's Aunt Nezir, unsurpassed in human...

For Ardian, the literary fighter, the frustration of this country made him cry for the Review presentation but the job will smile at him.

For the root, which exalts passion, not profession...

For Sami, who spits in the mood over the pygmy leader's grave

For Agon, the hardworking reader...

For Seadin, brother-in-law, since as I see from the cold Scandinavian, I know that the warmth of the Balkans and our ignorant countries is something to be preserved and cultivated...

For the Shlip, that Barnatore allows for the city's mirror of sociology in death

For Fjolla, and “a city that we measured itself” in the hope of not being politically wrong

For Besart, Mitrovica's recent political citizenship threat

For the worker of Kebabtore, who is poisoned by 200 euros, with lugs and insults

For Nehat, my middle friend, the rash agitator, who, instead of mourning us both, praises me and forgets himself

For the Sungirl friend, the architect goes around offering him a salary-age, or a job-free remnant.

For Egzon, once he returns, the same fate as the Sunse awaits him.

For Bilgin, who so much breath spent with me and my friends trying to start something intellectual in this country, for our frustrations and the rashes of a software...

To Val, the country's most promising historian...

For Grandpa's escape from virtuality

For Albania, in anguish between the Kosovo hopeless, increasing political influence on education in Turkey, and the promised “Earth” Canada

For Rudina's Undaunted Wine

To Shpend, friend, and colleague of difficult times

For Fatan, the only fault that she is unemployed today is her struggle to reveal EULEX shit to Albanians

For Noah, and for his patient efforts in literature...

For Baca Sala, who sees the most worthy Albanian beyond the inference that he makes under his satirical compass...

To Tammy, friend, and honest businessman, who this year shared the huge political disappointment

For Noca, whose positiveness has delayed our days...

I pray we forget this decade together...