From sex to parents' bed to love Greece: Arian Chan's Special Confession

From the courtyard of the Greek house to Permeti, where he learned his first Albanian, bicycle, and escape. From the first sexual relationship between the parents ' marriage to the French husbandly bed.

From Paris, who taught the mysteries of French, the true eros and perverts to Tirana, where he gained the missing protagonism. And it happens. You have a few lines down. Just like Arian Chan confessed.

Constantinople is the most beautiful woman I've known since I was born. An elegant female with beautiful breasts and hips.

Today I can't perceive how an 18-year-old girl could bear children at a time when, like many other girls of that age, she had to dream of the great love of her life. When I think this 18-year-old is my mother, it just gives me a strange feeling.

In my teens, whenever I looked at this picture, I thought to myself that this wasn't my girlfriend. It would take me 16-17 years to betray this woman. At this time my first jealousy and conflicts with my mother began, although I did everything that the woman I betrayed seemed to look like.

After a year of birth, my mother had to start her high study on Letters, in Shkodra. So she had to leave me to her parents, her grandmother Evhhoxia and Grandpa Socrates.

For four years, as my grandmother became my mother, I would gradually forget Constantinople until a moment arrived that I never knew again. Growing up from this Greek grandmother, I, up until five years of age, did not know any English words, so I learned only Greek, which explains my love for that country and language, which I have been trying to maintain to this day at modest levels.

I remember from that time, when I lived with Evhoxis, the old Gjirokastran house, the lemon yard, the old well whose water was my first mirror. I remember the good dishes my Greek grandmother made.

I liked looking at Greek canals with canos or telling me stories of the past instead of stories usually told by grandmothers. I remember her loud voice all the time, so that the house never fell into silence.

My first friend in Permet, who I forgot her name. When my father finished my studies, as a military man, he was appointed to Permet. So I left my grandparents to live with my family together.

My drama in this city was that I was taken directly to the garden, and I didn't know any English words. Crying, protesting... hated the tutor who didn't understand what I was looking for. They watched me get out of the garden and let me stay with the children in the palace yard.

I started to speak Albanian for months. I couldn't help it. It was a mandatory choice. Then it seemed to me that as the Albanian was coming in, Greek was coming out of me. Later, when I moved to Greece in the '90s, I confirmed that the Greek was actually left with me.

The bike was my first passion. By the time I returned to kindergarten, now with my learned Albanian, I had an unprecedented desire to go out first in our bicycle racing. I cried if I couldn't get to the top. As the strongest rival, I had a blonde girl, whom I loved so much that I remembered her name to this day, her name was Helen.

From this time on, I remember that I did not leave for the garden without eating a cut pie. I've been a sludge ever since. But too much trouble. I always went to the unknown “Partisan” of the city and removed the letters from marble. Another tempting thing I liked then was the Vjosa River. I just wanted to get into the river and leave. I have the impression that my need to escape from the things around me has begun at that age.

When I was a little older, an 8-year-old student, I looked forward to the summer coming and taking me to the beach. We usually went to Divjaka. I loved that place because Father had the privilege of staying in some very good cabins. At this time, I was beginning to become a relatively problematic child. I didn't want rules, I didn't want to learn, I hated the exact subjects... to this day if you asked me, I don't know the breeding table. At that time the need for escape became even more dominant in me. I left the house without telling anyone.

I lied to the army drivers that I had taken my father and them for his sake, and they took me wherever I wanted. The escape usually ended at Aunt Tash for a very simple reason: Her husband had a bicycle. As I grew up, my parents never bought me a bicycle for fear of falling, running wherever there was a bicycle that I wanted so much. Here I was in those years. My brother, six years younger, Alket, was quite my opposite. Seeing as I was, he did everything I could.

As a teenager, I think I was more relaxed, more relaxed. With entry into the foreign - language high school in Gjirokastra, the French era began. Three were my new passions in those years: French, basketball and women. Basketball was my choice, since I enjoyed this kind of sport but stayed there in high school. The French, the chosen ones, made us feel superior to others. Like women.

Then there were two very pretty girls in school. One from Saranda, the other from Corca. The first one loved me more than the second one, which I actually liked more. There's no other saying, there's more to it, there's more to it. However, I became attached to the sarandiote, which I left after I was able to win the crown.

That's when I started putting girls in the house. Grandma, the one who raised me, had the house in front of her, and every time she looked at me, she would spy on my parents. So even when I lived with her, my Greek grandmother never gave up on me. There was a couple of fights with me. The climax arrived when she realized that I had violated my marriage bed.

By starting French studies at the History-Filology Faculty, or “filophili”, as it is said, I survived because I would finally live alone. The boarding life began in the community, among beautiful women, and above all, without having to answer to anyone. Armand Shkullaku was my first best friend I ever met.

Contacts with French professors made me dream about France first. In the years of '87-88-89, when the communist system had not fallen, I again had a desire to escape, this time for real escape. So France became a beautiful dream, the objective that made me optimistic at a time where we saw no green lights at the end of the tunnel. We knew that our fate, after completing our studies, was predetermined - a high school teacher.

I wanted to challenge this fate. So I started throwing at groups of tourists coming from France. My second station, after school, became the boulevard boards, in front of Hotel “Date”. And in this daily hunt, I was finally able to catch a French man named Catherine, the youngest among a group of 16 but who was six years older than I was.

The desire for France materialized in this woman, whom I first had sex with at the Tirana Hotel, which I married after I graduated. I married half secretly because my opinion somehow killed me. But I loved France, and I wondered about nothing else. I left early 1991. I lived with Catherine less than a year and then separated.

Paris is everything to me. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't gone as a man to Paris. I did everything I could to escape in normal conditions. As an immigrant, I assure you I would never have escaped. For four years of living in Paris, I was able to associate with everyone because I wanted to learn the mysteries of French language, which in my eight years the school had never been able to teach.

I realized that there, in Paris, I fell in with French. There I felt at home as if I were at home. I learned communication, thinking, living, bringing, in that big city, with that big language.

The bike was my tool when I worked by the side of the Senate in Bateaux-Mouches

Then I had no ambition greater than this. I used to tell myself, this is what you want. And most of all, I created the first contact with the media world.

First courses in “Liberty”, with Marc Semo, a kind of interest in journalism, which had excited me that I hadn't even gone to Paris, when I joined a group of French journalists who had come to Albania for the development of the 1990s.

In late 1994, I decided to return to Tirana. Paris gave me everything he could give me. I'd rather be anonymous. The missing protagonism made me come back. My friend, Armand Shkullaku, was then deputy editor at “Our Time” and offered me a job in that newspaper.

Paris, who taught me the real eros, the pervertity, the television, the newspaper, the communication, how to deal with a woman... also taught me that, in order to get back to this city, I had to get back to my country first.

That's what I did. I made it up to “I have only one big regret today. Now that I can have that bike, so much desired when I was little, I have no way to walk. Once, when I had a bicycle, I had a town. I have a bicycle now, but I have no city.

(From Zefine Hasani. This scripture comes as a reprint. From the magazine Madame, June, 2011)