Albania's citizen feels bad for the dictator: I hated you. Sorry, Enver.

The written letter states that he once hated the dictator and desired freedom, but now he feels repentant and apologizes.

Full Posting:

I'm the guy I used to laugh at every time you were in the stands surrounded by the mobs. I hated you, Enver, I hated you. Like a young man who wanted to be free, free to buy a car, free to pay as well as in Western countries; me and everyone else.

Free to sing the songs of the best - heard groups of times, free to do what he wanted, free to see more colorful lights in Tirana, more modern buildings, timely clothing, why not? More women's saddles.

So when you died, I did not shed tears like hundreds of thousands of others, or millions, but I laughed. It's been years since then, I've been a parent, I have a car and a house, I have a lot of stuff, but I miss a lot of things.

First, I lack confidence in the future of my child's work, no matter what pay I have to pay for her education. I lack confidence in her life, of her addictions, such as drugs, gambling, or prostitution, from the need to live, in the inability to find a job to earn a living.

Second, I miss the job safety. I have to repay bank loans for my debts, but I'm also afraid of my health. If I get sick, I need money; money for my illness, money for my child's education. So I have to make the account of what it costs less: my recovery, my death.

I miss friends, cousins, neighbors. Everyone's changed, they're all like wolves. Amazingly, I have heard that they too have this opinion of me.

I miss Albania. That beautiful Albania, blossomed with forests and crystal rivers, which already looks polluted, sewn, shaved, and bitten everywhere, with warped concrete teeth.

I miss Tirana. Regular, with parks and spaces where children play in front of palaces. Their place has been occupied by multistory buildings that combine with each other like an orgy from which dark, disfigured people are born, with the mind of moving away.

I miss justice. The wicked sold everything, stole everything and are now called politicians, or VIPs. There are hundreds of female protection organisations, against violence against them or children, the fight against drugs, gambling. Well, how many organizations there are! You know, we used to have these organizations. But no problems.

You beat me, Enver, you beat me! And every time I look at the picture laughing, I feel like you're making fun of me, my generation, like it's ironic and it hurts more. I'd like to beat you, make you a better, more beautiful, better Albania, like the one you left us to leave to our children.

And so I would put you next to your grave and say: I beat you, Enver, I beat you...

Just so it's time to say: Sorry Enver...”