As a young Kosovar living in Toronto, I have a vested interest in what is going on in Kosovo.  I join the ranks of many who live overseas and fervently follow the latest developments in our beloved tiny country. I nurture a love-hate relationship when it comes to Kosovo’s politics, and wear my critic hat at all times when discussing the direction the country is going in. But during my visits back home, any conversation on the current state of affairs in Kosovo ends with the same closing statement: “you’re lucky, you don’t live here, but what about us?”

I am fortunate to live in a country that prides itself on being one of the world’s most evolved democracies, with an established social system that provides for all its citizens regardless of who they are. I live in a country that invented multiculturalism and entrenched that concept in its constitution. I love the fact that when I ride the elevator in my building every morning, no two people speak the same language. Canada is a beautiful mosaic that flourishes in the diversity of its people and their potential. I consider myself a tiny piece of that big, fascinating puzzle called multicultural society, and yes, I am very lucky to be a part of it.

Why is this not sufficient then? Why do I look for more meaning? Why is it that as time goes by, there is a void inside of me that gets bigger, and this feeling of yearning to go back to my roots becomes stronger?

Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be just a small piece of the puzzle, lost in the elaborate social fabric that constitutes this place. Maybe I don’t want to be a part of a society where no one can say my name right - Ylber here is pronounced anywhere between Wilber and Uuuuber, and people always sheepishly tell me I should change my name to John, as it would make my life easier. Maybe it’s the sanitized, passive aggressive, inherently Canadian style of communication, where everyone is always politically correct but you never know if they are genuine.

I feel like the lessons I have learned living here will have a bigger impact in Kosovo than in Canada.  Living in a society that is built on glorifying the individual and individual accomplishments, I realize that I am like a fish out of water because I tend to think as a collective. I recognize that my value system is inherently different, one formed by a society where you can only be great when you’re a part of something greater, part of a community you can call your own.

Most of us expats are ridden with nostalgia when talking about home. This nostalgia is often reduced to certain snapshots of memories, connected to smells, tastes, images and experiences that create an idyllic image of home, untarnished and innocent. But that’s different from waking up every morning and feeling like you’re standing at a crossroads, looking left and right and fighting the urge to just drop everything and head back. I feel I can only come full circle knowing I have fulfilled my duty to my community and built a legacy in the process. I want to bring back my piece of the puzzle and add it to our own newborn mosaic – a mosaic that is beautiful, diverse, and authentically Kosovar.

The pop-up “should I stay or should I go?” will show up on my mental screen again tomorrow. I will have to click snooze for a little while longer, until the yearning burns the fear inside of me and my gut points me in the right direction.

The article was originally written in English.
Illustration: Paul Klee

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