If I were a boy

Prologue

Before everything, to everyone reading this, this is not a book I wrote. It's a book written by Haki Stermilli, an Albanian writer who wrote this book as a reminder of the female rights back then. This is my favorite books and I haven't seen it in English, so I thought it would be amazing if even other people got to read this amazing piece.

Without further ado, let's start!
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Prologue

The car was driving fast and was making lots of noise. Sometimes it climbed up, sometimes it flew down and sometimes it slid in plains.

My friends who I was driving with sometimes chit-chated with each other, and sometimes were silenced as they got amazed by the rare beauties that showed up down the road.

Hills, mountains, valleys, gorges and beautiful fields were seen and dissappeared in a small amount of time as they created this sweet pleasure for the travelers, who were lovers of Mother nature.

The radiant rays of the spring sun softly kissed the green leafs and the colorful petals of the flowers, which smelled sweet, it felt strong and heady. In one word, that day the nature was celebrating the beautiful victory of spring.

-There, if only in that valley of flowers I had had a house, - said one who was looking at the place with an admiring greed.

- A house that would be like a roof, but inside for it to have even one of the fairies of our mountains, - completed the friend with a sparkling smile.

As they were entertaining their fantasies with different dreams for a life among paradise, I was in deep thoughts for the bad taste of feelings Dije's disease had left me.

It felt like I would never meet her again.

I had taken with me the package she had given me. Something encouraged me to open it and see what she had written in the notebook she handed me.

In the end, I lost to my curiosity and I opened it.

Inside, there was a book, a white scarf and a letter directed to Mr. Shpend Rrefe's in Tirana.

Almost a third portion of the fourth of the book was written. I immediately recognized the small handwriting of Dije.

On the first page she had written, with a red marker the title: My life.

I decided to sing a few parts, just to please my curiosity.

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I looked at the first page and I saw:

It fired to me to write about my life. This thought came to me after seeing the different photos of uncle Simon since the times of childhood.

Why not to write it? My life for others, maybe it doesn't mean anything, but for me it matters, because it's mine, because it can be described in different interesting phases and sometime, as I read these happy and sad letters of mine, I'll be entertained or in melancholy.

Just like the human body that causes changes as it circles around the different periods of life, undoubtedly, the same goes with my life.
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Then I left a few pages and read:

Anyways who can pretend that there's no handsome men amids boys? Does someone think that there's no man beautiful?

If only women could speak with the freedom a man's tongue has, who knows how many poetries there would be written to describe the beauty of her friend of opposite sex.