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The Beginning

- My story begins 24 years ago, in April of '93.

Born to two loving parents, a handsome wrestler (my father was state champion in wrestling in the years 86-87) and a very smart young lady who finished high school just a few years before having me. In those times my country was in a very shaky political position, we still weren't facing an outright war but the things that my countryman/woman had to endure those times were quite dramatic to say at the least. . . Being the first child in a family that wasn't poor by the standard of that time (my uncle prior to my birth had migrated to Germany and provided a good income for our family in Kosova) was quite a blessing. My whole family was very kind and would help me with anything I would need, sometimes even with things that I probably didn't need. A hard life for grown-ups but for me (and later '95 my brother, '97 my sister) it was a good life. Growing up with a very good athlete as a father means you are pushed to become one as well, but having a very smart mother also balanced things out (as she would read to me/us every night, would teach me/us great many poems and many other things), I was trained as a little boy to be some kind of a fighter or a drummer (as I am told my father had this interesting dream that I would become a musician, which I never had talent for), and throughout my life I haven't changed much, still and athlete and trying to become better, but let's not skip my story.

The regime of ex-Yugoslavia kept pushing my country to accept things that were unacceptable for the people. Through years many brave men/women tried to fight the regime and were dealt with such terrible violence to send a message to anyone that tries to do something to change things around that they will have the same fate. But things started to change around '97 when the people decided to stand and fight. The killing of an innocent teacher (in the Llausha, a large village in the city of Skenderaj) sparked an uproar and the KLA (Kosovo's Liberty Army) made its first appearance on a heroic date for the Albanian people on the 28th of November (this date in history is one of the most special dates for Albanians). My grandmother used to tell me stories of how my father felt very happy about the KLA's appearance and immediately decided to join the ranks.

It was the 14'th of December 1998, when on a military trap set up by the Serbian military, brigade "113 Muje Krasniqi" Ilir Asllani (my father) with 40 of his friends were killed, leaving behind a 24-year-old wife and 3 young kids (myself being the oldest 5 at the time).

The story of my father and his friends is one to give me motivation and vision to move forward, work tirelessly and try to achieve all I could to make him, my family and my country proud.

This is the first part of my story, I touched a bit of my beginning and the bad times at my country those days, and hopefully this is going to be my first and last blog about war, crimes and death. The rest of the story is hopefully brighter. 

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