By Ornela Çuçi
In Albania, we’ve developed a bad habit: we blame the youth for everything — “they lack willpower,” “they don’t study,” “they’re glued to TikTok”… and then we go ahead and ban TikTok on them.
But where exactly have we looked for this youth we claim is missing? Because I see them every day.
I find them in the plumber’s son who works 14-hour shifts, then shows up to class and teaches me what responsibility really means. I see them in the daughter of the woman who works at the bakery, who wakes up at 4 AM — and while the rest of us are still deep in REM sleep, she’s in “A4 page, 12-point font, 1.5 spacing” mode. I see them in the children of teachers who have no party connections, but have sharp minds and fierce determination.
Yesterday, during midterm presentations, I didn’t feel like a lecturer — I felt like a student. Because sometimes, our students teach us more than we teach them. And that’s beautiful. And a little humbling, if we’re honest.
But this generation needs something we too often forget: space. Not a parking spot at the café, but space to be themselves. To ask hard questions, to make mistakes, to explore. And those of us who are “grown-up” need to make a bit more room… in our minds, and maybe even in our seats.
I’ve always had an allergic reaction to those professors who say, “A 10 is for me.” As if it’s a spinach pie you’re saving to take home.
Knowledge isn’t meant to be stored on a shelf — it’s meant to be shared like warm bread fresh out of the oven. (Preferably without a line, if possible.)
If we truly want to change this country, let’s start by educating those who educate. Professors and teachers. Not just people with titles, but people with presence, heart, and a hunger to keep learning. And above all, people who understand that we live in 2025 — not in the faded year of their graduation.
Because our youth doesn’t need lectures — it needs guidance, trust, and… a little space to breathe. And when you give them that, they do wonders.
I like to believe that, somewhere in a parallel universe, the mythical “bag of 10s” has turned into a backpack — one that opens and is shared, not hoarded like a sack of private treasure.
In this universe of ours, I’m still trying.
