A part of our identity is formed through our relationships with others, how we choose to align ourselves with them, and how we choose to stand apart. It is sometimes hard to acknowledge that we exist as both the versions of ourselves we know internally and as the versions others carry of us in their minds. When those versions differ, tension always follows: a pull between tradition and change, between what has been and what could be. 

On June 10, 1999, a baby girl was born in Turkey to two Kosovo-Albanian parents who sought refuge during the war. Her name was Danika, given to her on the day of her birth in honor of her aunt. Just the very next day, June 11, 1999, the war in Kosovo ended when NATO troops entered Kosovo on their peacekeeping mission. This was the day Danika became Lirie, freedom. 

“My name is always a reminder...I was born one day before the war ended and I was name Danika before that, and then the next day the war ended and they called me Lirie, which means freedom. Because of that, so, that’s always on your mind when that’s your name.”

Her name became a symbol of her family’s newfound future, of their freedom to return home. She would become a new generation of youth in Kosovo, one that did not grow up in the war but was shaped by its aftermath. 

“That’s how my extended family knew me, that’s how they looked at me and said ‘Oh, the war kid.’ My generation, specifically the 1999 kids; we saw the direct aftermath of it. Growing up in like legit just like broke, poor, surviving in burned houses and broken people. It shaped us a lot.”

Progress after war is never simple. Change and innovation are necessary to move forward, but what do you hold on to when so much has already been lost? For Lirie, her name carried both an honor and a responsibility. To her, was her name an inspiration or an expectation she could never live up to? 

When I asked if her voice was being heard politically, socially, or culturally, she reflected:

“You’d like to think so. You become this person who always speaks up, doesn’t matter what they are saying but I don’t know if my voice is heard. There’s a lot culturally that we have to get over as a people, and a lot of times I don’t think it is…I think the biggest struggle is that you are a young girl who has a lot of opinions and says a lot of things, but it doesn’t matter because you grew up in a culture that it’s just the men that matter... I think that’s the biggest issue; otherwise, you make yourself heard, but when it’s just who you are, there’s no way you can go around that sometimes.” 

This tension, the tension between how we see ourselves and how the world names and defines us, can create expectations that can be both empowering yet burdening. Our name, in particular, holds a unique power; they are the one thing we carry with us every day, shaping how others see us and how we ultimately see ourselves. 

Progress complicates these dynamics even further. Moving forward while holding on to what defines you is never easy. Some run towards change; others resist it. 

“I think saying we moved on is a big word because we didn’t emotionally but moved on like we built, and we tried, and we learned. I think if you think about the fact that only 25 years ago this place was burnt to the ground and destroyed, and if you come to see what it is now, you just don’t need to talk about the progress, it’s right there, it’s on your face, you see it.”

Progress can rebuild cities in a generation, yet for those living with it, the weight of what still remains undone can often overshadow what has been achieved. 

When asked whether she felt hope existed in Kosovo, Lirie responded:

“I think people here can be viewed as pessimistic, I don’t think they are. I think there’s hope and love for their country. But I also think we are realists, we call things like we see them and sometimes that can be viewed as pessimistic but its not. But I do think there’s a lot of hope otherwise people wouldn't be here.”  

How can we do both? How do we pay respect to how far we have come while not losing sight of what still needs to be accomplished for the future?

Our identity is never formed in insolation. It grows under the weight of family, society, and history. It carries both pride and pressure, burden and resilience. And in places like Kosovo, it reflects not just the self, but an entire nation still in the process of becoming.