Written by: Nermine Aliji Ademi
For those who don't know me, I'm Nermine Aliji Ademi, from Bujanovac, Presevo Valley — sometimes called Eastern Kosovo, and sometimes Southern Serbia, depending on the place and context.
I have won a Chevening scholarship from the British Embassy in Belgrade and am studying International Human Rights Law at Brunel University of London. I want to explain to you my experiences, my spiritual pain and my sense of not belonging between three countries, where I do not feel fully represented by any of them.
Last Saturday I attended the Orientation Event for Cheveners 2025/26 in London. It was a grand event with around 1400 scholarship holders from 140 countries around the world.
At this event, scholarship recipients are encouraged to wear traditional costumes and carry flags that represent their identity. But I felt at an uncharted crossroads.
I am Albanian from Bujanovac, Presevo Valley. We do not have a separate flag as a minority, and using the Albanian flag is often considered a provocation. At an international event like the one I was at, where each country had its own official representatives, it was not possible to use the flag of Albania or Kosovo. I felt like I did not belong to either country.
This feeling of not belonging is not just a moment: it is a reflection of the political and social reality where Albanians of the Valley are often not treated as citizens with equal rights.
A flag is not just a piece of paper; it is a way of being seen and accepted. When you can't hold what represents you, your sense of belonging weakens.
Serbia often discriminates against us, Albania has few practical options for assistance, and Kosovo faces major challenges within its own country, making it difficult to support the Albanians of the Valley. This makes the identity gap even deeper.
However, I took something positive from this experience: I made friends with fellows from Serbia, Albania, and Kosovo. International friendships are a way to feel a sense of belonging on a personal level, even when that institutional level doesn't exist.
Essentially, what I experienced is an “intermediate identity,” a state often called liminality — being between places, between identities, without feeling fully represented.
It is a painful feeling, but it is also a reality often associated with the Albanians of the Valley and other minorities living in disputed territories.
I would love to one day have a personal symbol that represents me as an Albanian from the Valley, something that expresses my identity confidently and proudly, without losing the connection to the Albanian national flag. This symbol would be my way of expressing my unique identity, while maintaining pride in the history and culture of the Albanians of the Valley.
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