Madison Novak
Madison Novak
Kosovo, February 2025 - June 2025
Hello! I’m Madison Novak. I am embarking on a four-month journey to Pristina, Kosovo, to curate an exhibition celebrating the resilience and hope of this post-conflict society. Collaborating with GEM Kosovo, I will be capturing mixed-media content that illuminates the beauty and depth of this intricate culture. Read More About Madison →

Saying Hello Means Saying Goodbye

The days leading up to my departure have been bittersweet. While they have been filled with exciting milestones, they have also carried moments of sorrow. One of the main reasons I chose to embark on this journey was the opportunity for growth—growth in my career, my understanding of myself, and my perspective on the world. However, welcoming new experiences, perspectives, and people also means saying goodbye to the ones that have brought me so much comfort over the past few years.

Growth rarely happens when we stay within our comfort zones; it comes when we embrace the discomfort of the unknown. So that is what I am choosing to do. I am embracing the sorrowful moments of saying goodbye to my friends, my family, and even the version of myself I have known for so long—because I know that through this, I can grow into who I am meant to become.

One of my favorite parts of my preparation period has been the time spent back home with my family. From small design projects with my mom to discussing qualitative research methodologies with my dad, this project feels like a member of our family—one we all want to help grow and see flourish. Sharing this journey with my family has been incredibly meaningful. My parents made getting my education possible, and being able to showcase the skills I’ve developed because of their support has been one of the greatest feelings.

The next chapter of my story is beginning, bringing with it reflections on the chapters I have already closed and the people who have helped me write them along the way. As I embark on this new adventure, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has supported me and helped me get to where I am today. You are just as much a part of the telling of this story as I am because you have given me the strength and opportunity to use my voice to amplify others. From the bottom of my heart, thank you—I couldn’t be here without you.

Let this next chapter begin!

The Story I Wish To Tell

The story I am about to tell is a complex one. It’s not a story confined to history books but one that lives and breathes among us. It is a story that continues to unfold in classrooms, around family dinner tables, and in the aisles of grocery stores. It is the story of a people with a pain-filled past—a past that remains palpable today, affecting individuals on both sides of the border. This pain lingers in news stories, casual conversations, comment sections, even within family relationships. While this pain persists, it is not the whole story. Can we acknowledge the people of the present without mentioning the people of the past? Why does it sometimes feel that giving one person the opportunity to share their story means taking away that same opportunity from someone else? Is it true? Does amplifying one voice silence another?

Telling a story like this carries risks. The one I fear most is simplification. In middle school math, we were taught that the first step in solving a problem is to simplify it. This approach works in equations and even in challenges we face in day-to-day life. But when applied to a story like this, simplification feels more like erasing someone’s perspective, allowing someone’s story to go unheard. I believe this hesitation is not a weakness but instead a strength. The story I aim to tell is about real people, and therefore must be handled with care and intentionality. I hope to carry this hesitation with me as a reminder of the weight of these narratives and the responsibility they demand.

The pain of the past was neither the beginning nor the end of this story. This theme is not unique to this narrative—it is a part of all of our stories. Pain transcends borders, race, and religion, reminding us that we all participate in the act of moving forward, every single day. Whether we like it or not, we are all active participants in the creation of tomorrow.   

As a young adult, I am on a journey of self-discovery, just like so many others my age. I am at a point where I get to decide the kind of future I want for myself and what I want my story to say. So much of who we are is shaped by the world around us. What strikes me as unique about the story I’m about to share is that people my age in Kosovo are on a similar journey—finding their identity in a region marked by uncertainty and conflicting perspectives. How do you develop a sense of self with people still questioning whether your existence should be recognized? 

My generation in Kosovo is not only shaping their own identities but also helping to build a nation. This is the story I wish to tell: a story of people who continue writing their stories despite carrying the weight of the past. It is a lesson I hope to learn along the way, and one I believe we can all learn from. As humans, we share countless commonalities, yet it is often easier to focus on what divides us. As I embark on this journey, I will keep asking: how can we create a future that celebrates these shared experiences without ignoring the pain caused by our differences in the past?