Murals on the walls of Kyiv
The war’s components are decisions, experiences, and stories. Only by listening to every heart, you can truly understand it. I did not want to write anything about myself as I did not suffer. Then I also wished to create a motivating or calming column for chill and entertainment. Now I am feeling strong guilt writing about myself when others are suffering much more.
Few Ukrainians are describing their own life during the war. Everyone wants to share while devaluating their experiences at the same time. “What can I tell if I’m not a soldier or blockade survivor?”. With all my heart I admire our brave warriors, and with all my soul I support all those people surviving everyday rashism. I find myself extremely lucky not to be among them.
Therefore, my story is not a tragedy – I will call it a comedy with few inconveniences.
Invasion begins
February 24. Waking up at the noon I thought I had skipped my German lesson. I always read the news in the morning. That day I read about a full-scale invasion. I was scared. I thought it was a satire – there is a satirical channel with a logo similar to “New Voice of Ukraine“. Listening to Ukrainian 80s and unafraid of death I was recalling the words of Seneca I read the previous summer. Strangely exalted I was seeking the rules of first aid and publishing them on Instagram. I was also searching where I could donate blood and imagining how I would kill Muscovites. My parents’ friends came to us with a guy studying as a policeman. He said the first aid rules I published missed some details and I wrote about it in my next Instagram story.
We spent two nights in a basement. It was freezing and dusty, and I was hardly sleeping. I was reading, yet, I didn’t want it much. Our dog started barking at a shepherd. There were indeed a lot of dogs.
I didn’t even know my mom was taking pictures
On the second day of the full-scale war, my dad couldn’t find bread. My mom had to go to a balcony and draw a bread maker. We had always been joking earlier about her buying all this kitchen equipment but not using it. At that moment, it wasn’t funny at all. I declared I would rather die under shootings than stay in a basement for another night. My parents wanted to take me and my sister to the village, I didn’t want to, but they finally persuaded me. In case of no connection, I grabbed 6 books and downloaded Beauvoir’s well-known masterpiece, as well as some movies. Now I am regretting I didn’t download more. I hoped that books would save me from boredom in a place where I would have nothing to do. Speaking from now, I read not a single book I took, but I watched almost every movie I downloaded.
Left and returned
Village days were similar to each other. A long chain of hours repeated itself with the same thoughts and activities. I tried to volunteer but I did not understand how their local institution works. I only felt a bit emotional when I helped a guy to join the military services secretly from his mom. I am bad at faking surprise and holding in laughter – and I had to do both as she said to me dramatically that “he became military”. To manage boredom, I was reading about the history of Ukraine, Ukrainian culture, and journalism to enhance my skills, but the days were remaining the same. I tried to distract myself and keep a stable day mode, yet, it was only an imitation of the previous life.
I was lucky enough to live alone. While others were getting on their relatives’ nerves, my life was serene. And boring. Therefore, having told my parents I was arriving at my friend’s birthday party in a near town, indeed, I took a taxi to Kyiv.
I deeply desire to publish a dialogue with my mom here. I need her consent, yet, I hope she will not see that column. So far she does not know I was in Kyiv that day.
The little joys were surrounding me: a taxi, a coffee from a petrol station, a candy given to me. I was listening to strangers’ music, and all my problems were melting down with chocolate in my mouth.
When I arrived in Kyiv, I cried, or almost I cried, I don’t exactly remember. It seemed like before I had been on another continent. I wanted to hug every tree I saw.
I was a tourist in my home city. I felt even better than a tourist – I was walking through already known places, but the smell of Kyiv was reaching me with every step I took. I had been sick of it in February! I felt no pain, I paid attention to everything. I was recalling everything I had read before, and Ukrainian history emerged in front of my eyes. I went to a quay and saw Dnipro.
My column already resembles the description texts in our school books. Therefore I would not describe my feelings as I saw Dnipro during a full-scale invasion. The proper words cannot be found – despite me being a journalist and finding words being my job.
I love Kyiv so much. This city has so many sides, I guess, too many to see all of them even for 20 years of my living here. Kyiv is impossible to be fully understood.
Returning I sent a message to my mom:
“On the road. I miss home”
What more can I say?
The boredom of a displaced person absorbed me again. Is there to entertain oneself in a village alone? There might be none – I shall make acquaintances. But how can my relationships be genuine out of necessity? This question is not rhetorical as I admire the strength of village people’s relations, but it is not an option for me. I am used to a rhythm where I can fully live life on my own.
I couldn’t even find a shorter way to a single shop in the village without strangers’ help. There I was listening to a meditating Ukrainian song about some Far East monks. The next evening I rescued a cat my brother accidentally closed in the garage. At that point, I finish my story as I am getting a little off the subject of war.
Photographer: Anatoliy Siruk
In conclusion
It seems like every story can be entertaining – even if nothing heroic has been done. A common Ukrainian person’s story, even, again, non-heroical, is more valuable for me than all Tolstoy’s novels and other so-called “Russian masterpieces”. Our war has already shown that no famous people of Russia like Lermontov or Bunin can beat a global Ukrainian reflection. There is a message of “Ukrainians being lazy and waiting for someone’s help” widely spread by Russians to lessen our dignity. They are naming “laziness” our form of self-sabotage and beliefs that we are disabled.
Thank you for reading till the end. Now I will treat you to a song I mentioned above. I wish you all would create your existential way. And may it not ever be touched by war or pandemic!
