The leather seat of my expensive car was removed from under my ass. My beloved apartment in the city center was replaced by a communal house. My closets full of outfits were replaced by a tracksuit and my friend’s sneakers. The possessions I’ve been acquiring for years are gone in the direction of the russian ship. The verb ‘live’ was changed to ‘exist.’
No, I’m not complaining. On the contrary, I thank God every day for life, security, a roof over my head, and everything that I have, but hundreds of thousands of people don’t. I’m learning to smile again.
#F*CKINGWAR scattered us across different parts of our country and Europe. Like my girlfriends who left with children. One of them is crying in a hotel in Poland. Another one has to give birth in the Czech Republic without her husband nearby. The other friend of mine chooses between a bottle of wine and a cream in Latvia. The fourth one is passing armor from Cyprus to Ukraine. One more is going crazy in France when thinking about her parents.
And I’m okay with this reset. F*ck it. It’s all so insignificant. Running out of the house at 5 a.m. in your pyjamas, you realize that you hold the hand of what’s the most important in your life, and the material stuff does not matter.
Riding for an hour and a half on public transport (two trams, a bus, and a walk just one way) to get your child to school. To give him a chance, or at least to try, to return to “normal” life after childhood was taken away from him. I do it to stay mentally sane, not go crazy in cellars and basements, and avoid trying to forgive myself later for staying in the country. I do it to devote myself to him, mentally stay there, work remotely, and try to be useful while carrying around my food containers, emptiness, and a bag of Ukrainian documents.
And that’s a choice. F*cking, one of the hardest of my life. Taking the child out of the country and being a mom. And there’s no telling what’s easier: to stand there with a machine gun (I really want to!!!), or go abroad and start my every morning with the news feed.
Yes, we will get through this ordeal. I’m not ashamed to wait in line at the station for free food, save every cent, and accept help. It turns out you can do that. There are so many kind, precious, and responsive people. Just the best people in this world. I want this pain imprinted in the genetic code and never forgotten, similar to having a baby without an epidural, so I truly appreciate peace and former life when it’s all over.
I accept everyone’s choice. Choice of people sitting in Transcarpathia, providing a rear, doing nothing. The choice of people standing with a gun…
I even accept the choice of people who stopped carrying and left for another continent for good. Every one among our 40 million has their own war. And you don’t judge. There’s no room for hatred between us.
What have YOU turned our lives into, and what for?! Feeling guilty taking our 6-year-old son out of Ukraine?! Forced us to choose between the safety of his life and staying in his own country. With two small bags, leaving behind our family and everything we have. Crossing the border with my heart breaking, tearing him away from his daddy, pushing back the tears, saying, “We’ll be back soon.” We will be back soon. And we will live.