May 20, 2022


Original post: Translated and edited by our team.

Today is exactly one month since the day my mum will no longer text me, “How is my little mouse doing?”
And if she saw that I was not answering the text for a long time (more than 1 minute, as a rule), she would immediately start calling and ask if anyone has offended me.
“Mummy, who could insult me? Everyone knows you,” I answered her because she loved me so much that she would go beat up with her bare hands those who offended people close to her.

Today is exactly one month since the day she was hurt.
All I can do is cry, and sometimes I can’t even do that.

On her way home, to the safest place for every person, as it seemed to me before, she was shot. In the middle of the street. 15 minutes away. With a bullet the size of my finger.

For outsiders, and those who watch the news, this information sounds a little different. Some people even think that she is an actor.
And for me, it is a living picture that comes to my mind again and again. The war came not only to my country. It came to my house and took, or rather stole, my universe.

Every time I think about it, my gut hurts so much that I want to tear it up. There is too much space around me. I want to constantly lean into something, and I feel very crowded in my own body. Probably that’s why I constantly feel like I want to vomit.
Or maybe from a sense of injustice? That I have no superpower to find them and take revenge. Or at least to find her. I’m still looking for you, mom.

You made it possible for me to find you when I was born, but I still can’t even pick up your body because there are so many of you there, and all of you have been taken away. They say where, but they don’t say if they have you. They don’t know because, sadly, there are so many of you there. They need to know why you died.
Do you understand why I can’t keep quiet? !!!
Because after suffering from the rashists, I have to wait for some examination, because they need time because Europe needs to have a proof of what is happening here, because the photos are not enough, because the words are not enough. They need it to be on paper.

They will write on paper that you were indeed killed and that it is a genocide. And it will even be published in history. But I wonder if history books did not write just dry facts with numbers but could convey at least 1% of what people feel now, then no one would want to scream, “We can repeat!” [reference to the popular phrase used by russians on May 9].

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