The morning when someone called everyone

On February 24, 2022, at six in the morning, my father called me. It was the day when everyone got a phone call. It was the day when the life of an entire nation was divided into "before" and "after". A day that none of us will ever forget, and after that life will never be the same, not only for us but for millions of people from all over the world who woke up, who supported, who realized that their voice and their actions could help us survive, stand, hold on, believe, build a new world free of war and terrorism, dictatorship and tyranny....

I couldn't answer anything, the lump in my throat blocked my breathing and it was hard to say anything. Only after a while did I squeeze out one single word: "Okay". I hadn't heard the explosions yet, but my anxiety level was rising rapidly.

I did some breathing exercises to balance myself a little bit and called my sister in Germany, she already knew everything, the whole world already knew.

Tears made it impossible for either her or me to say anything else, it seemed like my heart was about to burst out of my chest and my head would explode from a spasm.

I realized that she was thousands of kilometers away, but she was worried even more than I was. I went to the window and saw that there were lines all along the street: in banks, shops, at ATMs. This confused and worried me even more, I opened the window to breathe in the fresh air, but even in the air there was already sadness, panic, and anxiety, everything was gray and gloomy. I saw some of my neighbors, like me, standing by the windows and watching what was happening outside, and some of them came out with huge bags and suitcases, got into their cars, and drove somewhere; others just stood on the street with bags in which they had thrown everything and waited for someone or something. This made the atmosphere even more intense, and I realized that standing there, looking out the window, would only trigger a panic attack.

My head was dizzy, my consciousness, as always at that time, was in a fog. I made slow steps and movements and looked more like a robot in human clothes. I decided to switch somehow, turned on my work laptop, and immediately received emails from my colleagues from Poland, Austria, and Germany, asking if I was safe and how I was doing. I didn't even know what to say, because I didn't know what was going to happen and how it would all unfold. My colleague from Poland offered me help and a house in Poland somewhere in the countryside and apologized for not being able to call me a few days ago because she also knew and understood that a full-scale invasion was about to begin and that it was dangerous to stay in Ukraine.

I was so touched that I could not hold back the tears that were streaming down my face, I did not even have time to wipe them with my hand as they ran down my neck or into my mouth. What could I say to her? I was really scared, I had already realized that this was not a game or a rehearsal, this was a real war, and it was scary.

I remember how my colleague wrote to me every day while I was in Ukraine because she was very worried, and I cried when I read each of her letters because I didn't think that people could be so caring, open, and ready to help.

And even now I am writing this text and crying, wiping away my tears because it hurts because it touches my soul, my heart; I think that I, like many Ukrainians, will never be able to forget. Time will pass and we will let it all go, we will accept it as an experience, as the past, but we will hardly forget.

At that moment, I felt unconditional gratitude that there are people in the world who just want to help, who do something for you without expecting anything in return, who care whether you are alive or dead, whether you are safe or in hell. I was glad that there was a person who was ready to shelter us and help us.

I brushed my teeth and didn't even wash my hair, because I realized that if the siren sounded, it would not be good to run to the bomb shelter - that was the underground parking - in winter with a wet head. After making the bed, I had breakfast, put on a white sportsuit (because even at war I have to bring light to people and make them happy), wrote and called my family members and friends to find out how they were and what they were going to do, looked at my backpack, which I had prepared since Sunday, and started meditation so as not to think about the war. But, to be honest, meditation didn't go well, my head was just bursting with thoughts, so I came up with another activity - I started looking at everything in my room from the position of a bystander as if I were watching a movie. 

So, I sat on my comfortable couch in my favorite apartment, breathing deeply and slowly, looking at my flowers, books, paintings, decorations - everything I had made with my own hands with love, everything I had created for so long for my comfort in my temple, everything I had put my heart and soul into, everything that was important to me and that gave me strength and energy because my home is my place of strength, my place of healing and restoration, of creativity and inspiration. And again, my eyes caught on that small backpack, in which I could only stuff my documents and another sportsuit, because my dad said, "Only one backpack, which you can carry around with you, and maybe even run." And I realized that this backpack was now my life.

A new wave of sadness and grief hit me, so I decided to go out and breathe some fresh air, maybe even drink some coffee. There were few people on the street, and they were standing or running with panic on their faces and fear in their eyes, all the bakeries and coffee shops were closed, except for one where I often drank matcha latte and wrote my texts. 

Dariia, the barista at the coffee shop, was as optimistic and completely calm as ever. With a smile on her face, she made me a matcha latte and wished me a good day. This was the same Dariia about whom I had written so many notes in my notebook for my unpublished novel about women, which was chastely hidden in a drawer at home. It was the same Dariia who so constantly amazed me and made me think about simple everyday and life things without even realizing it. That day, I didn't realize that it was my last matcha latte on coconut, my last conversation with her, and my last look at my favorite neighborhood; I didn't know that in an hour I would be forced to leave for an indefinite period, no one knows where. I was drinking matcha I loved so much, which raised my blood pressure, gave me strength, and was a good substitute for coffee, which I used to drink so much and have been without for almost two and a half years. I was looking at the trees, looking at the road, breathing in deeply, as if intuitively feeling that I was saying goodbye, that I was breathing my Kyiv air for the last time, the air of the city where I was born and raised, with which I had so much to do. 

I remembered how strangely a year before this date I was watching movies about the war, I wasn't looking for movies about the war, I was looking for movies about famous writers, but for some reason, they were all about the war or the postwar period. I can't say that it was a coincidence because I don't believe in that, I believe that everything happens for a purpose. I can say that my soul was preparing me for an external war so that I could at least theoretically understand what it was and how it was. 

Suddenly the phone rang. It was my dad. 

I quickly ran home and fussed all the time, running from the room to the kitchen and vice versa.

Dad knocked on the door and I realized that time had flown by so fast that I didn't even have time to think and prepare anything else besides that backpack. He came in like a typhoon.

I didn't hear it. I was in a stupor and somehow slowed down as if everything was in slow motion and the main receptors were functioning halfway.

I quickly threw the clothes I was planning to sleep in, then a pillow, and a blanket into a large paper bag because I remembered that my parents didn't have any spare ones. Then I remembered about food and threw the vegetables and fruits from the fridge into another bag.

I remembered the seafood was in the freezer, I dumped it into a transparent bag, and as I was running out, I thought: "I'll take my work laptop as well. I might be at my parents' apartment for two or three days instead of one. So I need to be available."

That's all I took with me and with what I went to my parents, then out of town to my sister's house in the Kyiv region, and then, after crossing borders for more than four days, to another country.

We quickly got into my father's very old car, and while we were driving to my parent's apartment, my sister had already written to me that sirens were all over Kyiv and that we had to go down to the bomb shelter immediately. Dad drove fast, and I prayed all the way that we would get there alive and have time to pick up my mom. We flew into my parents' apartment, my mother was lying half-conscious, and when we heard the strong sirens, we got dressed and ran to the bomb shelter, which was the basement - there were already a lot of people there. Unlike us, they were prepared with chairs, tables, mattresses, and large thermoses. We had nothing but ourselves and a few pillows. It was very cold to sit there, so we had to put on a lot of warm clothes. My father went back up to the apartment and brought two chairs for my mother and me. For the first thirty minutes, we were even positive - "Everything will soon pass, this is a test that we have to go through, and we are not alone here, there are many people here, we are in the basement - nothing will happen to us and in general it is just some kind of game that will end tomorrow, and most importantly, my mother and I are such cool philosophers and spiritually advanced, we know what this is and what it is for, we are sitting here in the basement and shining our light so that everyone will feel good so that people's fear will go away." But very quickly, our optimism, inner strength, resilience, humor, and faith began to disappear. We realized that we might have to sit here not for an hour, but for the whole night, and you can't sit on chairs for long. Dad went to a neighbor's apartment to borrow a cot, he did not want to go down to the basement on principle, because he had always supported russia and believed that there would be no bombs and they would not fall on him, so he borrowed his cot to us. My mother and I laid on the cot for a while, even managed to sleep, while my father was sleeping on a chair. My mother was very pale, she needed peace and normal conditions for rest, she could not be in a cold basement without heating. Dad looked like a zombie with red eyes. I kept saying to myself that if it was our fate to die here under the bombs, then so be it; and if not, we would somehow escape. Images from all the war movies I had seen appeared in my head in fragments, and I still could not believe that this was reality and not a dream. It seemed to me that I had been filled with some kind of drugs, and I started hallucinating. Suddenly, one of our friends called us and told us what time Kyiv was likely to be bombed, or maybe we had read it somewhere in chats or on the Internet, I don't remember, my thoughts were very confused and foggy, and we realized that there was still time and decided to go up to the apartment to have a normal meal and get some sleep. We left all our outerwear in the hallway and laid it out so that we could quickly put it on when the time came. We had time to eat some hot soup and drink some tea and went to our room to rest for a while.

My mother and I fell asleep again, as if under the influence of a strong sleeping pill.

Suddenly, my dad started screaming frantically:

We woke up and couldn't figure out what to do, it was too difficult to pull ourselves together.

The hum of the airplane (probably a missile) was so loud that it seemed like the windows were about to shatter into small pieces, and the walls would split from the shaking.

The initial fear spasmed my movements and clouded my consciousness even more.

My mom and I jumped out of bed and started to get dressed quickly, but we were doing it slowly, we couldn't figure out where our clothes were and what else to put on. Half a minute later, maybe even less, we heard something terrible, something banged very close, a terrible hum, the walls shook, something fell from the sky to the ground, vibration everywhere, which scared us even more. We ran out into the corridor, dressed in whatever we were wearing. The elevator didn't come for a long time, it was impossible to go down by stairs, my legs were shaking, my hands were shaking, and my mom was exhausted. She looked at me and said quietly:

A small elevator arrived, the three of us barely got into it, and I pressed the button with the number "one" with a trembling hand. As we went down, my whole life flew before my eyes, fear spasmed my whole body even more, but I knew that I could not give up, I was responsible not only for myself but also for my parents. We flew outside and heard sirens, airplanes, something falling again, the ground shaking, bombs, or who knows what else... We hadn't had such an experience before, we couldn't know what it was.... We ran into the bomb shelter and sat there, not moving, for two or three hours. We were praying. We just prayed. It was scary. It was very scary. And again the same thought flashed through my mind: "It will be as it should be. If my fate is that I have to die in a bomb shelter from bombs or starvation, then I can't do anything about it." A little later, we read in the news that it was a missile that was shot down near my parents' house and hit a high-rise building. And again, thoughts that tear my brain apart: "But I don't want to die. I'm still young, I haven't even lived yet. I want a family, my own family, maybe even a child or at least a dog. I want to live." Again, fragments of scenes from war movies began to surface. I remembered the dignity with which people behaved then, how they accepted all those terrible circumstances and remained grateful and joyful. The realization that we were not the first calmed me down a bit. But then there was that voice of primitive fear again: "I don't want to die. I don't want to die." And again, fragments of details from documentaries, news, and books - it was as if ice water had been poured on me. The fear became even greater because I realized that their missiles and bombs, which cause instant death, were not as terrible as the soldiers of the "great russian army" who torture people and rape children, girls, and women. This realization made me feel cold inside, spasming all my internal organs.

We spent that first night in the basement, in the bomb shelter. I don't remember all the details very well, everything is a bit blurry in my mind, but some vivid moments are impossible to forget.

In the morning, the most difficult thing was that more and more people were packing their things, getting into cars, and driving off - some to a village in the Kyiv region, some to Western Ukraine and then abroad, and some just going somewhere without a specific address or destination. This was the most frightening thing, that you would be left here almost alone and just die. It was hard for the psyche to bear, especially since it was already clear that this was not a game, but a surreal reality. My mom was getting worse, my dad was looking more and more like a character from a zombie movie, and I was on the verge. The sirens subsided a bit and we, like the other people who remained, went out to breathe some fresh air. The air stank of something, and even though it was morning, it was gray. There were very few cars around the house because many people had already left. My anxiety level started to rise again, I didn't know what to do, I was scared, creepy, and sad at the same time, but I shouldn't show it to my parents, I couldn't take away their faith and hope that everything would be okay. I called my family members and friends again to ask them how they were. Talking to them about the war and bombs again reminded me of some horror movie in which we were all invited as actors who did not know what was waiting for them and that in reality, it was not a movie, but reality. My cousin recommended that we go to their village, as they all left yesterday for western Ukraine.

I looked at the frightened, devastated people who didn't understand what was happening and wondered what we should do next - stay here and be like zombies, waiting for everyone's nervous system to shut down and start going crazy, or take a chance and go to my sister's house in the countryside, where it is calmer and quieter. At least that's what I thought at the time....

I understood that the road was risky, that there were many saboteurs, and that people were killed right on the road in cars, their documents, money, and all their valuables were taken from them. I realized that such a move would be very stressful for my parents and they would not want to go; on top of that, my dad has an old car and if it broke down, we would just stand somewhere in the middle of nowhere like a target. I didn't know what to do or how to do it, I didn't know what was best for me and for my parents, I didn't know anything, I only knew that I had to at least try to do something to save my life and their lives. I decided to go out of town, but I knew it would be too difficult to convince my parents. Realizing the strength of their resistance, protest, and confrontation, I needed to get support and I called a friend of our family whose opinion was valuable and important to my parents. While my mom was sitting on a bench trying to breathe calmly and my dad went upstairs to the apartment, I talked to "my last hope for help." I went over to my mom, sat down next to her, hugged her, and put my cell phone on speakerphone:

Thank God, my mom heard her. We went up to the apartment and began to persuade my father, but it was very difficult - he didn't want to go, he gave a hundred arguments about why not, he was nervous and shouted that he would not go anywhere. My mom said quietly:

Since we were still in a state of stress and blunted perception of reality, no one thought to take some clothes. We quickly brought my backpack and paper bag, my parents' backpacks, blankets, and pillows into the car, and took all the food from the refrigerator. Dad wanted to withdraw money, but at that time the ATMs were already empty - there was no cash anywhere. We got in the car, prayed, and drove away. We felt as if we were running away from a global catastrophe that was about to wipe humanity off the face of the earth. While we were driving, our loved ones were in touch with us and we informed them where we were and what the situation was, and most importantly, God was with us. Without stopping anywhere, traveling through some neighborhoods and roads that I had never even guessed existed before, we reached Fastiv. There was already another family in my sister's house: a young couple, two children, and a grandmother.

After each difficult stage on this military path, I made my conclusions and wrote them down in my head, and now I am putting them on paper to share with other people.

To take responsibility for your life only on yourself, to be flexible in a state of uncertainty and chaos, and to be able to make decisions quickly. No one will come and save you and tell you how to act, there is no single recipe for everyone, everyone has their own unique and individual recipe, responsibility is always only on you, no one knows what is best and for whom, and no one knows what will happen tomorrow. And so sometimes you have to take responsibility for your retired parents and, of course, for your children, if you have them.

February 24, 2024.