A pear on a tree.

I spent this day, January 18, in constant anxiety, fatigue and fear. The world seems to me a scary, hostile and ugly place. Today, as many times before, my sleep was interrupted by the sound of explosions outside my window - by a stroke of fate, my sleep was interrupted, not my life.

Later, on the news, I saw the aftermath of the shelling at 5 a.m. - the russians had launched a fucking missile that landed not far away from my house. Now this place looks terrible - broken windows, rubble, burning cars, a hole in the asphalt, broken pipes, a blocked metro station, victims. Later, this place will look better again, as it does every time after the bombing - during the war, the russians hit this plant numerous times. Ukrainians are very quick to clean up the consequences of the crimes of russian terrorists. You have no idea how hardworking, efficient and productive Ukrainians are in the war! But this is also a huge trap, behind which lie burnout, depression, and a lot of other shit that we will be cleaning up for decades...

On January 1, after spending the New Year together, my husband and I decided to go dancing. There's an interesting place in Kyiv called K41, a techno club like Berheim or Kitkat in Berlin. It is an atypical place for the capital, with strict face control, but also with a great atmosphere inside, where you can let go of everything - do what you want and not judge what you see.

We were going there on our own, but there were people we knew standing in line - people from the improv community with whom we were close friends before. Last year we also celebrated the New Year together at our home. This year we were not invited, and we did not ask for it either, as we wanted to slow down and relax, stay at home and chill.

By the time our turn came, some of them had already gone inside. I was already savoring this anticipation of dancing at the party in my new transparent dress that I had ordered especially for this space. But the woman at the face control decided otherwise - after interrogating us with numerous questions, she said, “Try again another time, we can't let you in today.”

On January 1, there was shelling in Ukraine, and the news reported the death of a prominent doctor, who was found in bed under the rubble, along with his wife and cat. I still think about that family and the fact that I could die like that every night, right in bed with my husband and cat. And even in this reality, I'm not allowed to go dancing because I have a sour face, for example.

It was unpleasant and disgusting to be refused for god knows what reasons (they don't tell you, of course). But what's even more frustrating is that our friends (ex-friends) with whom we were chatting online while we were standing in line didn't write to us. They didn't care that we were not allowed in - later they posted stories about how cool they were there and how they had a great time.

I felt very lonely and resentful. My former friends are no longer my current friends, and I have not yet found new close friends. It seems like a trivial thing, I would have said some time ago. But I finally admit to myself that I have to voice everything I live as follows: “I have X while I live through the war in my country.”

“I create nude photography while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I feel lonely, having no close friends while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I have a very difficult relationship with my father while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I am treating my back problems while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I am trying to buy a new and very expensive photographic equipment while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I am discovering my sexuality and delving into spiritual topics while I am living through the war in my country.”

“I am aging three times faster while I am living through the war in my country.”

And so on. This is a very, very important remark that makes me be more lenient with myself and realize the important fact that every step in my life, every victory and defeat is burdened with the experience of war.

And also... My experience is incomprehensible to a lot of people who have not faced my reality. And it hurts so unbearably! The language barrier is less of an obstacle than the blindness of people around me to the real facts - I will cry to them about the colors in which my reality is painted - blue and yellow, the color of freedom and invincibility, red, the color of blood that flows in rivers on my land, green olive, the color of brave people, brown of all shades - the color of coffins and soil where the bodies of fallen defenders are lowered. . I will talk to them about the colors in which my reality is painted, and they will only blink silently and look around, because their reality is black and white, where everything merges into a gray unison called “the negotiating table, the truce, not everything is so clear, not all russians are bad.”

I recently watched The LOTR trilogy - I love this story, I've watched it many times, and I remembered again the first time I watched this movie during the full-scale invasion. I will never forget the realization that came only with personal experience. Why Frodo never really came back. What kind of pain and longing he feels. I will never be able to see this movie the way I used to, carefree, as a fiction. The war tears at my heart at every step, and absolutely everything I hear or see triggers me.

About the world. About the people around me. About someone's experience.

Next month I turn 27 years old. The last 3 years of my life, and even 5 years of my life - covid and now the war - are like a terrible nightmare for me that will never end.

There is nothing left of the young world explorer who traveled hitchhiking. I am an adult woman with wrinkles and PTSD who is living through the war in her country.

On days like today, I feel like I'm a pear hanging on a tree in the sun, and suddenly it starts to sway violently because the fucking neighbor came to shake the tree. He constantly comes to harm the tree and the fruit. He pours something poisonous under the root, breaks branches, tears leaves, throws stones at unripe pears, shakes the tree until too many pears fall out, which he then tramples on with his feet and walks away, but not for long.

These are all metaphors, of course, and it's good that Ukraine is not a powerless tree, that the armed forces can still fight back, but have you ever asked yourself what you would do if your state ceased to exist one day?

I ask myself this question and cry while I live through the war in my country.