Today, I finished assembling a puzzle. A big one —47 by 67 cm. I bought a poster frame and hung it on my wall. But to see the whole picture, I have to step back. My current room in Nieuwegein, Netherlands used to be part of a kitchen in a former boarding school for the children of skippers. Once upon a time this house was home to Dutch children, now it is a shelter for 200 Ukrainians under temporary protection. My room has two doors, and on one wall there are remnants of tiles from the working kitchen. Now there’s a bed, a table, and a wardrobe, with only a few steps between them and the window. To see the puzzle properly, I have to open the door and stand in the doorway. And so, here I am, standing at the threshold of my room, looking at an image of my hometown —Kharkiv. More precisely, a crossroads in the heart of its historic center.

Sometimes I wake up suddenly at night and can't figure out where I am... at home, or? It's been three years that I've been outside Ukraine; I live in safety, but in a foreign country, within foreign walls. No matter, I start every morning monitoring the news, I have to know where the enemy missiles, bombs and drones hit today.