Often, foreigners don't know how to behave or how to talk to me when they hear that I'm from Ukraine, from Kharkiv. They just say, “Oh, I'm so sorry.” And sometimes they ask, “How can I support you? How can I help?”

When I visited Anna Frank's house in Amsterdam in the spring of 2025, one thought kept nagging at me: “What if Anna had survived? Would we be reading her diary now? Would the memory of her, of the others who hid in that house, of the terrible events that unfolded when their hiding place was discovered, have been preserved?”

In the summer of 2025, I saw posts on Facebook from another Anna, Anna Gin, a resident of Kharkiv. Below she wrote while hiding from Russian bombing, in her bathtub.

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In today’s world, with six degrees of separation — “six handshakes” — happening through viral media, might a few hundred reposts, a couple of tags, and Google Translate actually reach you… Washington, White House, Mr. Donald Trump?

Dear Donald. My name is Anna and I am writing this letter from Ukraine, from Kharkov, from the bathroom where I am hiding with my dog and parrot from Russian missiles and drones. The city has already heard the ninth explosion, I am counting. 

It so happened that before the shelling began, I was watching the news and, running to the bathroom, did not turn off the TV. From here I can’t see the picture, but I can hear the sound well. They are broadcasting your speech about another postponement of sanctions. For another fifty days. I am not sure that I will live to see this date, so I decided to write right now. 

I know that I will look naive and even funny, like a child who sends an envelope to Lapland, to Santa Claus. So be it. I am an adult, I am almost 52 years old, and I have long ceased to believe in miracles. But if humanity has learned to create a heart on a 3-D printer, then why not assume that the US President will read a letter from an ordinary Ukrainian woman. After all, it is much simpler. 

I am typing this text on my phone. With one hand I am petting the dog, who is terribly nervous because of the rumble outside the window, and with the other I am typing. I also have to constantly interrupt and watch Telegram channels that report where exactly the Russian "shahed" is flying. And while it is not flying to my area, I will continue.

Dear Donald. Without in any way diminishing your knowledge of history, geography, and political science, allow me to very briefly describe today's events through the eyes of an ordinary Ukrainian - not an official, not a diplomat, not a representative of any party.

Put simply, without  nuance — we are being killed. That’s right. And if you count only the “big war,” then today we have been killed for the 1,238th day in a row. With missiles, air bombs, drones. Children, women, old people, and the best men who are defending their homes. 

I would very much like to tell you about every amazing person who had to be buried during these 1,238 days, Donald. But it is indecent to take up so much of the president’s time. There really is little time. Perhaps there is none at all – right now the Telegram channel is reporting that one of the Russian drones is heading for my area. But I will finish, I will quickly. 

Literally three short sentences that I would like to convey to you from the Ukrainians. Forgive me for taking on such responsibility. First. There is not and never has been a single reason for Russian terror against my country. Neither historical, nor geographical, nor political. Second. Sooner or later, we will win anyway. Even if many of us, including me, have to die. We are such a nation, the highest value for us is freedom. Third. You, as the president of the most powerful state, are able to help us save thousands of lives. Not the day after tomorrow, not in a week, not in fifty days. Today. Believe me, it will cost nothing at all. Because it is priceless.

 Go on air, Mr. President, and tell the truth. Call the cruel, monstrous, unprovoked war of Russia against Ukraine a cruel, monstrous, unprovoked war. Call the lying Kremlin regime lying, and the war criminal Putin a war criminal. And the world will begin to change. 

P.S. (Anna Gin) I am still sitting in the bathroom, hiding with my dog and parrot from Russian missiles and drones. I am writing this letter from Ukraine, from Kharkiv. The city has already heard its seventeenth explosion, I am counting.

Sincerely, Anna

P.S. (Oksana Astapovych) Dear foreigners, don't tell me, “Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that you're from Ukraine.” Just imagine what it's like: counting explosions while sitting in the bathroom and not knowing if you'll finish writing this letter. Feel the value of every day.