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We are tenderness, we are the starry eternity of loveWhen a shell hit Maria's apartment that day, fortunately, no one was home.
A Plea to everyone: Ukraine is much more than yellow and blue!I am ashamed that I only became a 'conscious Ukrainian' after this full-scale invasion began. And it didn't even happen immediately.
Hypyk Brothers StreetThis name, Hypyk Brothers Street, appeared on the map of Kharkiv in 2023. Who are these brothers? Their story is both unusual and ordinary. It reflects the fate of many defenders of our Motherland.
How Do I Start Living My Own Life?One summer day, a wave of something indescribable crashes over you, and you find yourself wondering: What’s wrong with me? Is it burnout? Fear? Just a deep need for rest?
My little homeland through space and timeSometimes 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.
The first touch of warTHE SHOES
I bought these shoes exactly 5 years ago, in spring of 2020 during the lockdown. Good hiking shoes, that were supposed to taste the mountains of Tenerife. In January and February that year I stayed in a tent in a hippie community there. It was my most magical trip ever outside of Lithuania. So trying to escape the confinement of four walls and to return to paradise in Tenerife, I bought a ticket there. I was supposed to fly through Riga. But never got any farther, as I didn’t have the right Covid documents for Spain. The shoes never made it to the island. Never touched volcanic dust. Instead, they picked up some thick soil in Eastern Ukraine. Black, fine, almost oily. It’s still lodged in the treads. Even after scrubbing, it lingers.
I bought these shoes exactly 5 years ago, in spring of 2020 during the lockdown. Good hiking shoes, that were supposed to taste the mountains of Tenerife. In January and February that year I stayed in a tent in a hippie community there. It was my most magical trip ever outside of Lithuania. So trying to escape the confinement of four walls and to return to paradise in Tenerife, I bought a ticket there. I was supposed to fly through Riga. But never got any farther, as I didn’t have the right Covid documents for Spain. The shoes never made it to the island. Never touched volcanic dust. Instead, they picked up some thick soil in Eastern Ukraine. Black, fine, almost oily. It’s still lodged in the treads. Even after scrubbing, it lingers.
