Hate air raid sirens. Hate them with all my heart.
Like in Orikhiv we had those alert trainings every year, and they never worked. And when we needed them, I think I've heard it like two times? Always after the explosions. Because... How could you predict close range, like Grads, which we were rained on mostly in the early months. The times when it was actually missiles, there were no alerts too. Oh, and we were told they'll ring churches bells when we were out of electricity, which was so stupid - it was so cold, all the windows were closed, and with closed windows no one would've heard the bells. And after awhile we didn't even need the alarms - we learned the schedule of attacks, and we're in the basement before they started. And then we were so used to them, the attacks, that we stopped going, unless the explosions were nearby. Or at night, when it was hard to place the sound.
It's also strange how I forgot the sound of Grads, only remembering it when I hear it from frontline videos. But I remember well the low whistle of mine shelling. I remember reading from our soldiers that if you hear the whistle the mine is not for you. I remember that crackling noise those mines made at the impact. I remember the sound of rifles firing, hunting for the drones in the sky. I remember the bright moving dot in the sky at night. Those were early days, and after so long I think sightings of drones are not a curiosity but just fear for life. Recently we had a drone flying around, and my heart started racing, even knowing it was a civilian drone, probably taking footage of a beautiful sunset. I was not hunted by drones when I was in Ukraine, there were no Shaheds then too, so why would I be having nightmares about them hunting me?
Also, it's so strange how a mind can get used to the horrors around you. We didn't have it bad, those first months, not like in some regions, like we were not occupied, we didn't starve, but I remember those moments of peace. Standing in our garden, with sun shining warmly in early spring, the air cold and fresh. And the missile flying above our heads. I remember sitting outside, somewhere around midday, reading a book, and my mom coming out of home telling me the electricity was on. I remember watching TV shows late at night, when electricity was on, on the lowest brightness of my laptop and with the screen lowered so as not to light up the room. I remember cooking pumpkin soup, as one of the rare delicacies during blackouts. I also remember boiling pasta, talking with my mom in the kitchen, and then seeing the glass of our windows blow inwards, and then there was an explosion - a ruzzian fighter jet fired a bomb on our electricians.
As someone who grew up hearing about World War II, I never heard the stories of civilians. I think it would've helped me then. Even when your country is being invaded, even when you are under a risk of dying horribly every minute, life continues. Not even that on neighbouring counties people don't care about what is happening, but just... You need food. You have to cook, yes, even under fire, choosing a moment in between shellings. You have to run for the groceries or in drug store, or in veterinary clinic to get foot for your pets. Yes, it's risky. Yes, there are anti-personnel mines on the road that you need to avoid. Yes, at night after curfew even dogs don't bark it's so silent. Yes, there are almost none vehicles around the town. Yes, there is a line of cars of those fleeing the war near schools and kindergartens, that we had no clue ruzzians would dare to hit even until they did. Yes, in the hospital there were people with burns and amputations. But life continued. Strange, stunted, as if dreaming, but it continued. It reminded me much of the days in grieving. Like that realisation that the Earth still spins, and no one cares about your pain. It's just your pain and pain of those near you. Life continues, even if you want it to stop, to scream and sob and be angry. For most people around the world life was uninterrupted. They continued on, while you were stuck in a nightmare.
I've read a lot from Ukrainians who also feel like the time stopped for them. Like it was still 2022, despite what calendars said. The world moves without us. All those years torn from our lives. Normal lives, where we could've traveled, studied, built families - all was put on a pause, or just slowed down. All dreams had changed drastically. Children don't wish for a new toy for their birthday, they wish for the end of the war in Ukrainian favor, as do adults. Our children grew up so much. Some of them never will, killed by ruzzians.
Me and my mom talked recently about how glad we were her mom, my grandma, died of COVID in 2021. Yeah, it was hard, because the vaccine came too late for her, but at least she didn't have to survive the war. She was paralysed, and I doubt we would've left as easily as we did, given we would've had to evacuate her too somehow. She wouldn't be able to cover either. So perhaps her weak heart would've simply given out. And we would've had to manage her funeral and burial during the war time, given that just months after our evacuation, ruzzians hit the funeral procession in Orikhiv, killing and injuring people. How strange is it, being glad your relative died scared and alone in a hospital, but at least not from ruzzian missile? Now I'm reading about elderly people coming to Orikhiv to check on their homes, and being killed by ruzzian's drones. Their bodies are still on the streets, because it's too risky to pick them up. Their children cannot bury them. Horrifying? Yes. But we got used to this new reality after awhile. Mariupol, Bucha, Izyum, Kherson - we all have seen it before. Your mind just gets used to it, protecting you from the horrors, but not in dreams. It's strange dichotomy - as if you live two lives. Some semblance of a normal one, and the one of pure nightmare.
