I read this article today about my former hometown of Fastiv, and as soon as I saw this photo my heart dropped into my stomach. I lived down the street from that church. I walked past it every day on my way to school. It was the landmark my baba used when giving people directions to our house. I’d know those spires anywhere.
This keeps happening: I see a photo of refugees clutching bundled-up children and a suitcase, or statues being swaddled in bubble wrap, or a hasty barricade thrown up to try and slow down Russian tanks, and I realize that it’s not just a random street. It’s somewhere I know. I have a photo of me making silly faces on that bridge that’s been reduced to rubble, I stood in that church courtyard and talked with a friend for an hour because we didn’t want to say goodbye yet, I bought school supplies at that bombed-out kanstovari.
I was blessed in my years in Ukraine, in that I was able to see so much of the country. I made it to Kyiv, Donetsk, Lviv, Odessa, of course, but I ended up in the smaller places too. I lived in Fastiv, Snezhnoye, and Mohyliv Podilsky, and made them home. I went to Thanksgiving in Ternopil, presented at a teacher training seminar in Uman, did my orientation week in Chernivtsi and then a bootcamp two months later in Chernihiv. I took a two-hour bus to Vinnitsya every month to buy peanut butter. I hosted summer camps in the forests outside of Rivne and Lutsk; the camps ended and we counselors missed each other so much that we had skype sessions just to see each other’s faces, a girl in Kharkiv holding up her cat to the camera & another in Mykolaiv showing off the view from her balcony. Friends who wanted me to truly know the beauty & history of Ukraine took me on field trips to Kamianets Podilsky, Yaremche, Busha. I visited other volunteers to see the lives they were building for themselves in smaller towns all over the country; a community center in Bila Tserkva, a school in Makeyevka.
I’m so grateful that these places live in my memory. I am so scared every time one appears in a headline. I have checked in with all of my people and so far they are okay, if not safe -- as one friend reminded me recently, “there is no ‘safe’ in Ukraine anymore.” I try to think about other things, but the news flashes up and I feel that gut-punch again. Doesn’t Misha live in Mariupol? Is Lera’s family still in Kherson? God above, I hope not.
My host sister made it to the relative safety of Fastiv after more than a week spent hiding underground in Kyiv; the videos she sends me still have the sound of bombs in the distance, but she’s just happy to be outside. We’re trying to find solace where we can.
I don’t know that this post has a point, necessarily, I just had all these feelings and felt the need to put them somewhere. I am so lucky to have seen as much of Ukraine as I did, to have such strong associations with these places and beloved people. I am desperate for this war to end. I am desperate for my friends to be actually, truly safe again. I know the Ukraine that lives in my head is gone now, but I also know that given half a chance, it will rise again. I hope I’ll be there to help them rebuild.