Chapter 1: The Impact of War on Home

The conflict in Ukraine has altered my perception of what "home" means. Although my apartment has remained physically untouched by bombs, the psychological toll has been profound.

It's a bustling Sunday morning at a coffee shop, where almost every table is occupied. Many of the patrons are runners, with some men removing their shirts post-exercise—a behavior that raises questions about biology, societal norms, and entitlement. I find myself pondering the differences in behavior between the sexes, but then another thought intrudes: why do some people shake hands while others don’t? As I observe this social landscape, I realize I'm not just a bystander; I'm a mix of participant and observer in this intricate dance of human interaction.

I identify as a reader, and I notice a few others here are too, given the books scattered across their tables. One woman is focused on her laptop, while others engage in relaxed conversation, sipping coffee and indulging in macarons. I treat myself to a small filtered coffee and a pistachio macaron, which tastes as delightful as a rich dessert.

As the minutes pass, a line forms—referred to as "cherha"—as people await their morning brew. Perhaps we all rose early due to the air raid alert at 7 am. We share the common experience of being slightly sleep-deprived.

This is just another ordinary Sunday morning in Kyiv, at Café "Svit Kavy." I find solace in this café because staying home feels increasingly difficult. The war has shattered the illusion of a peaceful sanctuary. After countless sleepless nights filled with sirens and days marked by uncertainty, my home no longer feels like a refuge. Instead, it has become a mere stopover, haunted by the threat of violence and a reminder of vulnerability.

The first day of the invasion was a turning point. I awoke at 6 am to a series of explosions in my then-old apartment. That moment was suffused with fear and a sense of betrayal by the very space that was supposed to bring comfort. The sanctity of home was breached; it felt like nothing belonged to me anymore. I became a mere participant in a larger historical narrative—one that prioritizes collective trauma over individual pain. The violent upheaval of war continues to inflict wounds, both visible and invisible.

In the midst of my reflections, I recognize the harsh reality: while I lament my personal struggles, there are countless others facing life-threatening dangers from Russian attacks. War has a way of trivializing personal challenges—until one faces loss directly. My psychological health feels insignificant when juxtaposed against the backdrop of life and death struggles.

Still, I persist.

Although my challenges may seem small compared to the broader crisis, they are valid to me. I aim not for grandeur but for personal peace. The war has tainted my ideal of home—the one I cherished in my mind. No bombs have struck my apartment, but the impact of conflict has echoed in my psyche. The war has also strained my relationships, causing rifts that may never heal, leading to an overwhelming sense of stress and isolation.

Yet, I'm still here.

I can't predict my future, but I desire to endure.

I do appreciate the apartment I currently inhabit; it offers me a semblance of peace, albeit marred by the mental strain of conflict.

I long to reconstruct my internal sense of security—a sanctuary of thoughts and memories—one brick at a time, as I navigate this historical moment. Only time will reveal whether I can find my way back to a place of rest and healing.

The first video titled "Why is Ukraine the West's Fault? Featuring John Mearsheimer" explores the geopolitical implications of the conflict, offering a perspective on the West's role in the ongoing crisis.

The second video, "'Russians could destroy my home, but they will not destroy my future' I Ukraine: The Latest | Podcast," delves into personal stories of resilience amidst the turmoil, emphasizing hope for the future despite current challenges.