Today, for the first time in a few days, I slept in. I scrolled the newsfeed; no new instances of shelling. Wouldn’t have to get ready in 10 mins and rush to film it.
My cats looked at me with reproach: how come I woke up and didn’t go about feeding them. So, I had to fake sleeping for a while.
Today’s Kyiv is a warm place where you hug your friend at the railway station before she evacuates. It’s a place where I could still buy a lavender latte (all hipster-like) in one of the newly-reopened cafés. There, the barista tells me:
“It’s a good thing you’re staying—thanks to you, we have customers to serve.”
It’s a place where sitting on a parapet under the sun and sipping your coffee, you meet your old friend who doesn’t recognize you (until you take off your sunglasses). From there, you go on telling him the latest news as if you two have never cut off communication.
It’s a place where a little girl with her father passes you by and watches you with fascination and then, you hear:
“Dad, I want to be like her.”
All of that used to be routine things you paid little attention to. Now, however, those are the particles of that joy that keeps you from popping your cork. Even one day without bombs is enough (knock-knock-knock, not to jinx it).
There will be no photos, all the necessary ones are stored in my head.
March 19, 5:42 p.m.
Ukrainian Text by Liubomyra Remazhevska. Translated into English byUkrainianvancouver team – Apr 6, 2022