When I will meet my friends. Every single time, I will recall how strongly I wanted to hug them. And I will be crying.
When my son will come back to school. I will be bringing him there in the morning, crying. I will be picking him up in the evening, crying. Because I’ll remember that the school and kindergarten basements used to be bomb shelters, where his classmates and teachers would spend their nights.
When I will record new songs. I won’t forget that the war ruined the recording I’d been waiting for so long. And I will be crying.
When I will write my texts. I will be recalling how I was writing these ones. And I will be crying.
When I will hear the Ukrainian anthem. I will never be able to sing it again. Not with this throat full of spasms. But I can just raise up to it and stand with my hand on the heart. And cry.
When I will wake up and go to sleep. Because I will remember how precious every morning was to me, and how much I wanted peace at night. And I will be crying.
When I will stroll the streets of my beautiful town. Even after it recovers. I will always remember its pain. And I will always feel it.
When the war is over, I’ll be crying a lot. Not because I am weak. The weak ones don’t get to experience the war.
But because I’ll know how fragile and brittle life is and everything in it as well. And the strong desire to save it all.
I will be crying a lot.
But I will be smiling even more.
Ukrainian Text by Tetiana Vasytska, translated into English by Ukrainianvancouver team — May 10, 2022