Tatiana, Kiev

Sirens can be heard somewhere in the distance. We quietly drink coffee in the kitchen, for some reason without light, only lit a candle. I don’t know why they decided that the light should not be turned on. Probably they were afraid that darkness would immediately cover him.

War. It’s scary even to say these words until they are perceived as something alien, like being in a bad movie. It’s a very strange feeling when the question “what to do” you have there is not a single answer. I’m getting into philosophy for some reason. And is this such a war that you need to run somewhere? Or maybe there won’t be anything else? After all, something has already been blown up, and maybe the war is already over? Such funny and stupid questions for an adult.

We need a solution. Any. I promised myself that I would no longer make decisions under the pressure of circumstances.

I was born and raised in the North Caucasus. All my childhood I was teased “Russian pig”. I used to be an outcast, but I held on to my “Russianness” and a strong “Russian character”. It was a shame, though, to know that I’m not Russian. According to my mother, all my ancestors are Belarusians, and according to my father, Kuban Cossacks who survived the Holodomor and were very offended when they were called Russians.

In ’91, when I was in the 9th grade, strange things began to happen, which it was customary to keep silent about. Cry and be silent. Zinc coffins came from Chechnya. There were young guys in the coffins who had just left to serve in the army.

In ’93, I fled from this horror. At that time, St. Petersburg seemed to me a bright future, a city of museums and cultured people. I entered the university and found myself in a new movie called “Gangster Petersburg”. Many of my friends did not survive this movie. I managed to avoid several rape attempts, witness gang shootings, to hide from the bandits who were chasing my older sister, who was then trying to do business. It was necessary to somewhere to escape from all this.

I got a student visa and fled to the USA. In the south, where I lived, they preach American exceptionalism. This is a difficult test for the person who built their identity is based on the “Russian character”. On September 11, 2001, when my eldest son was 2 years old, everything changed irrevocably again. I called my mother, who was still alive in Russia, and my mother cried and asked me to run away. In 2005, I went to Moscow.

And in Moscow, I was registered with the local police department because of my Caucasian residence permit. Precinct six months randomly came home with a check. My fingers were removed from the typos, they put it in some kind of database. But life was still beautiful. I had a career, two children, a cloudless life. Then one of the relatives got into trouble, they called me with threats. There were informal interrogations, visits home… at work, there was an opportunity to go to Kyiv. And I left.

It was 2009. These 13 years in Kyiv, in Ukraine, were the happiest years in my life. I had two more children born here. Here I have the closest and real friends. Here I am Finally, I built the house, family and life I dreamed of.

On February 24, 2022, I was sitting in my kitchen in Kyiv and making a decision. “I’m tired of running. We will leave if the Russians occupy the city,” I told my husband. I’m Russian and running away from the Russians.

On February 24, I packed a small suitcase for the whole family. Favorite coffee, spare underwear, some warm clothes, perfume. It was necessary to wake up the children, inform them about the war, walk with your big dog. And where are we going with the dog? That was the first time I cried. Tears, they heal. Not so I have and a strong “Russian character”.

Today is March 29. We are still here. It has become calmer in the last week. Our army is recapturing the cities adjacent to Kyiv. There is hope that Kyiv will be left by war.