Valeria, Nikolaev / Tbilisi
Statistically, 80% of people who left the country during the war never return. There's nowhere special to go. There are shells under Mom's windows, and her workplace is blown up.
I flew to Tbilisi on February 4. My superiors from Canada were very worried about the troops on the border. None of our people believed that something would happen. The authorities offered a temporary relocation and for me it was just a “mini-vacation until the troops leave and the noise subsides.”
The noise only intensified. None of the loved ones left or flew away anymore. I’m alone, and I’ve never felt so alone in my life. I’ve never felt so much in my life that I don’t have a home. There is no one around. There is someone to talk to, there is someone to drink with, but there is no one who would bring at least a drop of meaning to my everyday life.
Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I try to live – this is the best thing I can do right now. My father is in a fever, my mother is under bombs, friends are scattered everywhere, and I do not know if I will be able to see any of them in the near future. Most of the time I want to scream. Sometimes I want to sing.
I listen to songs only in Ukrainian and drink Georgian wine. During a month in Tbilisi, I met guys from all over the world, but I don’t know a single Ukrainian here. Fortunately, the Georgians understand me. Local acquaintances often recall 2008 and what it turned out to be for them.
Everyone I know here hugs at a meeting, holds hands, gives something, gives. I can’t take it anymore. There hasn’t been a meaningful touch in a month.
We can only wait and hope. In three weeks – to Poland, the company opens a temporary office there. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know if I’ll get home either. Statistically, 80% of people who left the country during the war never return.
There’s nowhere special to go. There are shells under Mom’s windows, and her workplace is blown up. Now it remains only to work at full strength to send her money for an indefinite period. Now we can only pray that all this is over as soon as possible and that everyone remains alive. Everyone I’ve ever known for a moment.
I haven’t prayed for 15 years, but now I repeat every day like a mantra: “Dear God, I know we haven’t been in harmony for 15 years, but just let them breathe. Full breasts. And I’ll be fine. Today, tomorrow or one day.