When missiles land next door…
This morning, #Lviv was trending in my Twitter feed. I opened the videos and recognised my neighbourhood in Lviv. At 4 am, a missile landed next door to where my parents live.
Yesterday night, I spoke to my mother on WhatsApp. I only came back to Adelaide two days ago, having visited Ukraine last month. With the remainder of my lunch break too short to have a proper conversation, she called again at 11 pm my time.
“Mum, what’s up this time? Why are you checking in on me a million times a day?” — it was late, I was jet-lagged, and pettily annoyed.
“Oh, it’s nothing, sorry…”
“Well, is anything the matter?”
“No-no, you must be tired, I’ll call another time…”
Realising I’ve been acting like a prick, I texted my mum and apologised. I promised to call again, “just give me space,”— I insisted, — “I cannot be on the call at all times.”
“It’s ok,” — she replied. “Sometimes, I just need to talk.”
In the morning, I learnt the news of missile strikes on Lviv, a 1,000 km from the front line. The destroyed buildings were the ones I was passing on my morning run just a week ago.
I texted my parents, then called. From WhatsApp, I could tell there was no reception on their end. A few hours later, we spoke at last. Their faces pale, voice trembling, — I felt dumb asking how they felt.
“Thank God, your nieces were not at home — the little one is in the summer camp, the elder is abroad,” — my mum said, — “Main thing is that the kids do not get traumatised by this. They’d carry this with them their entire lives.”
“Where did you hide? In the corridor?”
“Yes, well we heard the missile landing… Your dad said there was no point going anywhere, that it’s too late.”
“It’s summer, we have the windows open. It would be too hot to sleep otherwise. So we did not sleep through the sirens, then it got too loud from explosions…”
“The windows are intact in our building, but your cousins’ block lost a bunch of them, they are closer to the missile landing site.”
To anyone in Kyiv, Kharkiv or Dnipro, this experience is everyday occurrence. To me, it is still new. When asked about my parents’ safety, I say “They are in Lviv, it’s very far from Russia.”
Well, Lviv is not really safe it seems. The Russians are into a new war tactic — attacking civilians in smaller cities, where the air defence is weaker.
In Ukraine, the war is knocking on every door. I live with daily fear that the Russians will blow up ZAES, exposing millions to radiation. I see familiar faces on funeral photos. I hold on tight for the male relatives I know — my cousin’s husband stationed somewhere in the East, my other cousin, a military medic, in Khmelnytskyy, further away from where the fighting is.
“Mum, my phone is dying, I love you!”
“We love you, too, take care!”
My God, I hope I learn this lesson once and for all.
War or no war, kindness is the only currency of love. A few harsh words can fill you with a lifetime of regret.
Stay kind, while there’s time.
P.S. Thanks for reading! I keep my posts free, but here’s a quick way to say thanks — donate to Return Alive Foundation, United24 or the KSE Foundation, and #StandWithUkraine! This is the best way to invest in freedom and ensure we live in a safe world.