UKRAINE: My Testimony as a Ukrainian Refugee
At almost 16, Valeriia Ivanova fled Ukraine with her mother and sister, leaving her father behind. She narrates her story and vows to return to rebuild her country.
But even as I know that we will win and millions of Ukrainians will return home, I will never forget.
Editors Note: Listen to Valeriia narrate her story here.
by Valeriia Ivanova
“How are you?” This was the message I saw at 6:40 in the morning on 24th of February as I was packing my bag to go to school. I do not normally receive such messages so early, and I had received many across several groups simultaneously. I texted back, asking them what was happening. I already felt that it was something bad — and it was.
“Explosions all over the country” was the reply. I checked the news, and then I shouted to my mother — she was getting ready together with my younger sister — that we were not going to school.
I live in the suburbs and at that time I couldn’t hear those early explosions my friends had messaged me about. I spent the whole day checking the news, every muscle of my body so tense I almost couldn’t breathe. I was terrified by everything that was happening; I wanted to yell. Instead, I looked for ways to support my country. At almost 16, I am too young to join the Territorial Defense, so I decided to use the resources I had. I began reaching out to international youth organizations, writing essays, giving interviews, and recording podcasts.
On the 24th of February, our family stayed in our home, believing we would be safer in our village. How wrong we were… A few days later, they cut off our electricity. We were left without heat, internet, and lights. At that time, running away wasn’t an option since all the bridges were bombed or mined and the rest of the motorways were occupied. When we asked a local soldier whether it was possible to leave, he shook his head and told the story of a volunteer bus that was shot as it evacuated people and delivered medicine.
My mother cried a lot, and accused herself of not being able to save her children.
After another sleepless night — the doors were opening as the whole house shook in response to bombing and explosions about 10km away — we received a call. Our friend informed us that there would be an evacuation from the town for women and children at 9am. In just an hour, we packed a bag and our dad drove us to the station.
It was terrible. We left everything in the home my parents built just a few years ago: our dog, our memories, my sister’s favorite toys. We had to leave our father behind.
When we were on our way to Kyiv Central Station, our dad called and said that more than 50 tanks had entered the village; he could see them from the window. On the following day, they bombed the railway. We had used our last chance to escape.
But what awaited us made us doubt our decision to leave Ukraine many times: a 12-hour ride on an electric train from Kyiv to Lviv, packed with people, children, dogs, cats, and even turtles sitting on top of each other’s heads. It was so hot there. Then we waited five hours in a cold underground station for our train to Poland. By then, I didn’t even have access to the toilet for 24 hours. I was thirsty, hungry, tired, and cold.
The next day and night we spent on a train packed with women and children who were also escaping for their lives. All kinds of emotions came up for me. I was afraid of the future. Everything that scared me before at once seemed so insignificant. I felt so powerless, but I knew that I had to be strong for my mother, who was on the verge of breaking down. I noticed how much gray hair she had added seemingly overnight, and how her once bright eyes were now red and dull.
Everything that we left in Ukraine was a part of our soul, history wrapped up with our emotions.
I knew that if I could be strong and emotionless, my mother would look up to me and try to behave in the same way — calmer. As she told me of her favorite dresses and the bags she wore during the best moments of her life, I remembered mine, but I told her that we can buy new ones. She told me about the apartments that they purchased for our grandparents and planned to finish this year. I recalled the collection of English books that I had left in my room; a secret box of chocolates that I kept hidden, adding to it each time my grandparents came over and gave me one. Of course, such material things are nothing in comparison to separated families, but everything that we left in Ukraine was a part of our soul, history wrapped up with our emotions. Still, we have not lost hope of returning.
We arrived in Poland, but we knew we would not stay there for long. I had this feeling inside that we should keep moving. For that week that we stayed in Poland, I realized how much I had grown. The girl, who once would have almost had a panic attack when entering an underground station, was now finding her way to volunteering centers, checking price tags in supermarkets, and building her big plan to survive until the war ends and we can return to our homeland.
The decision to come to Vienna was rather spontaneous. I was a member of a youth organization that was based in Vienna, so I texted the founder, Marko to see if he maybe had any friends who could help us find a place to stay. And then I learned the power of networks.
When I say the power of people and networks, I mean what happened to us when we arrived in Vienna. People we have never met picked us up from the station, and the following day we had a temporary apartment as we waited for another one to be furnished. People would just let us live there for free because they wanted to show their solidarity with Ukraine and help Ukrainian refugees. Never in my life have I thought that people might be so kind and willing to help strangers… This experience has given me a crucial lesson about the circle of kindness in the world.
However, there was another feeling that was eating me from the inside. The feeling of betrayal — leaving Ukraine when some people from my town were suffering; eating, when people in Mariupol had been without food and water for weeks. The only way for me to deal with this was to do everything in my power to spread awareness of the war, to raise my voice, and to help Ukrainians.
Staying in touch with my relatives, friends, and classmates has helped me to overcome my anxiety since all of them know the feelings I am experiencing well. I remember one night back in Ukraine I was sitting in my wardrobe back when we still had electricity and chatting with my classmates. There were no windows in the wardrobe and I could turn on the lights and not be spotted by Russian aircraft. We exchanged our thoughts and tried to joke.
Now, a month later, some of us have met again through online classes that our school has renewed. All of us had been displaced: some moving to the west and others dispersed all over Europe. Continuing my studies is challenging now — I hardly manage to concentrate. I think about my family who stayed in Ukraine, my father, grandparents, aunt, and my dog Bella. People with whom I shared the best moments of my life. I wonder about every person I have met in my life — teachers, classmates, neighbors. The thought of the possibility of not meeting them again terrifies me.
I must maintain my position as a strong young woman so that my mother will be proud of me, and so that when we return to Ukraine I can say “I’m home”. I wish to become a part of the powerful youth force that will rebuild our country.
But even as I know that we will win and millions of Ukrainians will return home, I will never forget. Never forgive. Children, women, and civilians were raped and shot in the streets. Beautiful towns and cities have been destroyed. These memories will forever stay with me.
That was the price we paid to be safe now, and the price every Ukrainian, every civilian, soldier, mother, and daughter paid for freedom.
Glory to Ukraine.
Glory to Ukrainians.
This story was published as part of World Pulse’s Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Join World Pulse to share a story of your own.
Originally published at https://www.worldpulse.org.
