Search Results

The crow is a harbinger of transition, a symbol of time passing, of seasons changing. Their call marks the birth and death of the fields, life cycles beginning and ending, spinning out into eternity. Their call is a reminder that all things must pass for new things to begin again. In mythology, crows and ravens serve as spirit guides and messengers, a living connection between the spirit and material worlds. While the call of the crow can feel cacophonous and disruptive, even ominous, it is not necessarily an ill-omen, nor ill-intentioned, just a reminder that change is always on the horizon. Crows and other winged scavengers are opportunists and survivors. They never fail to take advantage of the changing winds. All life is sacred, and should not be wasted, so sayeth the crow. Death for them is a feast, letting nothing go to waste. Turning death into life is a symbol of their divine alchemy, a symbol of the divinity of all life. But death is not their only interest. Crows enjoy the verdant vivacious bounties of life just as joyfully as any animal enjoys the spring. A time for every season, death and life, rejoicing in the cycle eternally. The crow is a figure of eternity, a being of time. It is no wonder then that they function as the heralds of the changing season. Their innovation and obsession with shiny things express their natural curiosity. It is only natural that they should take interest in everything that is novel, as they are the witnesses of the spirit world, and its eternal messengers, watching over all of us in place of the divine. Crows are the keepers of ancient secrets, which they shout out freely to any who would hear it, but few know how to listen, and fewer still would understand it if they did. It’s bad luck to kill a crow. Its grace and intellect is self-evident, its mystery sacrosanct. People almost fear the crow. The crow is an agent of Fate and a lover of Fate who passionately watches Fate unfold, never failing to miss a moment. Perhaps the crow is even a deliverer of divine judgment. The crows see what happens on our streets in the black of night. They see our people sleeping in those streets. They see our people dying in those streets. They smell their blood and bodies. They see the drops of rain wash away the stains of yesterday. They smell the sacred waters spilling onto pavement. They see the cars come and go, come and go, neon lights flashing into existence and then fading into nothingness. They smell the rust and burning oil. The crows have never missed a moon or a sunrise. They see beyond our cities. They smell what we have yet to smell. They see the forests burning. They smell the smoke. They see the storms. They smell the saltwater. They see the lightning. They smell it in the air. They feel the pulse of change. Oh, and the things they hear! You can only imagine the things they hear! They hear the frustration and greasy-sweaty cries of a thousand traffic jams. They hear the sound of thunder pounding from long guns into the earth. They hear the cries of people fleeing to nowhere in all directions. They hear the endless humming of electric waves, multitudes of machines. They hear the grinding of glaciers across the empty expanse. They hear a priest’s last confession. They hear a father’s last goodbye. They hear a dying woman no one will remember. They hear a young girl when no one else does. They hear a hateful young man when no one else should. They hear the last lonely eagle fall to the ground. They hear the last brown buffalo draw its final breath. They hear people talk in the mirror. They hear people’s words that say nothing. They hear someone promise again that this is the last time. They hear the sound of a generation giving up. They hear the sound of another one just beginning. They hear the lies we tell. They hear the truths that we don’t seem to. But the crows don’t believe in tragedy. The crows have seen and heard and smelled it all before. The crows have learned to see the beauty and live in grace, even in the filth and the mud, overpowering the smell of death with life’s vibrancy. Maybe the crows just sit there, watching us, waiting for the day when all our actions will come back to haunt us. Or maybe that cacophonous calling is just them laughing at us, like one laughs at a cheerful child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Maybe. Who knows? Only the crows I suppose.

I live in Kharkiv, Ukraine. Despite dozens of bombs falling on the city each week, severe disruptions to power and the local economy, the city continues to function almost as if there were no war at all. This is what Ukrainian victory looks like.  Every day that Ukrainian children learn without censorship, that artists and musicians express themselves without fear, that people walk safely in the streets, that people fall in love and start families, that cafes and restaurants and cultural sites remain open, that people continue to work hard to maintain Ukrainian cities and industry, is a victory against Russia. Every moment of Ukrainian happiness and fulfillment is a defeat for Putin, because it’s Russia’s jealousy of the prosperity of Ukraine that has brought on this war, which is why Putin continues to relentlessly target civilians in his quest to return Ukraine to Russian misery, as he did this week with his attack on the Epicentr market, or last week with his attacks on a village lakeside recreation area with no significant military value.  These attacks will continue because Russia cannot afford a free and prosperous Ukraine on its doorstep, a fact that has been cited by multiple analysts within both Russia and Ukraine. This is not a war of territorial acquisition, but an existential battle for the survival of Ukraine and its people, against the corrupt and corrosive influence of Russia and its oligarchic “feudal lords.” Therefore, victory will not happen on the battlefield, but on the farms and in the factories, in the cities and on the streets. Ukraine needs every able hand working the wheels of progress to generate every technological and strategic innovation it can muster. Ukraine needs a full mobilization of its society, especially its women, not for the purpose of putting bodies on the battlefield, but for completely revolutionizing its military-industrial complex and infrastructure to compete with the vastness of Russia. To do this, it also needs to liberalize its immigration laws and bring the brightest minds and strongest hands from around the world into the cause of Ukrainian innovation and production.  Both Russia and Ukraine face the challenge of leaving the 20th century behind them, and entering the era of modern warfare. Russia must be out-produced and outmaneuvered, by the entire Western world and Ukraine, over a period of time that could potentially span decades.  The Russian people and their leaders do not forgive or forget easily. Even if Ukraine were to liberate all its territories up to its 1991 borders, including Crimea, Russia would still be a threat to the peaceful existence of Ukraine and its people. The only way to stop Russia is to defeat them politically and economically. They will only stop when they have achieved their maximalist aims (which will take years), or when the costs of war become too burdensome (which will take years).  From living in Ukraine, I’ve learned that Russians and Ukrainians aren’t so different. Both will fight to the last man if it means protecting their territory. Both are able to endure immense suffering on a scale simply unimaginable to Western minds. Both still struggle with corruption, and stubbornly cling to the “drunk” Soviet strategies of mass war and power projection, that are more about pride and masculine ethos than rational thinking and cohesive logistics.   The only advantage Ukraine has is that it is smarter and more adaptable than Russia, but even a blind drunk monkey can climb a tree once and a while, and the Russians too can learn from their mistakes (at a rate of about 1 significant lesson per 1,000 war dead). Russia can afford to be stupid. Ukraine cannot. Ukraine must use every soldier and shell in its arsenal with inhuman accuracy and precision. It needs to leave the 20th century territorial mindset of war behind, and enter the modern era of cost-benefit analysis. Militarily, Ukraine needs to be attacking the enemy where they are not, disrupting Russian supply lines, significantly increasing the rate of defensive infrastructure construction and mine deployment, with the goal of making war so socially, economically, and mentally costly for Russian forces that it becomes unsustainable after a few years. The West needs to wake up and realize that it needs to remove all barriers to the use of NATO weapons and munitions against Russian targets, significantly improve industrial logistics, use all the tools in its tool belt to improve Ukrainian air-defenses, and possibly even establish a no-fly-zone west of the Dnipro River. But again, amateurs talk strategy, and professionals talk logistics. It’s not enough to debate bills and funding. NATO countries need to do the hard work of building new factories while reducing red-tape and regulations that prevent aid from reaching Ukraine in a strategically coherent timeline.  NATO and Ukraine also have to seriously decide what the next 10 years are going to look like, and work to create favorable conditions that speed up that timeline, instead of just being governed by the winds of fate, reacting to the entirely predictable sequence of events until it is too late.  I am not in favor of war. I believe the global military-industrial-complex is going to kill us all, but unfortunately, this war of aggression has forced us into a paradigm of decision-making that must fall into the military mindset. Until Russia is convinced or forced to stop being a bully and participate in the world-system in good faith, there can be no action on any global crisis, from climate change to the dangers of rampant, unregulated AI. As long as Russian boots continue their death march, entropy in the world-system will continue, and more and more countries will look to their historic areas of influence with hungry eyes and big egos. Russia has already declared a proxy war with NATO, and just as Russians will neither forgive nor forget Ukrainian resistance, Russia will not forgive those who supply Ukraine weapons that kill Russian soldiers. All NATO member-states are already targets of significant Russian operations and disruptions. Russia has been activating sleeper-cells all over the world, in a show of force, to demonstrate to NATO and its allies what they can look forward to in a future open-conflict with Russia. Countries like Germany are just now waking up to the “radical” idea that by supplying weapons to fight against Russia, they have become a target of Russia. No amount of hand-wringing or moderation of their aid to Ukraine will remove the Russian target on their back. This war will not end if Ukraine is defeated, only if Russia is. The days spent worrying about retaking territory are a waste of time. The rationale must change. The goal must be inflicting maximum damage to the Russian state, while reducing damage as much as possible to the Ukrainian state and its allies. Let Russia throw thousands of lives away for dozens of kilometers. Ukraine cannot afford to do so.  The liberation of Ukrainian territory should absolutely continue to be a war goal of the military and its Western allies, but victory will only come from stopping Russian aggression. No matter how many meters Ukraine is able to retake from Russia, the war will only end when Russia no longer has the will to fight. In the same vein, the idea that giving away Ukrainian territory will satisfy Russia is fantastical thinking.  As the Institute for the Study of War has clearly stated, the populations and leadership of both Russia and Ukraine still strongly believe that they have more to gain on the battlefield than at the negotiating table. Russia is in a period of aggressive expansion, and history shows that countries who engage in these behaviors only stop when the nations of the world force them to do so. Every day that the people of Ukraine are able to freely function without the repressive Russian regime is a victory, and a total rejection of Putin. President Zelenskyy and NATO leaders do themselves and the Ukrainian cause a significant disservice when they set the standard of victory at territorial acquisition, instead of the strategic defeat of the Russian state.  To do anything else is to give Putin a rhetorical victory every time he takes a village. Putin’s espoused goals remain the entire conquest and demilitarization of Ukraine, a task at which Russia still ultimately fails to achieve. Even a conquest of Ukraine to the Dnipro River would be a significant underperformance by the Russian military given its lofty war goals and its significant advantages over the much smaller nation of Ukraine.  Every day that even a single Ukrainian citizen is able to breathe free in the nation of Ukraine is a defeat for Russia.  The true victory for the Ukrainian people comes from living life every day DESPITE Russian aggression. This is the message Ukraine should be giving to its soldiers and war-widows: your friends and loved ones have not died for some village or kilometer of territory somewhere in the east, but for the continued prosperity and freedom of the people of Ukraine, for those little moments of joy in daily life that people can experience without the sound of Russian tanks rolling through their streets, without the trauma of Russian rape on their bodies, without dystopian Russian voices shouting orders through a megaphone, without the sounds and scenes of shattered cities and Russian “progress.” Every moment of Ukrainian joy is a victory against Putin and his toxic regime that can only be achieved by the united efforts of all Ukrainians, people working together to support their society and live well in spite of the bombs. These moments of life that people can experience without Russian evil, no matter how many bombs may fall around them, are like sunflowers blooming from the fields of death and decay, that have been nurtured by the blood of Ukrainian heroes.

[Note: Some names have been changed for privacy and security concerns.] There was a time in the summer of 2022, in Kyiv and Lviv, when Ukrainians heard the booming discord of anglophone voices reverberating through the streets, louder and more prevalent than their own native tongues. In Lviv, the haunting melody of violin and accordion competed for space with the bellowing cries of volunteer soldiers, whose booming, irreverent voices reverberated off the marble turn-of-the-century architecture. The people of Lviv had become used to the constant stream of drunk foreign men, but even they could not hide their shock at the sheer depravity sometimes on display.  I first came to Ukraine in July 2022, coming to Lviv from Krakow.  One hour off the bus and I got swept up into a sea of insanity drinking with volunteer soldiers. There’s nothing like it in the world. After a few Slava Ukraini shots a person will never be the same. The number of violations of cultural norms and social decency that I witnessed living among these wild-eyed-post-traumatic scoundrels is far too many to count. One American volunteer told me at the time, “I’m here because I’m a pirate.” And he looked like a pirate.  Being in Lviv that summer felt like a special moment, like being on the pulse of what was happening. The city was full of life. The streets were filled with people all the way up until curfew at 11 p.m. The mood was jovial and celebratory, a typical summer vivaciousness that everywhere else in the world takes for granted. Their very presence on the street was political, as if defiantly overcoming Russian aggression.  Right before curfew, young Ukrainians would gather in a public square, playing music and chanting, “Putin Huilo!” The imperial power of an American or British passport in Ukraine is undeniable. People are eager to talk to Americans or buy them a drink, just because they’re American. Back home these volunteer soldiers were criminals or forgotten veterans. In Ukraine they were heroes. Their unkempt bravado was both charismatic and inherently problematic. However, as the days turned into months, the sound of Yankee voices became less and less.  What happened to the chaos and passion of the volunteers who flooded Ukrainian streets that summer? “The thing of it is, yea, that a lot of these guys got their little moment of glory, and now they’re ready to go home,” Rod, a British former volunteer now fighting with the International Legion, told me. “The money ran out, yea? People abused it. Goodwill dried up. People either signed contracts and went east, or they left.” According to a report by Vice News, the number of volunteers “lining up” to join the Armed Forces of Ukraine has steadily dropped since the heyday of 2022. One anonymous source in the Ukrainian military even told Vice, “The romantics [who] were present in February [and] March are gone.” Despite this, the number of soldiers in Ukraine’s International Legion has actually increased—though the Ukrainian Military has not released an official number as of Oct. 11, 2023—with people coming in from more than 55 countries since the start of the war. According to Rod, part of this is due to the creation of new battalions by the Legion, as well as more people arriving from Latin America. But the idea that the romantics are gone really cuts to the heart of the situation. In the summer of 2022, most of the volunteer soldiers in Ukraine had yet to sign formal contracts with the military, many of them being financially supported by a wave of donations from Western countries. They were wild back then because they were free back then. They were on the pulse of this special moment in time, and they knew it. The Ukrainians granted them many liberties that would later be taken away once they were officially put on the payroll. “Once I started getting a paycheck, yea? Things changed. All of a sudden they didn’t treat me the same,” Rod said. Many of the liberties granted to volunteers also became increasingly problematic. Cullen, an American former volunteer who returned to the U.S. in 2023, told me there were a lot of people with questionable qualifications and abilities filtering through the volunteer system, and that he used to act as kind of a leader/facilitator to get the right people into the right situations, “so that everyone [got] their needs met.” These undisciplined volunteers often never actually went to the front, and spent most of their time drinking in Lviv or Kyiv. In some of the worst situations, people with little training or experience often blustered their way to the front, where they got themselves or other people killed or injured. On top of that, people sitting comfortably in Kyiv spent their time fundraising to support their decadent lifestyles, a habit of a few that proved costly to the many. Despite their vast range of offenses, the fact that even a source in the Ukrainian military would refer to these ragtag renegades as romantics is interesting in and of itself. Why do we find these would-be outlaws so romantic? What is it about their unchecked liberties and wild demeanors that stir such passion in our collective hearts and minds? “I mean we trained a lot of the police here at the time, so what were they gonna do?” Lars, an American former volunteer now back in the States, said. “I used to actually keep a key to the police cuffs they use in my pocket, for emergencies. Haven’t had to use it though.” International goodwill began to fade for the volunteer community. Corruption by some Private Military Corporations and the rise of more official channels of funding for the Ukrainian military led to the decline of the chaotic and free-wheeling volunteer era. Little by little the money ran dry, and little by little volunteer soldiers began to leave Ukraine. The volunteers who stayed were often absorbed by the Ukrainian military. More and more cities like Lviv and Kyiv found themselves emptied of the wild foreigners who had roamed their streets for months, as those people drifted east to various fronts, especially Bakhmut. “Funding is the biggest issue,” Cullen said. “My group stayed out of the military and worked to start an NGO, but just couldn’t drum up enough funding to survive. I worked for free for eight months and finally had to leave to get my finances together.” Lars expressed similar sentiments: “Money is the issue for me, or I would still be over there. Well that, and I had to come back and take care of the fam.” Ferguson, a Swedish former volunteer, now a contracted trainer in the 24th Mech Brigade, thinks that many people may have entertained aspirations that were alienated from the material realities on the ground in Ukraine. “I guess guys see how business is run here, or they run out of cash,” Ferguson said. “I think many miss being here.” The theme of the “good old days” was present in the words of many soldiers interviewed. “Yea, I miss them days,” Rod said. “I miss the people I was with, and the job I was doing. Things seemed to be a lot simpler.” “I’m jealous of the people still over there, man. I wish I was there,” Lars said. “Yes, I miss the sh*t out of it. Instructing in combat tactics is my passion,” Cullen explained.  Mykola Ponych, a Ukrainian filmmaker, spent most of 2022 on the front line. There he encountered many volunteer soldiers. He still has a high opinion of them.   “I know some from South America and Eastern Europe. They are extremely motivated,” he said. Andre Potanin, a painter and longtime Kyiv resident, spent a lot of time with foreigners, including volunteer soldiers. He and his friends drank many times with soldiers at Chornyy Kapitan, a bar in Old Kyiv. One such occasion even ended in a fight with a Ukrainian soldier. “My friends are a little crazy,” Andre admitted. “Things are different now.” Andre thinks that the apparent decline of foreigners in Ukraine might be a misrepresentation. He told me: “I don’t think there are less foreigners in Ukraine. On the contrary, there are more! But now these are people who travel to Ukraine on business.” People who travel to Ukraine for business are probably going to have different behaviors than rowdy posses of foreign soldiers. This different feeling can be felt walking the streets of Kyiv, which are calmer than in 2022. There are also noticeably fewer patrons at some of the major bars in Kyiv, such as Bochka Pub, Chornyy Kapitan and Buena Vista. “I noticed that Bochka is almost empty most nights,” Rod said. Part of the reason for the exodus of volunteers is that the passion of the war being new is over. “I think Ukraine is not as much in focus as it was at the beginning of this sh*t,” said Ilya, a Ukrainian software engineer living in Kyiv. “About the volunteers: I thank them for everything that they are doing.” The summer of 2022 was an absolutely unique moment in the history of Ukraine and the world. It was a calm in the storm, an interlude before the fall, a magical melody, performed on a stage that no longer exists. There was just so much pent up energy in the Ukrainian people released that summer.  “It was just a fun time to be alive,” Lars said. In Kyiv, so many people who faced death at the hands of Russian soldiers just a few months before came out to celebrate life in the face of aggression. Nightly chants and protests on Khreschatyk filled the air. No one knew what the future held, but even under the shadow of war, there was a vibrant optimism that the people and their freedoms would win, in a cosmic victory over the forces of oppression and corruption. Something had been set loose inside of the hearts of Ukrainians that would not allow itself to be put back in a cage. When Ukraine displayed the ruins of Russian war machines on Khreschatyk for Independence Day, crowds of people filled the street. Despite warnings not to congregate due to the threat of Russian strikes, Ukrainian music filled the air and little children climbed atop the rusty vehicles posing for photos by proud parents.  “We really experienced much more freedom after the war than we did before,” Ilya told me. “I am not the only one who feels this.” According to him, despite the Russian onslaught and advent of martial law, the issues of freedom for everyday Ukrainians and the battle against corruption took on more urgency as President Zelenskyy and other Ukrainian leaders framed the war as a battle for freedom against tyranny. Aspirations for EU membership were also a liberalizing factor. Andre also agrees that Ukraine is much more liberal now than before the war. “You can see it on the streets,” he explained. “We want freedom!” Both men worry that the forces within the Ukrainian oligarchy and the military will try to turn back the clock once the eyes of the world fade from Ukraine. What was the summer of 2022? A moment of cosmic justice for the people of Ukraine, or the last gasp of a “Free Europe” before the fall? How will we remember it? Will history look upon us kindly?  It was a manic-magical time. It was hard to be there without getting swept up by it. And there, caught up in the ecstasy of the moment, were the volunteer soldiers: pirates and poets, felons and fools, vikings and the vanguard. There were people and opportunities everywhere you looked, and there was never a dry moment. Ah, the summer of 2022! Looking back now at the chaos and fevered dreams of those days, I can’t help but miss it. As Cullen once told me back in that summer of 2022, “You’re crazy if you come to Ukraine, but you’re even crazier if you want to leave.”

You know people love to waste time regretting things that made them who they are today. Every night they go through the little moments in their head of every mistake they’ve ever made, as if they’d do differently if they had the chance to do it again, as if they’d know to do better without the lessons of the loss. In reality, every small moment of your life, every coincidence, every turn of fate, is responsible for everything that happens in your life: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Every experience is who we are. To regret any one of them, is to regret being yourself. And so I’m glad my mother had Huntington’s Disease! And I’m glad I have it! Because I am grateful to God and the cosmos for the person I am! And for becoming the person I dreamed of, I would have Huntington’s a hundred times more! I would bear the abuse and death of my mother again and again, until the end of time, just to be able to savor those sweet moments of manic bliss for which there are no words! Like hearing an unexpected saxophone play its last lonely note on a lonely street reminding me that all my life was worth it just to suffer so sweetly in this moment! Like the melancholy melody of a violin in a starving Slavic village, transcending the gray! Like a thousand hearts beating as one under the summer sun as electric symphonies absolve all sin and rock them to their f*cking souls! Like the view to be had from the top of the mountain! Like sharing a moment with that beautiful Mother of the Earth. Like feeling oneness with creation! Like stepping foot in La Plaza de Los Toros, the earth-shattering roar of the crowd welcoming back their conquering heroes! Or maybe it’s just whispering, “I love you,” to the moon. Who could harbor hard feelings after that? What shallow creature would not feel their cells quake with the joy of existence, with immense gratitude for whoever or whatever has created them? Those who do not understand have not lived! If there has never been a moment in your life so transcendent, so vivacious, so primordial, so full of soul; that you would not bear a thousand lashes just to experience it again, then my friends you have not lived! If there is not a moment in your life that you would bear all the trials and tragedies again and again for, then I beg and plead and preach to you: Go forth! Live wild! Put your ships in many storms, so that you sorry sailors may find a story worth living for! Wander until you are lost! Dream until it drives you crazy! Love until your heart breaks! Create until your fingers bleed! Savor the sun until it sets! Never lose that FEELING. Never lose that LOVE. Never lose the Grace of God. Never forget to honor the spirits. Never say sorry and always say thank you. Live every moment to the fullest and express your gratitude for all of it! May we all find a moment that was worth all the pain in existence! Pain is weakness leaving the body, and there is no greater weakness than refusing to love and be loved. I pity the people who have never suffered, suffered deeply, for they have never loved and never lived. Their lives are meaningless. Empty pleasure without purpose or pain is God’s true punishment to humankind. Light must bend for a rainbow to be born.

I read today that there’s an increasing gap between how Ukrainians think the war will end, and how the rest of the world does. It’s interesting because the Russians are infected with the same strange optimism as the Ukrainians. Both sides still believe that this war will be resolved on the battlefield, while the rest of the world believes it will end over conference tables and Zoom calls. On the Russian side, it’s easy to see why there is still a fervent commitment to this war of aggression: too much blood and silver has been lost to justify a partial victory. The value of the territory taken pales in comparison to the cost the Russian state and people must bear for decades, in the form of sanctions and opportunity cost, due to Putin’s war of choice. Also, billions have dollars have been spent to change the “modern” Russian economy into a permanent war economy, with 10-year war-plans as the guiding principle. Unfortunately for lovers of peace and free trade, this means that not only does Russia have no incentive to stop its militarization and expansionist policies all over the world, it also means that stopping the war-machine will cripple the Russian financial system that has now been wedded completely to the military-industrial complex. Putin is a believer in the old ways, and a preacher of the mythology of might is right. He’s the kind of person who reads about Attila the Hun saying, “Where my horse has trodden, no grass grows,” and gets goosebumps. As for Ukraine, people here are just not willing to accept that thousands upon thousands of their friends and family have died for basically nothing, after being given the first real chance to achieve vengeance against their oppressors in generations. The deal to sell away territory was still on the table in the early days of the war, but Ukrainians unanimously and unambiguously rejected such proposals in favor of conflict to the bitter end. Even today, 71% of Ukrainians oppose territorial concessions. For Ukraine, this is a crusade: a moral war against the forces of evil that cannot be stopped until evil is defeated, no matter the cost. Russians are no longer portrayed as human in the Ukrainian infosphere, but rather inhuman “orcs.” While this label may be completely justified, given the inhuman atrocities committed casually by Russian soldiers, as well as an official policy of rape and genocide, a society that views its opponents as inhuman child-raping monsters is not going to be easy to reason with. This paradigm becomes particularly problematic because there is no possibility for peace until Russia is defeated, and no strategic endgame other than vague notions of outlasting the aggressor. On the other side, most Westerners are still in absolute denial about both Russian and Ukrainian commitment to war. Their economic-rationalist-approach to conflict absolutely fails to penetrate the drives of this war, and the history and heritage of these two cultures that is soaked in righteous bloodshed and an Indo-European mythology of might is right. There is still an implicit understanding on both sides that fallen soldiers go straight to heaven, and that death on the battlefield is the highest honor. For people of this mindset, war is the purpose of life. And both of these peoples have been given their first righteous purpose in decades, a chance to right historical wrongs and redeem themselves and their society through blood and honor, faith and sacrifice. Who are we to take that away from them?

#1: Affordability Ukraine is one of the cheapest countries on Earth for people on an American pay-scale. Utilities, internet, and phone plans combined  total around $15-20 a month. Groceries for a single person can run anywhere from $30-50 a week. In terms of rent, every city in Ukraine is different. But most apartments outside of Kyiv, including the lovely Lviv, the gateway to Ukraine near the Polish border, go anywhere from $200-500 a month. Using Ukrainian apps such as OLX, you can easily find $100 a month apartments in most cities. Property is also available for purchase by foreigners. Apartments can go anywhere from $3,000-$10,000, with luxury and penthouse options going much higher. Housing prices vary depending on the location, but it’s possible to buy a cottage in Ukraine for much cheaper than almost anywhere in the world. One American friend I know owns a 3-bedroom, one-bathroom house on an acre in the country in Poltava Oblast for around $86,000. He furnished the entire house for under $3,000. Cars go anywhere from $1,000-4,000 for a quality used vehicle, and $10,000 gets you a rebuilt Tesla, which are extremely popular here. I’ve seen dozens of Teslas on the road in every major city of Ukraine, including Kharkiv. Ukrainians are highly skilled at repairing and remodeling totaled vehicles sent over from the United States and Europe. Also, car insurance is less than $200 a year. So, Ukraine is definitely not expensive. #2: Opportunity Ukraine is a country at war, and as such, has many needs. Even people considered low or unskilled in their home countries can find plenty of opportunities for work and money in Ukraine, especially as a native English speaker. While the money made in Ukraine is often much less than in the United States, the extremely low cost of living actually makes the savings rate for foreigners here higher than in their former towns and cities. Many volunteers and soldiers don’t pay rent at all, having negotiated apartments from local communities. Education is another form of opportunity offered by Ukraine. Ukrainian education is much cheaper than its European and American counterparts. Degrees from Ukrainian universities are coveted by people from the Global South, especially Africa, the Middle East, and India. Many students from Africa are still studying in Kharkiv, the major university city in East Ukraine, just 10 or 20 miles from the Russian border. Ukraine is a land in chaotic disruption, but it is also a blank canvas full of adventure. It’s the largest country in Europe, and the cancellation of all flights to Ukraine has made this vast expanse of steppes, rivers, forests, and fields seem even more vastly expansive. The trains now required to cross the country feel like something from an age gone by. This is either the first or last free place on Earth for the adventuring kind. People who hunger for blood or their little taste of war will find it here. And people who just want to do something that matters will find it here too. There’s fun and fear and fantasy everywhere you look. It’s an open world with a unique experience that you can’t find anywhere else. #3: Healthcare Healthcare in Ukraine is technically free for basic treatment and emergency care. Full-coverage costs less than $100 a year. Medicines here are nearly free by American standards, and you don’t need a prescription for most things. Wound-care and many surgeries are just as effective as Western alternatives. And while some complex issues may still require a Western doctor (mostly just for the tech), the price of a quick trip to Poland or Germany (where healthcare is also cheaper than the U.S.) is well-worth paying less than $200 for insurance each year. #4: Ukrainian Generosity Ukrainians are some of the most generous people I have ever encountered. Countless times in my travels here, I have been saved by the goodwill of the people. And how could I pay them back with any ill-feelings after that? My dad has a saying about people who are generous, “They’d give you the shirt off their back.” And I can’t think of any quote that reflects the Ukrainian spirit more than that. They really would give you the shirt off their back. They’re not necessarily the warmest or the kindest, or the most open, but when you need a hand a Ukrainian will be there to offer it. #5: Glory Ukraine is at the forefront of history. The people who come here now will be the ones making that history, in the cities and on the frontlines, on the farms and in the factories, in the schools and on the streets. There’s no better place on Earth to face your fears, and there’s never been a better time to challenge yourself and your abilities. This is the place where people find glory. The world is getting more and more dangerous. Nowhere seems truly safe from the chaos anymore. All we can do now is prepare for the rain as best we can. We can face our fears today, or let them chase us until tomorrow, but either way: something’s gotta give. I’m here in Ukraine because what’s happening here today is going to happen to the world tomorrow. I need to face it, and experience it, so that I may have the skills and confidence to face tomorrow. It’s not easy, and it’s not safe. But neither is the world. Because the world was made for heroes. And life was made for legends like us. Heroyam Slava! Glory to heroes!

“Why are you here?” That’s the first question Ukrainians always ask me. It’s a question often asked of foreigners: volunteers, soldiers, journalists, and expats; the kinds of people who come to Ukraine in its “time of need.” The question is especially poignant for those of us privileged enough to come from affluent countries, who have left much of that privilege behind, in order to live in a world of smoke and sirens and the sounds of death and destruction, of stark scenes and shattered dreams. What they’re really thinking is, “Who in their right mind would leave their safe and sunny homeland to come to war-torn Ukraine?” As it turns out, quite a few of us… All of us are here for different reasons, and yet all of us are the same: wild, reckless, foolish, dangerous and deadly dreamers. People who were freaks or felons or fools in their homeland come to this country and are rechristened as heroes. It’s an addictive feeling, especially for those of us who felt forgotten by our society, looked down upon by the people we knew, undervalued or devalued for failing to live up to a code or standard we never could quite reach, and yet was always there, just beyond our fingertips, like a golden castle towering above our island of misfit toys, a reminder of everything we could never touch. It doesn’t feel like that in Ukraine. This place is pregnant with possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what you might find here. Every day is different and can’t be taken for granted. It’s one of the last places on Earth where you can still find adventure like in the stories. Mystery and magic stalk the land just as madness and misery stalk the battlefield. Despite the war going on, people here treat me with respect and civility, and are honored just to shake my hand. In Ukraine, I feel valued just for being alive, which is very counter to the American need to justify one’s every breath to society. In Ukraine, we’re all in the same, bullet-ridden boat. We all bear the weight of the war. We all put our bodies on the line, however unequally, and in this country that makes every single one of us heroes. Whether or not we deserve that label rests in the judgment of better eyes than mine. Every day we fail to live up to our ideals, and yet every day we get a little closer to them. Even someone who has “wasted” their life in the eyes of modern society, may one day find that their whole life was meant for just one moment, that moment when they stood for something, that moment when they lived for something, that moment when they died for something. Nothing is ever a waste. Everything is part of the process. Every failure of humanity is required for every moment of glory. Heroyam Slava! Glory to the Heroes!

This last weekend has been kind of hard on me. It may take years to recover. Sonya left me all alone to visit her village just outside of Kharkiv. She wouldn’t let me come because her uncle is a toxic alcoholic who makes everyone around him drink and smoke cigarettes and party until 4-in-the-morning, and I am also a person who’s been known to drink and drag the occasional pivo and cigarillo. Therefore, in the best interest of her mental health, Sonya decided to deal with one drunken idiot at a time, lest her troubles be multiplied. I spent my Sonya-free weekend at the art shows. We smoked and drank beer at each event as they all blurred together in between my speaking clubs. I ended up partying away the curfew a few nights. The amount of alcohol  was actually minor. It was the tyun-tyun that got me. VERE, INNUMERIS SIGARRA… Truly, countless cigarettes… Too much tyun-tyun for Thomas the Tank Engine. The Little Train that Could could only hang so long before he had to tap out. How many cigarettes can you bum before you buy a pack that only lasts an hour? How many people in one group can have a pack of smokes but no lighter? And when will we all finally bring enough beer and cigarettes to the event like responsible human beings? The world may never know. On Saturday, there was a feminist/LGBTQIA+~=•#/&@-:^*€£¥$X art exhibit at a basement bomb-shelter or Ukryttia that now serves as the Kharkiv Municipal Art Gallery. There were almost 20 cops on standby with AK47s in case some far-right folk or lone-wolves wanted to make an incident. No such incident happened but it was a strange scene. There more cops than people at the event 🤣🤣🤣 The picture of the Ukrainian woman lighting a cigarette with a Molotov reminds me of certain Sonya, but of course, she doesn’t smoke. She just throws Molotovs when the mood is right…

Today I’m going back out to the brick “mines.” Yesterday, I was organizing bricks and stacking them in square formations. I wasn’t even given a job, I just came and started helping and saw a need for the bricks to be stacked. Also after I started doing it for a while, I came up with a system to be more efficient, where I would only stack the bricks on the outside of the square. Afterwards I would throw the half bricks, broken bricks, and weird bricks in the center to fill up the space and organize everything. After that, they gave me a team of students who spoke a little English to manage and we probably collectively moved 500 bricks, with myself sitting pretty at around 300. Keeping this one short today…

“Hey so if anyone is available today and/or the next few days, we could really use extra hands to help us at the school with changing windows and general clean up. Thanks!” Francis, my Canadian friend, texted our group in the aftermath of the destruction of Boiko School where he taught before the Russians decided to destroy it. Apartment buildings and playgrounds were also damaged by the blast of a massive glide-bomb strike that totally destroyed a third of the school, while severely damaging the remaining facilities. “What time?” I asked. “Anytime you can get here,” he replied. And that’s how I ended up knee-deep in dust and debris, reaching my arms down into crevices and gaps under fallen pieces of wall and roof trying to salvage the good bricks for reuse. They also had us collect all the metal we could grab. The stuff that couldn’t be moved by hand was collected by a loader. I probably collected and stacked 200 bricks yesterday. I ended up using a rake I had salvaged from the debris and a brush to clear off the little bits of brick and debris so I could the clean white color of the usable bricks. I’m going to be helping more this week, but I’m not really sure what the schedule is. I’ve got to go back out this morning, so I’m keeping this one short today!

I paddled down the Kharkiv River under an open sky. The wind was calm. The sun shone brightly. The world was peaceful. And then it wasn’t. An explosion erupted suddenly less than 2 kilometers away. A smoky-black mushroom sprouted over the city skyline to the north. I was completely exposed in the middle of that wide section of river. Without the typical city architecture and complexes to shield me, the volume and feeling of the percussion were overwhelming. I could feel them in my blood. I heard the deep whistle of a projectile, which told me there’d be another strike. It came just as swiftly, a double tap. Another mushroom of black smoke joined its misbegotten twin at the same location in the skyline. “Of course this f*cking happens when I don’t have my phone on me,” I shook my head in wonder, still staring at the smoky sky. Just an hour before, I had been chilling on a tourist beach with my girlfriend Sonya at Акважур (Akvazhur), a refuge for the people of Kharkiv from the oppressive heat and trauma of these dog days of summer and war. The dogs of war keep barking, but the people of Kharkiv have long since become used to them. If they couldn’t adapt, then they would’ve left like everyone else. It was on this beach, a lean luxury afforded to the survivors, that I decided to rent a paddleboard for an hour. Sonya didn’t want to come, so I was left to my own devices, which, in my general experience, means something crazy is about to happen. Clad only in my red swim-shorts, I began to ease my way into the rhythm of the paddle, still close to shore and in sight of the beach packed with Ukrainian friends and families, with bars and recreation areas worthy of weekend warriors. I tried to wave to Sonya, but she didn’t see me. I paddled across the river. The speed at which I managed to paddle afforded me the arrogance to go further out. I continued on with the wind and current at my back under the overpass at Heroiv Pratsi. A part of me worried that I might be going too far out to get back in time for my rental, but I decided that if I did go over the limit, I could always just pay more. It was only 250 UAH ($6.25) after all… The other side of the river was sheltered from the wind. Its serene beauty was humbling. It wasn’t the Dnipro River, but the homely houses and cabins along the shore felt simple and welcoming. The world was surreal, and I stopped just to breathe it in for a little while. I made my peace with the world and kept rowing down the river. As I drifted a little closer to shore, I glimpsed a shirtless fisherman casting his line into the water. There had been many fishermen along the banks of the river, even near Акважур, but something about this one was different. At first, I thought he was just wearing khaki shorts. But then I saw his tiny penis. And then I saw his naked wife helping him fish. Their bronze skin made them look like twins. Garbed in golden sun they almost looked like spirits of the harvest. Their demeanor wasn’t at all sexual, but casual in the extreme, like they’d been naked all their lives, and would look stranger in clothes. “Huh, well, guess they’re just a liberated couple. Good for them,” I thought to myself. But then I saw their friends. “This is a god-damned tribe of nudists!” I realized. The first couple had made their fishing hole in a secluded spot on the bank, somewhat obscured by the reeds and tall grass, but the rest of their gathering was a little less secluded atop a little hill nearby at the tip of a peninsula. Here were more children of the sun, bronze-tanned and middle-aged, letting it all hang out for only a loving God to judge. There were probably 7, including the first couple, maybe more. Pretty sure I saw about 3 women and 4 men. The area in between the fishing spot and the gathering could also have hidden more naked forms behind the grass. “Welcome to Europe,” sardonically crossed my mind. I nodded to the fisherman respectfully as I passed. “This is the kinda shit that happens to me,” I smiled. The others just made eye contact with me from a distance before going about their day. “Oh, man. Wait till I tell Sonya about this,” I grinned excitedly. I continued paddling down the river a little further. Once past the nudist peninsula, the whole section of river came into view. “Should probably start heading back,” I muttered. I took one last long look at the beautiful view before turning around. That was when the bombs struck. There was the first. Then the whistling zoom of a projectile warping the air. The second greeted us seconds later. The river itself quaked and air whooshed across it. Smoke from two mushroom clouds rose over the horizon. I looked to my left to see the nudists gazing out at the smoky skyline. I expected to see maybe shock or surprise, but I just saw tired faces. “Oh, man. This is gonna be a story,” I shook my head in disbelief. I paddled back towards Акважур. I hurried, worried about further strikes. My thoughts drifted to Sonya. “I was kind of worried about being here in a public place like this, after everything that’s happened,” she told me earlier, when we had first arrived at the beach. “Yea, I mean they’ve been hitting lots of recreation places lately,” I agreed. “It’s crazy,” she sighed. “They even hit that recreation area by the lake in that one village in Kharkiv Oblast,” I reminded her. “Yea, that was a gender reveal party for a military family. It just goes to show that if you’re associated with the military, nowhere is safe. Russia has eyes everywhere,” she told me. “Man, could you imagine if the beach gets hit today? That’d be INSANE!” I exclaimed. “Let’s hope it does not happen,” Sonya agreed. Thinking back on it now, I hoped that I wouldn’t see a plume of smoke rising up from the overpass. The consequences of such a strike would have been unimaginable. Luckily, no such plume came, and I kept rowing back at a good pace. Going underneath the overpass again was a trip. The cavernous area underneath felt ominous with its faint, yet ever-present rumble rippling through the concrete from the street above. “What if they hit this while I’m down here?” I wondered. I didn’t wait long enough to find out. I rowed like crazy until I could feel the sky above my head. Once I was out of the overpass and into the open water, I began to calm down. Seeing that my world had not yet been destroyed, it was back to business as usual. Welcome to Ukraine. I decided I was a little hot and jumped in the water for a quick swim. I gazed at the Акважур beach in the distance. The scenes and sounds of people still vigorously swimming, laughing, and playing; despite the bombs falling all around them, was a testament to the Ukrainian Spirit. I mean, these people have been through so much hardship, and still manage to live and laugh more than most places in the “privileged” West. And while people this far east have always found it hard to smile, when they let themselves go and no one’s looking, they smile just as warmly as the rest of us. As I paddled closer to shore, I saw Sonya waving in the distance for me to return. I pulled up at the dock and gave up my paddle. Walking on the sand burned my feet because it was so hot. I started to run back to where Sonya sat with our towels on an old wooden beach-lounger that probably was made in the days of the Soviet Union. She waved as I ran up. “Finally! You’re back,” she hugged me. “Did you hear the explosions?” I nodded excitedly, “You will not believe what happened!” She continued, “The Russians have attacked the grid. The power is out at our apartment and much of the city. The metro is not working. I don’t know if the trams are still working.” “Maybe we should just stay here and take a taxi later. There’s food and a bar, and everything’s chill here,” I suggested. “We’ll see. I definitely want to stay here for now,” she replied. “But babe, you will NOT believe what happened!” I got us back on track. “Is it a long story?” Sonya raised her eyebrows. “Well… I mean…” I began. “Give me the short version of it,” she said matter-of-factly. “You always want me to listen to every detail of your stories, and you never want to hear mine,” I laughed. “Babe, your stories start like, ‘In 1873, my great-grandfather was born, and that’s how I ended up doing lots of drugs… which is how I ended up living in Mexico… which is how I got to Ukraine,’” she ripped on me. “Okay, fine. I’ll try to make this quick,” I joked. “Focus on the key details,” she insisted. “So, I was out paddling on the river, past the overpass, and I sailed by this fisherman…” I started. “Here we go again,” she shook her head impatiently. “He was shirtless. Which is normal. Because most of the fishermen here are shirtless,” I continued, ignoring her. “Get to the point, babe,” she warned. “But then I noticed, that he was a little different. I thought he was wearing like, some kind of khaki-flesh-colored shorts, but then I saw his tiny penis,” I went on. “What?” Sonya asked, surprised. “He was NAKED!” I exclaimed. “Hospeet,” she shook her head. “Yea… and then I saw his naked wife! And his naked friends! It was a whole nudist clan!” I proclaimed. “Cringe. I can’t believe they were doing that on the river. I mean what if a family or some child paddled that way?” Sonya asked aghast. “I mean, they were pretty far-out. There was a reasonable amount of cover. Pretty sure they were locals. It felt like they came there regularly,” I explained. “Freaks,” Sonya seethed. “Do you think they would let us join their tribe?” I asked deadpan. “Hospeet, no,” she replied. “You don’t want to join the clan?” I asked emphatically. “Nooooooo…” she moaned. “Oh, well,” I shrugged. “I need to go to the bathroom,” Sonya grumbled irritably. “I’ve been waiting here for you with our stuff.” I winced. I hadn’t thought of her needs in the slightest. “Sorry,” I replied. “It’s okay,” she nodded. “How long was I gone?” I asked. “Maybe 40 minutes,” she figured. “Go to the bathroom! I’ll watch the stuff,” I assured her. We spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach until it started to get cloudy. “It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Sonya explained. “Really? The weather’s been so crazy,” I replied. “Yea,” she admitted. “Welcome to Kharkiv,” I joked. “Don’t make fun of Kharkiv,” she insisted. We left Акважур and tried to see if we could still catch a tram. As luck would have it, we made a one-in-a-million score and managed to get ourselves onboard the last tram. But our luck turned when that tram stopped at Hidropark, and the female driver declared that was as far as she was going that day. When Sonya asked her how to get to Kyivskyy Station from there, the salty old lady just scowled at her silently. “Ugh, I can’t believe she didn’t answer me,” Sonya seethed. “Probably time for a cigarette,” I joked ironically. However, my irony would soon become all too real as we watched the tram driver go around the little bend in front of us, turn off the tram, get out, and light up a cigarette. “Classic Ukraine,” I declared. “Ugh, so frustrating,” Sonya agreed. Another woman came up to the tram driver to ask for help and directions, but was quickly turned away. She came and asked us directions, but then didn’t listen to Sonya’s answers and just kept on walking. “That was strange. That lady was a little bit odd,” Sonya said afterward. “She’s probably dehydrated, since you Europeans never drink water,” I theorized. “Oh, you are so smart, you hydrated American. You are right about everything,” Sonya sarcastically seethed. “Of course!” I laughed. “These trams are so crazy,” Sonya admitted. “Actually, only my grandmother truly understood them. There’s tram 27… but then there’s 27-A and 27-B, and so many others that just don’t make sense to me.” I nodded, “That’s some Ukrainian Nonsense, right there.” “Fine, fine. Make your jokes,” Sonya smiled. We had to walk like 40 minutes after an already active day. We could have taken a taxi home, but we needed to go to Sonya’s grandma’s house because Sonya wanted to pick berries. Because berries are delicious. Because you can make pies and teas and compotes with berries. Because berries are the best, and fresh berries are even better. Because a couple kilos of berries are worth the walk. And because the metro was out, because of Russian aggression, because taxi drivers form an informal union by not accepting certain prices under favorable market rates, and because it was getting late; a taxi home would be very expensive. So, Sonya only wanted to take one. So we walked. And walked. And walked. It was a long way, the kind of distance the European mind shrugs off, that the American mind would never allow. Keep in mind, Sonya and I’s first date was 10 miles of walking throughout Kharkiv in a 6-hour period. This is Ukraine, people. It doesn’t pay to be a p*ssy. We finally got to Sonya’s grandma’s house. It was a nice little cottage in one of the many sections of Kharkiv that could almost be mistaken for a Ukrainian village. The backyard was a garden teeming with life and delicious fruits and vegetables. “I want to get out of here before anyone comes home. I still have stuff to do back at the apartment.” Sonya told me. “And I don’t want my dad or uncle to suck you into drinking beer.” This had happened on more than one occasion. “Yea, we can just get the berries and head back to the apartment,” I agreed. The berries turned out to be currants. I had never eaten a currant before. The black ones tasted a bit like wild grapes, and the red ones had a nice sour flavor. We picked bunches of berries off the bushes for the next hour. What a strange, surreal world! One moment, I’m in the middle of the Kharkiv River getting bombed by Russians with only nudists for company, and the next I’m sitting in my girlfriend’s grandma’s garden, peacefully picking berries. We had almost gotten ourselves a couple kilos of currants when the gate to the house opened. Sonya’s dad and his new wife had come home. They didn’t expect us, but were very happy that we came. Sonya’s stepmom introduced herself in the best English she could muster and had Sonya ask me all sorts of questions about being American and from California. Her dad brought out the snacks in classic Ukrainian fashion, and poured me a beer and cider for his daughter. Sonya was not so happy. She argued back-and-forth with her father about how she needed to go home before finally relenting. We would end up drinking many beers, and Sonya’s dad would scrounge up sausage and left-overs to make a little meal for everyone. I helped him cut wood for the barbecue. After a couple glasses of beer, I bummed a cigarette from him. “Again?” Sonya asked knowingly. “Haha! Yup,” I replied. Sonya’s stepmom asked about my family. “I have two sides of my family: my mom’s side and my dad’s side,” I explained, and Sonya translated. “My mom’s side of the family is a little bit more religious and proper, and my dad’s side of the family are basically redneck-forest-people. We have a family property in the forest in California that we go to, to build cabins, cut down trees, hunt and do outdoor sports.” Sonya took much longer to translate than for me to speak. Also, the conversation generated questions that Sonya was able to answer, adding to its length. The subject meandered back to Ukraine. “And when did you come to Ukraine last year? September?” Sonya asked, going back to English. “Yea, but I was here for a month in 2022, in Lviv and Kyiv,” I reminded her. “How did you first come to Ukraine again?” She asked. “Well… I had planned a trip to Europe before the war, but when some stuff happened and the war started, I decided to change my schedule and come to Ukraine,” I explained. “And how did you get to Ukraine?” She asked “Well, actually… I had no money when I first came to Ukraine because I had my phone and wallet stolen in the Running of the Bulls 7 days before,” I continued. “You did what?” Sonya was confused. “What do you mean? I did the Running of the Bulls in Spain. And I got my phone and wallet stolen. I’ve told you this hella times!” I exclaimed in shock. “What are ‘bools?’” Sonya smiled. Everyone started laughing. “Bulls. Toros. Cows. With horns,” I described, putting my fingers on my head to act out being a bull. Sonya did her best to translate. Her dad and stepmom, being a little older, were old enough to be more familiar with bullfighting. They tried to explain the concept to her in Ukrainian. “And what do you do with these ‘bools?’” She asked me. “You run with them! In the streets! People run with the bulls and get gored and gouged and killed and shit! And then they fight the bulls in the arena!” I continued passionately. “Oh, wow,” she nodded. “Like my cousin who called us the other day when we were in Odesa? He and I ran. So did our friends. I CANNOT believe that after dating for 3 months, I have not told you this story! All the times you get mad at me for forgetting minor details of life, and you don’t even know your boyfriend did the Running of the Bulls!” I ranted. “Well, I remember you saying something about ‘bools,’ but I didn’t understand what you meant,” she admitted bashfully. “You’re so funny,” I laughed. “So, what did you do after you lost your phone and wallet?” Sonya wondered. “Cocaine,” I replied. “No, really,” she insisted. “No, really. After my stuff got stolen, an Australian guy I was with said, ‘You look like you need a bump,’” I told her. “Okay, but I’m not going to translate that,” Sonya explained, referring to her family. “Well, actually, I had no cards that worked in Ukraine, so I had to send myself money using Moneygram, but when I got to Lviv it was the weekend and all the banks were closed. I only had a package of soups, so I basically went hungry for 3 days,” I continued. “That’s crazy,” she commented. “Yea! This is how I met Rod and all those other volunteer soldiers, but me and Rod were going to Kyiv and most of the other people were staying in Lviv, so Rod ended up staying with me for a month in an apartment I had rented on Airbnb,” I told her. Sonya started translating the whole story more completely for her family. We spent the rest of the evening and into the night eating food and drinking beer. Drops of rain began falling from the sky. They began to pour harder and harder, tapping and rattling across the glass awning we were safely sitting under in the garden. Water gushed from the rooftop. Soon thunder and lightning began to play their part in the chorus, a grand finale for a glorious day. I got a text from my friend from Canada who teaches English in Kharkiv. His school, Boiko, had been completely destroyed by Russian bombs in massive attacks that day. It was right in the center of the city. I was supposed to begin training to teach at his school come August. Luckily, no one was at the school due to summer break, but now, they don’t even know if they can resume operations by September. Boiko is a well-known private school for the wealthy and talented. It could be that the Russians targeted it due to some ties to Ukrainian politicians, businessmen, or soldiers; but it’s impossible to know for sure. “My school that I’m supposed to work for got blown up,” I showed Sonya the pictures. “Oh, no. That’s so sad,” she reacted seriously. Thinking we needed a distraction, Sonya’s dad showed us a couple artifacts in his collection hanging on the wall inside. “This mace was used in battle some thousands of years ago. And this axe was used around the birth of Christ,” Sonya explained. “And what’s this?” I asked, pointing to a document in Russian on the wall. “That’s a note of passage. My father sailed around Finland and the Arctic. This note is dated 1990,” Sonya answered. “Wow, that’s crazy,” I told her and her dad. He smiled and nodded proudly. “I want to go soon,” Sonya told me. “Okay, no problem,” I nodded. We called a taxi but it took forever to find one in the deluge and in the aftermath of the attacks. For a moment, I almost thought we’d be stuck there for the night, but when we upped the price to 200 UAH ($5.00), we finally got a taxi. We said our farewells to her family, and rode into the rainy night. No more nudists or bombs on the river or futures lost, the day was over. The rain lulled me to sleep.

Today, the sweet Sonechko and I are going to her friend's wedding. The ceremony will be held at the Kharkiv registry office, a common phenomenon in war-torn Ukraine. Opulent ceremonies and grand public events are very much muted since the war broke out in 2022. You’re more likely to see funerals than weddings. The cities of Ukraine have had to adapt to war in all its aspects, but these changes are unique to each city. All of these cities have faced adversity and losses, but these experiences have had a different scale and effect on each city. Even Lviv, though its losses are minimal compared to other Ukrainian cities, has had major museums and buildings targeted by Russian strikes. And every city, no matter how safe, still has to lose its sons and daughters to the war. Lviv and Odesa are still a bit lively. Kids still roam the streets. Tour guides still lead large groups to proudly show off their city’s grandeur. Shops and markets are mostly open. More rockets and drones strike Odesa than either Lviv or Kyiv, and yet if you visited Odesa today in 2024, the beaches are full and the bars are active. Tourism is BOOMING. Compared to Odesa, Kyiv is a guilt-ridden and repressed city, even compared to just back in the summer of 2022. Public displays of joy and festivity are considered by some sad souls to be a betrayal of the heroes (Even though it’s often the heroes returning from the frontlines who wish to celebrate the most). The lack of serious war experienced by many since ‘22, combined with privilege and affluence, leads people to feel anxious and existential about their lifestyles. Kharkiv is a different beast altogether. Mercilessly under siege since 2022, merely by living in Kharkiv, the people here are doing their part for the war, especially now that Russia has espoused the goal of turning this city into an unlivable wasteland. There’s no guilt here. Any loss of activity or energy comes from pragmatism rather than dogma. People are actually happier and more celebratory here than in Kyiv, despite the disruptions. Cafe culture here will not die until the last true child of Kharkiv flees the city, no matter how many bombs the Russians send. The population of Kharkiv, being a university town, is also much younger than Kyiv and the other cities of Ukraine. This youthful liberal energy probably plays a part in the city’s culture. In fact, after the ceremony, Sonya and I are going to the wedding party at a nearby restaurant in the center of Kharkiv, a place where not so very long ago, Russian boots trampled through the streets, artillery shells rained down upon the square, and firefights tore through the buildings. What a time to be alive!