I Hope Your Family is Safe

‘I hope your family is safe.’

I’ve heard these words so many times since the beginning of the Russian full-scale invasion of my homeland, and I still don’t know how to reply. What is safety in a country at war?

I was born and raised in Ukraine and left my country nine years ago — first for Poland, and later for Germany. Since then, I have never felt the urge to return as strongly as I do today. To see how my homeland has changed. To look beyond the simplified image Western media create, portraying Ukrainians as mere victims trapped in tragic circumstances. To challenge the pity I see in people’s eyes when they get to know my origin. What is my Ukraine today?

I can’t find words, and I am looking for visual hints. A window damaged by a rocket attack, trenches where my dad underwent military training, a wedding suit and mourning scarves hanging side-by-side at the market. I hear that our neighbour’s brother was killed on the frontline and that my uncle has been mobilized. I see a black-and-white photograph of my childhood friend in the alley of fallen defenders, accompanied by a remembrance candle.

Here, death is at every corner, and yet, so is life. A full public beach on a Sunday afternoon; a friend’s newborn baby; my grandma’s garden. Ukrainians fall in love, adopt dogs, volunteer, and celebrate birthdays. There is love, there is joy, and there is beauty that coexists with enormous pain and tragedy. I see my people in all their resilience, dignity, and desire to be free.

In my country, filled with trauma and torn by the war, I feel as alive as anywhere else. I am unsafe because of Russian rockets flying over my head. I am safe because it is my home.