On February 24, 2022, I wrote almost nothing. After waking up to the sound of Russian rocket explosions in Kiev, I stood in my apartment window for about an hour, staring at the empty street, aware that the war had begun, but still could not accept this new reality. I did not write anything in the following days. The road, first to Lviv and then to the Carpathian Mountains, was unimaginably long due to endless traffic jams. A sea of cars from all over the country poured into the narrow highway funnel heading west. All of them were trying to escape to save their families from the brutality of war.
But when we arrived in Uzhhorod, where some of our friends welcomed us into their home, I sat at someone else’s desk and turned on my computer, not to write but to read the notes and texts I had taken in the last two months. . . . I was trying to discover in them a premonition of this war. I found much more in those notes than I expected.
February 23, 2022
In recent weeks, many Ukrainians have specialized in military matters. Me too. I know that an advancing army loses ten to one; that is, the losses of those who defended the region were one-tenth of those who advanced. My friends sent me a screenshot of a Russian public contracts website. According to the screenshot, Burdenko, Moscow’s main military hospital, is trying to get forty-five thousand body bags. The medical term “pathology bags” is used in the tender. The figure is roughly the same as that of a former Russian general who stated that Russia was prepared to lose as many as 50,000 soldiers during an offensive in Ukraine. I forwarded this screenshot to a friend who understands public procurement systems. “Wrong,” he replied. Hundreds of thousands of body bags are ready for a long time!” As I write this, I see reports that Putin recognizes not only “republics” but “constitutions” as well. These “constitutions” state that the territory of the “republics” includes the entire Donetsk Oblast and the entire Luhansk Oblast. As I’m reading this right now, it’s like the war was much closer.
February 24, 2022
LAST BORSCH IN KIIV
Last night, between phone calls, I was preparing borsch for some guest journalists. I was hoping Putin wouldn’t interrupt our dinner. I didn’t. decided to attack Ukraine with missiles at five in the morning. Clashes also broke out in the Donbas, and there were attacks elsewhere, one from Belarus. We are already at war with Russia. But in Kiev, metro works and cafes are open. It has just been reported that Ukraine has cut off diplomatic relations with Russia. Since the start of the war, the Ukrainian army has shot down six Russian planes and two helicopters. It is clear that we have great losses. If before the Russian attack the situation changed every day, now it changes every hour. But I’m still here and I will continue to write for you so you know how Ukraine lived during the war with Putin’s Russia. Stay safe wherever you are.
March 1, 2022
THE MOMENT HAS COME
It was hard to believe that the war had begun. It was obvious by now, but I refused to believe it. You have to get used to the idea that it starts psychologically. Because from that moment on, war determines your way of life, the way you think, the way you decide.
The day before the war started, our children, including our daughter, who had flown from London, went with friends to the beautiful city of Lviv in western Ukraine. They wanted to visit the cafes, museums and medieval streets of the old town.
March 2
DON’T FORGET ME WITH A Smile
The day before the war began, I met my old friend Boris, an Armenian artist and now a citizen of Ukraine, who has lived in Kiev with his Ukrainian wife for thirty years. He has been a cancer patient for a long time. Boris looked confused. He had just come out of the hospital where he had just had an operation: “You know what? -Complained-. I have serious memory problems! I bought myself a gun to defend Kiev after the previous operation. My wife forbade me to have it at home. I gave it to a friend to keep, but I don’t remember which one. I’ve asked everyone but they all say I didn’t give them guns. One of Boris’ problems is that he has too many friends. Half of Kiev adores him; trusts everyone and likes to talk to anyone about any topic. I don’t know if he found his gun, but I’m sure he’s helping the army somewhere. Maybe stuff sandbags for barricades, maybe dig trenches. Another friend of mine, Valentin, is in the hospital. He himself is a doctor, but already retired. He had diabetes for many years and recently contracted the coronavirus. Complications arose and doctors had to amputate first his right leg and then his left leg. He was in intensive care on the eighth floor, where I visited him regularly. His wife was terrified that the Russians would attack the upper floors of the hospital with rockets or bombs and had him transferred to the fourth. It’s still there. His wife is close. Cook for him every day. There are almost no patients left in the hospital. And almost no medicine. […]
Our last nights have been very short. Before going to bed, I drink a hundred milliliters of Ukrainian cognac, and at about one in the morning I immediately fall asleep. Then I wake up a few times to check the news. I got up again, read the news carefully, and started looking for my friends. One of my colleagues and a good friend ended up in Melitopol, which was occupied by the Russian army. He’s sitting in his flat without leaving. I don’t know how to help him. He emails me from time to time. Sometimes your phone doesn’t work. But then it shows signs of life again.