February 23, 2022
Across those days, Ukrainians found themselves pulled into the machinery of conflict. The writer joined that shift in focus, recognizing that a looming army often pays a higher price in battles of logistics and endurance. A screenshot from a Russian public procurement site showed Burdenko, Moscow’s main military hospital, seeking forty-five thousand pathology bags. The figure echoed a claim by a former Russian general who suggested Russia might accept up to fifty thousand battlefield casualties. A friend with procurement expertise corrected the interpretation: hundreds of thousands of bags had long been prepared. As events unfolded, reports surfaced that Putin claimed not only republics but constitutional boundaries as well, extending claims over Donetsk and Lugansk. Reading these developments in real time underscored how proximity to war sharpened perception and concern.
February 24, 2022
LAST BORSCH IN KIIV
That night, between calls with colleagues, the writer prepared borscht for visiting journalists. A wish for calm lingered, a hope that the conflict would not interrupt the meal. The morning brought news of a missile strike on Ukraine, clashes in Donbas, and attacks extending from Belarus. The conflict had begun in earnest. In Kiev, the metro still operated and cafes remained open, yet diplomatic relations with Russia had been severed. The Ukrainian military had shot down several Russian aircraft, signaling escalating losses. The pace of daily change quickened to hourly shifts. The writer stayed focused, determined to document Ukraine’s experience under the shadow of war and to offer readers a sense of life on the ground. The message stayed clear: stay safe wherever readers might be.
March 1, 2022
THE MOMENT HAS COME
Belief gave way to a difficult clarity: the war had begun, and the mind had to adjust to a new reality. War began to shape every decision, every routine, every thought. The day before the conflict fully took hold, the writer’s children—among them a daughter returning from London—visited the western city of Lviv with friends to enjoy the cafes, museums, and medieval streets of the old town.
March 2
DON’T FORGET ME WITH A Smile
On the eve of the outbreak, a longtime friend named Boris, an Armenian-born artist who had become a Ukrainian citizen and lived in Kiev with his wife for thirty years, appeared weary from recent surgeries. A cancer patient for years, Boris revealed he had bought a gun for defense, then given it to a friend, though he could not recall the recipient. His memory tangled with the surrounding chaos. Boris had many friends and was a central figure in the city’s social fabric. Whether the gun ended up with someone else remained uncertain, yet he stayed actively supportive of defense efforts, perhaps preparing sandbags or digging trenches. Another friend, Valentin, a doctor who had retired after long service, faced serious health battles, including diabetes and a recent fight with the coronavirus. The infection had required amputation of both legs, and his wife guarded him against fears of attack, moving him to a safer ward. Supplies dwindled; meals were humble; medicine scarce. Yet life pressed forward with a stubborn rhythm. The writer observed these scenes with care, aware of the fragile human cost of war, and remained connected with colleagues, even as some found themselves separated by circumstances and disrupted communication.
Nights grew shorter. The routine settled into a cadence of vodka- or cognac-softened sleep, then dawns spent watching news and scanning for messages from friends. One colleague, now stranded in Melitopol as it fell under occupation, remained reachable only by the occasional email. In those moments, life felt unbalanced, the world narrowing to small acts of staying in touch and offering practical support whenever possible.