Before the war, I had little interaction with my neighbors. Despite living in the same building for three years, most of us didn't even know each other's names. We were all preoccupied with our own problems and daily concerns, always busy and short on time. So, our encounters were limited to a brief "Good day" when we happened to meet near the elevator.
The war became a turning point in our relationships. Everyone who sought refuge from the terrifying bombings in the basement became like one big family. I still remember when a young couple peeked into our narrow passageway from the wide corridor. They timidly asked if we minded if they settled next to us. The thing is, half of the basement was already packed with people. In every narrow corridor, someone had arranged their space for survival. Being close to each other, we tried to find warmth amidst the cold walls. And it worked.
Beyond our door was another section of the basement where no one was present. Due to the absence of people, the temperature there was significantly lower. The couple in panic rushed to the far corner of the cold part of the basement and made themselves a place to stay. When the cold started to overcome them, they began searching for a new spot. But the only available space was a small section of the floor directly across from our improvised bed. When we agreed to their request to settle next to us, a smile briefly flashed across their faces.
My mother brewed them some hot tea, and we started getting to know each other better. You wouldn't believe it, but it turned out that we not only lived in the same building but also on the same floor! It just happened that before the war, we had never seen each other. Now, a genuine friendship was blossoming among us. We were engaging in activities we never had time for or considered important before. My young nephews began making friends with other children, and their parents were getting acquainted with each other. Within just a day of our life in the basement, we knew each other not only by faces but also by names.
Honestly, it's very difficult for me to write a war diary. Each time, I force myself to relive those terrifying emotions again and again. But when it comes to writing about people, I do it with a smile on my face. People are the most valuable thing in this world. In ordinary life, we live in a society. Without the support of others, we lose our strength. Now, imagine that everyone around you is united not only by shared grief but also by a common goal. In the cold, gray basement, we all wanted one thing—to survive. And that gave us incredible strength. The strength to move forward. The strength to keep our sanity. We started helping each other. We even shared food. The main priority was the children. They were the least protected from the terrible word "war." That's why all the best food we had was reserved for them. Adults made do with whatever was left. An adult can manage with a small sandwich or divide one can of preserved food among three people.
People become weak when they are divided. The enemy counts on that. Even now, as I write these lines, an air raid siren has sounded outside my window. I didn't have time to press the "save" button before my chair jumped from the explosion of another rocket. The occupiers still persist in their futile attempts to divide us. But the enemy miscalculated in their plans. We have become one entity. A living organism that will not retreat in the fight for freedom.
Our new neighbors in the basement turned out to be very pleasant people. While Russian troops were bombarding our city, we silently looked at each other. During brief pauses, we started conversations. We talked about everything. We shared a mutual hatred for the dictator who started this senseless war and tried to find some reasons for what was happening to us. When the emotions subsided a little, we shared stories from our past and even shared dreams of the future. The most important thing was that our small community was alive. There were people nearby who were willing to lend a helping hand. And that meant we continued to fight.
Our new community quickly began to self-organize. During that time, messages were actively circulating on social media about the enemy having so-called "sleeper" agents in the city. We couldn't completely seal off the basement from the inside and deny entry to anyone from the outside. But strangers posed a significant danger to those who were already inside. The solution was simple - we implemented shifts. We divided all the men into groups and assigned each group a time to stand near the entrance doors. Our weapons were hammers, pepper spray, and a baseball bat. That's all we could gather collectively. We started checking the passports of newcomers. In case of danger, the guards would give a signal to lock the doors to the second compartment of the basement, where everyone was located. In this way, people unfamiliar with war became a well-coordinated mechanism. It was yet another phenomenon that this war revealed to me.