This whole day, I felt in-between. I was confused and, therefore, annoyed, as I couldn’t put in words or visual images what was happening within me. However, thanks to my growing running practice, I embraced the feeling of following the path, no matter what.
Ten years ago, I celebrated Christmas far from home—amidst ancient stones, temples, monkeys, and amazing people. Today, a team from India (the Land where I spent my Christmas ten years ago) is one of the three finalists for rebuilding the regional administration building in my hometown.
The Building in front of which I first saw drops of blood. The Building to which I first carried bread and inside which I cut sandwiches. The Building from which people (among them could have been I) were pulled out by other people with terrible aggression. The Building to which I return again and again because it is my point of strength.
So, today, I'm especially grateful that, no matter what, I'm home, drawing military patches and sometimes crying quietly. And then I get up and move on because I'm grateful that in this version of the life series I was lucky enough to be born here. I'm proud that this very Building is my Home.
This is a somewhat weird day.
I love it and I struggle with it.
Equally.
My whole family is working these days, as there are no Christmas holidays, or any holidays, as the writing on the wall says: war goes on day and night.
I speak to my new friend I. about my emotional struggles. I feel ashamed telling him about them, as he is serving in the military. Somehow, when I talk to a person in service I feel the necessity to be strong, to not show any signs of emotion, because it might be dangerous, as it would kick one out of a sense of collected focus. However, I. taught me about emotions more than any other person I met. The fact that he listened to me gave me a sense of a human connection. And these days, when everything gets torn apart, these invisible threads of love are so precious and so needed. It taught me about the necessity to speak and share stories. Sometimes, one feels distance and closeness, but the important part is that one keeps trying to speak. I believe this practice of sharing, and connecting to ourselves and to each other is the source of secret energy that allows us to keep going even after sleepless nights due to drones, missiles, and unstoppable thoughts.
Speaking to each other and being alone is equally necessary.
Therefore, after some time, I join my friend V. in the kitchen to make baked goods for the Christmas dinner. I feel a strong sense of resistance to it, but I decide to remain on the path and see what happens. My first task is to peel carrots. After it's finished I switch to reading an essay on the national identity written almost a hundred years ago. The words on the pages resemble a love thread I felt when talking to my friend I.. I felt connected. I felt energized, so I jumped back to the stove, where V. was making traditional sweet-nuts. My job now was to feel them with the sgushonka (condensed milk). Once the kitchen prep was done we made our way to the street to cross down south to our friend E.. We met at the local supermarket. The mirrored doors are partially replaced with wooden pieces - an explosion wave was here. What Christmas are we celebrating - rings again in my head, but I follow V., as she confidently enters the store. We are now joined by E.. Juice, Coke, some olives, cheese, chips, and so on feels absurd to me. Colourful glittery decoration catches my eye - we need to get it - I announce quickly to my friends and ask them about their favourite colour. In the end, I take more threads than needed, because why not, also, in Ukraine, for Christmas we put a plate for our deceased ancestors, so who knows, maybe this year they want some glittery threads too.
We are now joined by D.. He has white lips and his voice is shaken. I connect him with I., I call my friend K., and send him a post of D. with information on a position in his battalion. Christmas table makes even less sense to me. At the same time, the news mobilizes my inner stand-up actress and I start to decorate my new friend and myself with the glittery thread. V. & E. are setting up the table in the middle of the taped boxes. E. puts on her new dress and we sit down to eat. The food is delicious, the table is gorgeous, the thoughts are difficult and they are present among us. They start to slowly sink into the wine glass. We haven’t seen each other with E. For many years. We slowly start to piece together the stories of our lives, and they bring us back to the city, to its famous, but now deceased mayor, who we agree is now somewhere among us, protecting the city. I feel connected again. Suddenly, I feel Christmas. I feel grateful to V., E. & D. for not letting me miss the Jesus Birth this night. But it’s time to hit the streets, again, as the lights outside are out and the taxi driver is impatient - curfew starts soon.
Once home, I joyfully updated my family on my evening. I report that today, I didn’t trip over the flower-pot in the darkness of a front-line city, like last night. We warmly laugh and retire to sleep. However, this night I couldn’t catch any sleep. It comes and goes, - just like the feeling of Christmas. I feel happy about the way this day turns out, I feel equally happy this day is now gone. I write a message to I., and thank him for his service that allows me to be home for Christmas. I write another message to B., D., and O.. I feel grateful and equally heartbroken that my friends can’t be home for Christmas, like me. I remember the words of I.: we are fighting to continue living. So I brush my teeth and open the laptop to finish this text. However, I feel that it’s best to finish it in the morning and share it with my friends abroad as a Christmas gift. My phone blinks: drones are over the city. My eyes close. I wake up from a loud boom. I proceed to the bathroom. I see the light from J.’s phone in the corridor. I join her after. We slowly talk, joke, and listen to boom, boom, boom. Apostles are coming. We retire to beds. I open the threads with V., E., and A. We exchange on the loudness of the explosions and by that establish which parts of the city are being hit. I scroll through the photos on my phone. Here are the glittery threads I taped to the wall. The label reads - Yes! Fun. Made in Ukraine.
This night old mayor protected the town. Eleven missiles and numerous drones tried to hit city walls. Luckily, everyone is alive, few are wounded now.
I put blue & yellow patches of Ukrainian brand (thanks to V. For the tip) under my sleepless eyes. Pour myself water with anti-toxin powder and marvel at the sunrise over my beloved town.
Merry Christmas.
From Kharkiv with Love.
Yours,
Kharkiv romantic
24-25.12.2024
Photo-collage by the author