What would it be if you weren’t stopping yourself? - my friend Katya asked me once.
Well, then, I’ll need to accept who I am, and where I was born, and be ready to tell the world my story.
Here I am standing in the morning line of my fellow Kharkiv citizens. Slowly, we are becoming more. The palms of my hands and my feet are sweaty, and I am feeling dizzy, but I am seeing all these faces and understand - that everything is going to be alright, we are many and we are invincible. It’s a Thursday morning at the blood donation center that opened an additional location at the shopping mall. In March 2022 a missile hit the roof and top floors of the mall, but today it’s working again. Probably, the protective aura is still strong here, as before a Cossack church was standing here, but that’s another exciting story to be told.
Right now there are two rooms here. The one in front of me is a sort of registration and the second is where everything happens.
I am scared of blood. When I was a kid I used to get blood checks often as I was getting a seasonal cough, but after numerous tests, I was declared healthy and my cough disappeared with age. However, my fear of blood remained.
Now, standing here surrounded by images of blood I was facing my childhood fear while realizing a simple fact - my Home is bleeding. We are all here to support the community blood bank and ensure that our own blood would save the life of the person who risks his / her life while defending us here, healing, rescuing, or simply standing here among us. Life in a front-line city is a risk.
For three summers my city has been full of cars - military, medical, humanitarian, de-mining programs, vehicles that deliver necessary items to the front line, cars that deliver my fellow citizens to their workplaces because Kharkiv is “living & working” (poster campaign at the city streets). There are no tears, no complaints. There are quiet people, who remind me of bees that keep working, keep repairing, and keep creating their Home, while it’s still bleeding.
As I was squeezing my hand to pump my blood into the bag I was crying - quietly. The nurse asked me if I was alright in a warm soft, caring voice. “I am alright, it’s just the context.” She nods. Once the bag is full and I am allowed to stand up, we hug strongly and warmly. Even now, when I type these words at the night express train full of my fellow people - children, mothers, couples, grandmothers and grandpas (holding hands in wagon number five), brave military men, I quietly cry. But as the song goes - who would you be if you weren’t born in this city - that my father kept reminding me each time I was crying from the sadness of the reality that torments my heart, after a moment of watery eyes, I dry my eyes, and get back on track.
This time I have a few hours and a canvas of 40x60 cm to paint a landscape for those who like me, might be scared of donating blood. I hope this image will bring them calmness and a warm hug. Because while we are bleeding all that we have, is, - us.
Top Image: me with the doctor and the nurse at the Kharkiv blood donation centre, 2024
Bottom Image: Home, acrylic on canvas, 40 x 60 cm, 2024
