Maryna, Zaporizhzhia region, 04.04.2022

Once in the occupation, you start appreciating such small and simple things that you used to use on a daily basis. Certain parts of your life were so mundane, taken for granted, that you did not even think about someone doing it, that someone's invisible work was put behind it. Now you start to appreciate clean streets more and are incredibly happy that garbage was taken out. This means that the communal services are working, and that there is gas to refuel their cars. You realise that if freshly baked bread arrives in the store before noon, it means that there is enough electricity at night for it to be baked. Then you start fearing that you might run out of insulin and there is nowhere to get it, your life and the lives of two elderly patients waiting for your help depends on an unknown volunteer who, risking his life, will break through the racist checkpoints and deliver medicine.

There is a shortage of everything. You get used to empty store shelves, and pharmacies where you cannot buy medicine. It is a great happiness to buy diapers for a bedridden patient. Imagine for a second what this means for the patient and his family when there is no diaper. In the past month, I started almost hating the nights, and my 83-year-old father – fearing them. Why? Because they are dark and long and incredibly cold. At the very beginning of the war, the racists bombed the gas pipeline. 100 kilometres of gas pipeline were damaged. It is currently impossible to repair them. There is an ongoing battle. So, the gas disappeared and from the end of February it became impossible to cook on gas. Central heating was shut off. The temperature outside is below zero. The house quickly cooled down. And so did we. The load on the grid has increased significantly. The lights, heaters, and electric stoves began to switch off. Thus, every night you wait and pray for at least electricity to be on, so that you have an opportunity to drink tea and have some warm meal.

And it is very difficult to live without communication, without any phone, or internet. For hours, you are unable to hear the voice of your dear ones, or find out how they are. In addition, it is very difficult to live in an information vacuum, not to know what is happening around, in the country, in the world. This adds to the fear and anxiety, and does not allow you to relax for a moment. Looking at a silent phone becomes a challenge.

But it is possible to survive and get over it, given people nearby have it so much worse. Some could not get out of the basements for weeks, sitting there without food, water, heating and light. They lost everything and the worst - their loved ones. Many thousands of refugees from Mariupol came to my town… seeing their cars fired on, hearing horrible stories about the conditions of their departure, my brain simply refuses to accept and understand this. And poor children! Do Ukrainian children really deserve such a childhood?! I stand in line at the store. The goods have just been delivered. Behind me, an elderly woman asks how much bread she can buy. Here is her story. 'We are from Mariupol. We spent a long time in the basement, hiding from the bombing. I cannot get used to the fact that I can buy fresh bread. Once at home we managed to buy some bread. I cut the loaf into slices and went on. Suddenly, I heard the voice of my youngest granddaughter: 'Grandma, you will scold me very much. I did some horrible things, I gathered all the breadcrumbs and ate them myself. ' I could not hold my tears.

My sister Natalia's friend, who is currently in…, recalls: 'I do not believe it now that I did it, I was able to escape from the shots. I took out the most valuable thing - cages with a cat and a chinchilla. '

We are alive. We stay in our home, on our land. We believe in our victory, we will definitely win. '