It was a typical Tuesday afternoon when I heard the familiar sound of my postwoman’s scooter. A rush of curiosity hit me as I made my way to the letter box, eager to see what awaited me. Inside, I found a bundle of letters, one of which bore the name Yulia from Ukraine. Yulia and I had become pen pals through an online platform connecting people through snail mail. With a sense of anticipation, I retreated to my room to read her letter.
I opened the envelope to find two yellow pieces of paper within. Yulia’s words, written in her small slanted handwriting, accompanied a hand-drawn painting of a Ukrainian ornamental design called Petrykivka.
It was a thoughtful gesture, where she wanted me to have something truly Ukrainian.
Alongside the painting, she included a postcard featuring a portrait of a stern-looking man under a tree by the river, with a traditional musical instrument by his side, introduced as a Ukrainian warrior named Cossack Mamay.
Attached to the card was a five-hryvnia coin, which Yulia explained could be used to ride the city bus, purchase a piece of bread, buy five boxes of matches, or even access a public toilet in her city.
In her letter, Yulia described how she had used a self-made cat-hair brush to paint the flower-onion motif on the first page. Cat hair, she said, was thin and ideal for capturing intricate details and more affordable than traditional paintbrushes.
Distracting self
Though not an avid artist, Yulia had recently taken up drawing as a means of distraction and self-preservation. She likened it to extending a lifeline to herself amid the harsh winter, rocket fires, and the pervasive darkness that surrounded her. Though she wanted to write a letter without talking about the war, it seemed impossible, as it had become an inescapable part of her everyday existence — no longer a distant theme from a movie or a tale from her ancestors.
Yulia proceeded to offer a glimpse into her life, from her early years in kindergarten to marrying the love of her life.
As a non-political individual, she had never anticipated being caught up in such circumstances. The invasion began abruptly, coinciding with the birth of her first child. Suddenly, she and her loved ones were branded as “Yellow dogs in a country that is not meant to exist”. This turn of events was unimaginable merely eight years ago, during what was then deemed a “small invasion” in the eastern part of Ukraine. However, everything changed in February 2022.
Relentless toll
Though Yulia lived in an area not directly affected by the war or not in a war hotspot, she found it challenging to immerse herself in books or films. The media focused primarily on political developments and military analyses of the ongoing conflict. Having endured the war’s relentless toll for over a year, Yulia confessed to feeling overwhelmed, as if the cup of grief had overflowed, leaving her numb to the constant news of deaths and tragedies. Her wounds were deep, leaving no space for new ones.
Yet, amid the pain and strife, the war had kindled a different effect within her. Yulia resolved to shed the fear and shame she had carried since her teenage years. With newfound strength, she is embarking on a journey of healing in all possible ways, determined to rediscover herself and embrace her true identity.
Yulia concluded her letter with a few lines from Vasyl Symonenko’s poem “The Human,” which resonated deeply:
“Do you know that you are human?/Do you know about it or not?/Your smile is the only one,/Your pain is the only one,/Your eyes are one.”
Dated 18.04.23, Temperature: 9 degrees Celsius
In this heartfelt correspondence, we see war’s unseen effects. Yulia’s words paint a vivid picture of the personal struggles endured by the common people of Ukraine amid the ongoing war. A personal chronicle.
The war has now passed 500 days and it serves as a reminder that beyond the headlines and statistics, there are individuals like Yulia who continue to face the profound impact of conflict in their daily lives.
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