Walking is the only thing that keeps me going
When the war follows in my footsteps
I’m about to finish my first cup of coffee. It’s always a bittersweet moment, just like the taste of coffee itself. A reminder that all good things end and a grey zone of unpredictable experiences follows. Will I enjoy the rest of the day? Will it bring me things as good as this morning cup? Will I end up anxiously running around the city on the lookout for another cup to drown my sadness and anxiety? For now, I write this text and, hence, this day is already better than many other days behind me.
The problems of the past two years accumulate into the fatigue and tiredness of the present day. I like a Ukrainian word for it – vtoma. When I pronounce it, the letters burden my tongue with characteristic heaviness and closedness. I love when a language does that – captures the essence of something so well that you can feel it in your body.
You say vtoma and you feel vtomlenyy after saying it.
One daytime moment later, I sit at the foot of a tall Soviet house with a star at the top and I look at Khreschatyk street from above. Hairy balls of dandelion puff are flying around me. Cars are rushing up to the sky and descending down to earth. Everyone knows where they’re going. I feel lost and anxious. Where’s my road to the sky?
