Adelina Khoptynska, 17 years old

Winner of the 2024 essay contest, 2st place

Sumy Centre for Vocational Education, State Vocational Educational Institution

Teacher who inspired to write an essay - Iryna Ivanivna Kolomiiets

 

«1000 days of war. My way»

It's another nervous evening. The herbal tea brewed by my great-grandmother warms our souls. A restless night flows into an equally restless morning, day, and then evening.

A thousand days. How could this happen? Days merge with nights, each one bringing new pain, new loss.

This has become our reality. How can we accept it? How can this be? Days and nights pass. Has so much time passed? Every day is like the previous one, but at the same time different. Confusion, shock, and grief dance in my mind.

How many souls have died, drowned in darkness...

No dinner is complete without horror stories. I immediately remembered that on that Monday, my great-grandmother, my dad's mum, came to visit me and my great-grandmother. We were drinking tart tea and reminiscing about the past. The memories led to an old acquaintance. He was killed. On the front line. A fierce battle for the territory. An explosion. Debris flying in all directions.

The bulletproof vest, which was designed to protect him, did not fulfil its purpose. The vest...

His chest was pierced and torn to pieces as if someone wanted to tear out his soul. And his soul flew out of his body, unable to bear the torment. Frost pierced his bones. The universal horror, like a ghostly visitor breathing in the back of my head, hung its legs from my shoulders and sits there, not going anywhere.

The war intervened in my life. Fear for my family, fear for myself. Fears, like a storm and a storm, like a bell, sound in my head. I can't sleep; they tortured me, those terrible thoughts: what's next?

It's been three years. Have we really been suffering for so long? If not on the battlefield, then under rocket fire.

We all need help. Our country needs support, of course, and other countries are providing assistance - medicines, food, basic necessities, equipment and weapons are being sent to us from abroad. Our brave men and women use these weapons and equipment in the battle for us, for our victorious future.

Sincere help is worth its weight in gold. Volunteers are invisible heroes.

Since the beginning of the full-scale invasion, my family has been involved in volunteering. Back in March 2022, when our region was occupied, Trostianets suffered greatly. After the de-occupation, we raised funds, bought a lot of food, and went to the destroyed town.

We walked the streets, distributing food and things. The kids were happy to have sweets and pastries.

My gaze settled on a five-year-old girl. A bun fell from her trembling little hands and rolled into a puddle. The girl picked it up and brought it to her mouth. Was it really that bad? The father was upset, stopped the little girl, hugged her, and put three new buns in her hands. The little girl cried in gratitude and hugged my dad tighter.

I remember all this with tears. What a hell these children went through...

Tears were running down my cheeks. The tea that my great-grandmother had made had already cooled down. We have saved my great-grandmother from hell, from a border village. All the time, for a thousand days, she refused to leave her home.

She was full of hope that the war would end and her home would be filled with the voices of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I dream of the time when I will return there again.

One afternoon, my grandmother decided to go out to the garden to pick tomatoes. When she finished picking, she turned back to the house and saw everything smashed. A KAB bomb fell near the house, and she didn't even notice, she was used to hearing constant explosions. The fence was smashed to pieces, the barns were gone, the whole yard was in rubble.

The roof was broken, windows and doors were smashed. Only then did she agree to move.

The village of my childhood, the family home, where I heard children's laughter many times. I dream about it, it calls me back to my childhood without war, without worries.

My way, my timeline of life is marked with crooked crosses embroidered by the war. I am driving away my fears.

I want to believe, no, I do believe, that this nightmare will end, and there will be silence, peace and tranquillity. I am sure that after the victory, my Ukraine will become even better, even more powerful, because thousands and thousands of its best daughters and sons gave their lives for its future.

Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the Heroes!