Alla Voronkova, Selydove General Secondary Education School, Memryk village, Donetsk region
In the "One Day" essay competition, her work took 3rd place.
Teacher - Nosova Natalia
On the first day of the war and on the first day of peace,
We still do not believe that this is true.
Inga Balitska
Childhood. So much meaning is contained in this word. Mother’s smile, grandmother’s hands, father’s loving look...
I was nine years old when the concept of “war” entered my life and sweepingly began to acquire meaning in it. I lived in a small village, played football with friends and rode a bicycle, as, basically, all children do at that age.
I remember how I was looking forward to the New Year to watch the fireworks and make a wish. I thought it would always be that way. Yet, everything changed in a flash. Friends began to relocate, helicopters began to land on the football pitch, and people in military uniforms with weapons over their shoulders walked the streets. All living beings shuddered from the sounds of military equipment and shell explosions.
From a personal diary:
‘The street smelled of spring “to the bone”. The birds’ trills obtrusively grated on the ears. The weather was warm and sunny. My mother was planting flowers near the house, and I, as her most important assistant, was watering the seedlings with a small watering can. My dad and my younger brother were assembling a new bicycle, which my brother got for his birthday a few days ago. A single moment changed the calm, hasteless environment to fear and anxiety. It might sound banal, like a scene from some movie, but the ground underfoot really trembled, and the glass panes in the wooden window frames “went mad”. It was their rattling sound that was imprinted in the memory most of all. Strangely enough, no one was running for shelter, we were just startled and watched. There were no announcements or alarm sirens, but a towering plume of smoke and dust rising on the horizon made it clear that our lives had started to change...’
At first it was scary: at school we were told what to do in case of a bombing. The windows were sealed with tape, the beds were moved to the blind walls, and there were some warm clothes and the most necessary things kept in the cellar instead of jarred food, ‘just in case.’
It is very strange, but also rather interesting that over time we did not just stop being afraid of military equipment. In fact, it became a usual element of local traffic, and the sound of gunfire triggered one involuntary comment. It was a dispirited “again”. What shocked us and aroused fear at first, then became commonplace. Imagine a kid who got used to war. Should it really be like that?
However, I do not lose hope and belief that soon everything will change: children will be growing up and will know about the war only from textbooks, wives and mothers will not shed tears about their soldiers, and explosions will only be from fireworks and firecrackers.
I do not thirst for victory because the winners sometimes have to take the consequences, the fruits of their victory, for a long time. I want peace, and that is not only about not having war...
I dream of the day when the tears on the cheeks of Ukraine will dry up, and the tragedy of our people will remain in memory as a page of history that cannot be forgotten.
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