‘I can’t seem to make anywhere feel like home’ Meduza wants to hear from English-speaking readers: How has the war affected you?
Since day one of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Meduza has provided continuous, in-depth coverage of the war. In addition to our regular news reports and feature stories, we’ve maintained a Russian-language live blog. While our commitment to documenting this conflict will continue until its final day, we’ve recently updated our approach to our daily war coverage: instead of constantly sharing small pieces of news on our blog, we’ve begun summarizing the most important war-related developments each day. We hope this will keep our Russian-speaking readers engaged and informed as the invasion approaches its fourth year.
We’re also introducing another new element to our war coverage: reader feedback. On our Russian-language site, we’ve begun asking readers to share their personal stories, including how the war has affected their lives and how they’re coping. Below, we’re sharing one of the responses we received from a Ukrainian reader. It’s a reminder that Moscow’s war against Ukraine really began not 1,000 but nearly 4,000 days ago, when Russia illegally annexed Crimea and backed militias that sparked a war in Donbas.
We’d like to hear from you, too. If you feel inclined, please use the form at the end of this article to share your story, thoughts, or feedback.
Vladimir
Currently lives in Bucharest, previously lived in Donetsk and Kyiv
At first, in 2014, my family fled to Kyiv. Then, in 2022, I fled from the outskirts of Kyiv, first to southern Ukraine, and then to Romania. The war changed everything, and it changed it twice, each time for the worse. It’s hard to lose everything and then have to rebuild it from scratch in a new place. Each time, all I had left was what I’d carried in my bags, and now, after two wars, this has become the way I think and live: having only what you can easily part with, or what you can carry in your suitcase. I don’t like it, but I think it’s become a permanent part of me — like the respect for food or the fear of wasting it that older generations still have from the famine of the Soviet years. Some people dream of being nomads, but I dream of having my own little place, a closet full of useless junk, and a pet.
How has my attitude towards people and the world changed? I guess I’ve stopped getting attached to places and people, or considering them home. It’s a strange thing — always seeing the same faces and places but knowing that deep down you’re just a passerby who will eventually have to move on.
I want to live somewhere I can call home, but my tragedy is that I don’t know where that is. And I can’t seem to make anywhere feel like home.