Andrii Krasniashchykh

I am a Ukrainian writer. I live in Kharkіv, in north-east Ukraine, which is the second largest city in the country after Kyiv. It’s the only city that has been shelled continuously since the Russian invasion started on February 24. I stayed in Kharkiv until March 21, after which I moved my family and elderly parents to Poltava. Poltava, in central Ukraine, is now home to hundreds of thousands of displaced persons, who live in school gyms and assembly halls, kindergartens or apartments––if they can find one. Since the beginning of the Russian-Ukrainian war I have been writing a nonfiction book in which I reflect on personal and collective experiences of the war––in Kharkiv as the bombs fall, and in Poltava as an internally displaced person.

The project comprises a series of documentary stories consisting of scenes of everyday life, conversations on the streets, in transport and shops; what was seen, heard, and experienced (by the author and by those both close and unfamiliar to him who shared their stories); as well as reflections on personal and collective experiences of war.

The year 2023, as much a war year for Ukraine as 2022, does not resemble it psychologically. In 2022, everyone hoped that the war was about to end; in 2023, it became clear that it would last for a long time. In 2022, the inhabitants of frontline towns fled the war, becoming displaced, in 2023 they return to their hometowns––still shelled, destroyed––repulsed by the images of war. And finally, 2023 arrived with a blackout, which taught us to live in total darkness and without communication, alone with our thoughts and feelings, and threatens to end with a new blackout. Everyone has found or developed points of support that help them to hold on and live in hope, to resist the depression caused by the prolonged war.