When I started this blog and tried to go back and recall all those very first days of the invasion, I stumbled on February 27, and I could not bring myself to write about that day for reasons I still don't fully understand. Let's see how much I can remember now, a year later.
February 27, 2022:
I remember that it was the first day I stepped outside, and I remember that I FORCED myself to eat on the days before for the one and only reason: to donate blood. I knew they wouldn't let me do it if I faint right there. So I researched the donor's diet, and I ate. It was really hard, my throat was so tense and closed up I felt like chocking on every bite. But I wanted to do something, to be useful, so I ate, and then on February 27 I put on my shoes and went outside.
It was surreal not knowing if you will die after stepping off the porch. My heart broke seeing my city completely empty and lifeless. I had seen the streets empty before, on the days when I would wake up very early in the morning to get on the bus that would take me kayaking and having fun on the lakes full of reeds, frogs, birds, and lilypads. As you can imagine that was a completely different type of quiet. The stores were closed, the pharmacies were closed, there were no people and no cars - it was dead quiet.
I walked to the hospital, it was a 20 min walk, and it was taking me through the local military commissariat. And I saw a long line of volunteers standing there, stretching a whole block, holding backpacks, quiet and determined. And I saw cars and people coming in with bags of food, clothes, blankets, camping gear.
As I approached the hospital they were just hanging up the sign saying that their blood banks were completely full, and they need no more donors for now. I remember talking to the man putting up the sign, I don't remember what he said.
I came back home both proud for my town folk, and a little sad that I did not get to contribute anything. I came home and my mom was waiting for me with a cake.
February 27 is my birthday.
I hugged my mom, and I ate cake, and drank some tea. I wanted to do something, I wanted this day to mean something, I hate this day, and I wanted it to be "something", not just another day of sitting on the floor in the hallways scared and exhausted.
I called the number for Territory Defence and I asked if they needed volunteers. A very patient person explained that not only they were full, they had a long list of people waiting to join new units, and that they don't accept women anyway. He said he'd write down my number, but they won't call me unless the situation turns completely very-very bad. It's been a year, and he never called, so I guess the situation is OK.
I was sitting there trying to think of something to do when my friend called me and explained that her grandma was here alone, she was ill and needed medicine and food. I jumped to the occasion, and you know the rest - that grandma would turn to be my art teacher and friend, and I have been visiting her every day for a year now. She often says God or some other cosmic power sent me to her, but she doesn't know how important it was for me to do something for someone on that day.
I remember I had to walk around for a while and stand in a lot of queues to try and find a pharmacy that would work and that would have the meds she needed. I then called a taxi and drove there and back. I stayed for a very short time, just to make sure she's OK, and to try and calm her down a little. She's a talker, once she starts talking it's quite a challenge to find a moment to say you need to go. I drove back in a taxi too, I was very scared to be caught outside during a raid.
And that's all I remember about that day. No idea why it took me a year to push myself to write all this.
So yeah, today is my birthday. I don't like this day and I don't celebrate this day. Something bad always happens around this day. In 2021 my parrot died on Feb 26, I had to take him to the vet to put him down because I could not watch him suffer. He's been with me for 13 years. And then on 27th I dried my tears and smiled accepting well wishes from friends because I did not yet have the strength to explain to each of them why I am crying.
In 2022 I decided to break the cycle. I decided to celebrate my birthday for the first time in 20 years. I wanted to order pizza and invite a few friends over. But I spent it running around trying to escape russian rockets, trying to donate blood, trying to join military, trying to find meds for an old lady. Well, I succeeded in one of those things. And I had cake and my parents. And I saw the bravery and determination of my people. Many of my friends remembered my birthday and texted me. They all wished me a peaceful sky.
This year my birthday started with an air raid. Then power, water, and heating all went out. The entire city spent 8 hours in a blackout. I marked it as the "regular horrible thing that always happens on my birthday" and I'm just glad this time nobody got seriously hurt. It's an improvement.
I spent the day in bed. I watched some movies that I always have saved on Netflix, I played some Animal Crossing, I painted. I even managed to make my magic-internet-that-should-work-even-without-power do its thing and did some work. I ordered sushi. And I talked to so many amazing people. I received so many congratulations and well wishes, and if I wanted to cry I cried. Some of my friends who know that this day is traumatic for me are sneaky and they congratulated me in advance or hid their congratulations in other forms of attention and kindness. I have my mom's cake.
I am aware this post was a bit dramatic. I have very mixed feelings about this day. It is important to me, and I want it to be important, and I am overwhelmed by all the love I receive from people on this day. But it's also so full of painful memories.