In the history of every nation, there are moments that leave scars on the hearts of generations. War is one of them. It doesn't just take lives—it tests our hearts for their capacity to feel compassion. But even in the darkest times, humanity does not disappear. Sometimes, one moment, one act, one outstretched hand can change everything.
I want to share the story of my godmother, who survived the occupation near Bucha—a town close to Kyiv. On what became one of the most terrifying days for all Ukrainians, she was alone in her daughter's house in Bucha. First came the explosions, the piercing sirens, and the overwhelming panic. The occupation of Ukrainians in Bucha, Hostomel, and Irpin lasted one month and six days. Fortunately, she managed to escape before the full terror inflicted by Russian soldiers began.
The genocide in Bucha involved abductions, torture, rape—including of children—and the looting of Ukrainian homes.
My godmother lived on the outskirts of the city. Because of the shelling, her entire life moved into a basement. There was no connection to the outside world, only the sound of explosions and empty streets filled with danger. Every minute was full of fear and stretched like eternity. People prayed, hoped for rescue, and dreamed of nothing more than to feel the arms of their loved ones again, to exhale with relief, and to pick up the phone and say: "I'm okay. We'll see each other soon. I love you."
Human beings can adapt quickly to new realities, but the greatest fear came with silence. Only the sound of your own heartbeat, heavy breathing, and your thoughts. Thoughts that wanted to break free. You wanted to scream, to cry, to speak—but there was only silence. It felt as if your body was wrapped in iron chains, leaving painful wounds, but all you could do was remain silent and whisper a quiet prayer.
One day, in the midst of those feelings, she suddenly smelled something burning. In a basement with limited oxygen, no ventilation, dulled senses from the lack of light, vitamins, and overwhelming stress—she thought maybe she imagined it. But when the lungs are starved of air, the entire body reacts. The lack of oxygen becomes deadly: transportation of nutrients slows down, cells don't get the fuel they need, neurons start to die, and the body enters a state of emergency. The brain screams: "Fight, run, freeze!"—all to help you survive.
At that moment, her panic reached its peak. She knew she had to escape.
War puts everyone on the same level. In the past, you might have been rich, dressed in brands, never counting money—or maybe the opposite: working day and night just to feed your family. But when your life is in danger, you become just another human being. The ability to help others while being in danger yourself shows how deeply humane our people are. Adults without children took care of others. People spent their last money on uniforms for soldiers, donated to military funds, shared their final pieces of food, and helped anyone they could. Selfishness faded. The understanding that "I help here, and someone helps me there" gave people a strange sense of peace and hope.
Terrified, she grabbed her most important belongings and ran upstairs. Everything was covered in dark smoke. She wrapped her mouth and nose in gauze to avoid choking. That first breath of fresh air was pure bliss.
The realization that she had escaped didn't come instantly. While she sat in a daze outside, neighbors rushed to put out the fire. She watched the flames, the chaos around her, and felt completely detached—unaware of time, not fully understanding what was happening.
Suddenly, two soldiers approached her. One gently placed a hand on her shoulder, as if returning her soul to her body. She flinched. It felt like a movie—but tragically, it was real. The soldiers helped her to her feet. She doesn't remember their faces or names, but she understood one thing: this was a message from the universe—it was time to run.
One of the soldiers gave her a canister of gasoline. She quickly jumped in the car and drove away.
She left behind everything—memories, belongings, money, expensive equipment. In the car, it was just her thoughts and the hope that she would soon see her loved ones.
Leaving occupied territory means facing dozens of checkpoints, trying to find a green corridor, or detouring through forests while praying there are no Russian soldiers, mines, or traps. A road where every kilometer costs a life.
Russians are an inhumane force—even the presence of a green corridor doesn't guarantee safety. At any moment, they might open fire on civilian cars, even if there are children, the elderly, or pregnant women inside.
But she made it out—first to Kyiv, then to a different city where her loved ones were waiting.
This story brings us back to reality.
The harsh reality in which millions of Ukrainians live today.
Foreign media do not show the full horror of what is happening. That's why we must scream and fight for our independence.