Fury of February 

Today, concluding the course, I asked students to write about their real thoughts and feelings they had on the 24th of February 2022. The purpose is clear, I want to persuade my students to analyse and reflect on their thoughts and feelings, everything can be material for the further experience and life as well. 

Caterina Mazur:

On February 24, 2022, when the war began, I found myself thrust into a maelstrom of emotions that I had never before experienced in such intensity. As I woke up to the news of explosions and airstrikes across my country, a deep-seated anger started to simmer within me. It was a rage fuelled by the sense of injustice and betrayal, as we had hoped for peace but were instead met with aggression. The disbelief that this was actually happening to us, to Ukraine, slowly gave way to a searing fury. How could this happen? Why now? These questions echoed in my mind, each unanswered question adding to the weight of my frustration.

Amidst the anger, there was confusion. The suddenness of the attack left me grappling for comprehension. It was as if reality had warped overnight, and I struggled to reconcile the peaceful morning I had expected with the harsh reality unfolding outside my window. Reports and rumours flooded social media and news channels, each conflicting account adding to the fog of uncertainty. Where was the safe haven amidst this chaos? The confusion compounded my fear, a fear that settled in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone.

Fear permeated every thought and action. Fear for my family, my friends, and all the people I cared about. Fear for our safety and our future. The uncertainty of what lay ahead cast a long shadow over my hopes and dreams, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. The sounds of sirens and distant explosions only amplified the sense of dread, each blast a stark reminder of the danger lurking just beyond our doorstep. Would we be able to stay safe? How long would this last? These questions haunted me, robbing me of sleep and peace of mind.

In the midst of these tumultuous emotions, there was also a profound sense of solidarity. As Ukrainians rallied together in defiance of the aggression, I felt a surge of pride amidst the turmoil. The resilience and bravery of my fellow countrymen and women inspired hope amidst the darkness. We stood united against the injustice, determined to protect our homeland and preserve our way of life.

February 24, 2022, marked a day that forever changed me. It was a day when anger, fury, confusion, and fear collided in a whirlwind of emotions. Yet amidst the chaos, there was also a flicker of hope. I hope that our resilience would prevail, that justice would be served, and that peace would one day return to our beloved Ukraine.

Yeva Balabekian:

The night before the invasion, I was preparing for a seminar at my university. I had an important presentation to create, but I was feeling particularly moody and tired. Procrastination won, and I went to bed late, setting alarms for 6 a.m. to finish my work. Little did I know, by 5 a.m., my world would change completely. 

The full-scale invasion of Ukraine began with shootings and bombings across the country. My mom woke me up with the devastating news. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel fear. Instead, I felt an urgent need to act quickly and smartly, unlike my family, who hesitated and debated our next steps.

My parents, from a different region, suggested fleeing abroad by car. My dad promised to pick me up in Kyiv the next day. I waited anxiously, but they never arrived. They kept changing their plans, leaving me feeling they were unreliable in this crisis. My mom and aunt decided it was safer to stay put, a decision that, in hindsight, might have saved us from greater danger.

For nearly a month, we lived on the ground floor of our apartment building, sleeping on makeshift beds. Life was a series of anxious days and restless nights. Eventually, my mom, in a state of panic, insisted we join her and my dad in another region, even though it was unsafe to travel by train. We crammed into a small flat in my hometown, where the bombing intensified, making daily life more terrifying than in Kyiv.

Throughout this ordeal, my overwhelming feeling wasn’t fear or anger—it was immense dissatisfaction. As a young person with dreams and plans, I felt my life being shattered. My parents could no longer support me financially, making it impossible to rent my first apartment in Kyiv. I had to find a job quickly, derailing my academic and personal aspirations.

I was mad and sad. I didn’t deserve this. No one did. It felt surreal to be fighting for basic survival in the 21st century, a time we consider civilized. My dreams of succeeding in academics, exploring art, travelling the world—everything was put on hold as I struggled to afford even food. I was frustrated that instead of enjoying my youth, I was burdened with responsibilities and fears that no student should face. Being a full-time student now seemed like an unattainable privilege, something my family could no longer provide for.

In the face of this turmoil, I was left with a profound sense of loss. My plans, my freedom, my sense of security—all had been taken away. This was not the life I had envisioned, and coping with this new reality was a challenge I never anticipated.

Iryna Zhmud: 

No one expected this to happen. On Thursday evening, February 23, I was finishing an essay on Ukrainian literature at school. The morning of February 24th changed everything. I remember waking up before the alarm, my mother’s voice alarming me, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know what was happening, but I could feel that something was terrible. It was a workday, so no one had left work. My sister and I were home alone and I, as the oldest, took responsibility and was determined to protect her at all costs. I was still young and did not understand anything, but I realized that I could not sit idly by.

Desperate myself, I reassured my sister while listening to the sounds of the explosions. I re-read the news and rejoiced in every small victory. Through fear, tears and trembling all over my body, I gathered the most important things at home and took them to the basement. At that time, I thought we would live there from now on.

Every time I went outside, I listened to the silence. I was afraid to hear anything but the wheels of a car going down the street or the occasional cry of a passer-by. It was scary then. I was afraid. But mostly I was angry. I was angry at the whole world because all my dreams, plans, and goals seemed to be unattainable. Of course, that was not the most significant thing at the time, but I was bitter. I did not understand how we could continue to exist. I did not understand what to do next. But I knew for sure that since there would be no more.

Vasyl Ovsiychuk:

It was an ordinary morning, at first. I could hear my aunt running around in a panic, but I wasn’t surprised because it always happens. I was getting dressed and ready to go to work when she came in and said: “The war has started”. I did not believe it. I thought it was a dream, and I looked at my fingers, because I used to practice lucid dreaming, but there were still five fingers on each hand. And then my stupor was interrupted by five loud shots that rattled the windows. And at that moment, I remembered talking to my friends and joking that there would be no invasion because we, the people, had become smarter and our priorities should have changed long ago. I still believe that we were right, but in relation to people, not russians.

Only they could have done so many terrible things over the past 50 years. They are not human beings. However, at that time, I saw nothing but work and was planning to leave anyway. However, when I logged into the work chat, I saw that all Ukrposhta branches were closed by order of the CEO. I couldn’t go to work. I was left alone with my thoughts, hoping that I would wake up soon and all this horror would stop. However, two years have already passed, but I still hope.

Dariia Yakovleva:

Why?

23.02.2022

23: 30 

A phone call from a friend

– Listen, Dariia, the news is saying that Russia is pulling troops to the border, it looks like there will be a war in the whole of Ukraine.

– Marichka, it’s the 21st century, they occupied Crimea and Donbas only for resources, who needs senseless killings, don’t worry. On February 25th, we celebrate 100 days until the end of school, I have so much to prepare. Don’t imagine things. Good night.

– Good night, kitty.

24.02.2022

6:30

Another call from Marichka.

– Kitty, good morning. – I hear a familiar voice

– “Yes, hello, why are you calling so early?” I say, barely opening my eyes

– “Don’t worry about it now…

– Are you pregnant?” I ask laughing

– No, the war has started. A full-scale invasion has begun.

I always knew about the war, I used to draw pictures for soldiers, help children who were forced to leave their homes, and our school often held charity fairs. However, I imagined the war differently. For context, I’m from the city of Khmelnytskyi in western Ukraine, and I’ve never heard explosions and only seen tanks on monuments or in museums. I’m lying in bed, the sun is coming through the window, and I see a familiar apple tree and the road I walk every day. Of course, this road is without tanks, I don’t see people in camouflage, which somehow confused me, I didn’t understand anything. Marichka is silent on the other end of the phone, and my ears are ringing, my arms are shaking, and I want to go back to sleep, to wake up again and actually have everything be okay. I was ready for the EIT in history, I knew absolutely all the figures, I was ready to fail math, and I was definitely ready for another coronavirus lockdown, but I was not ready for this.

– I’ll call you later. I love you.” – I hang up without hearing an answer

I decide to go to my parents because they always know the solution to all the problems in our lives. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I hold on to the wall as I walk, trying to put all my thoughts into one. I come out of the room and see my dad and turn into a 5-year-old girl who asks with sincere misunderstanding:

“Dad, what do we have to do?

I look into his eyes and see the same embarrassment that he hides so as not to scare me and my mom.

– Where is mom?

– She is sleeping.

– Should I get ready for school?

– No, sit down.

The TV is on, and they are talking about the advancement of the Rohingya army, various instructions and a lot of numbers.

“Dear students, we are not going to school today. Stay tuned,” I read a message from my class teacher in the chat room.

– So, I need to go to the pharmacy and withdraw cash. – Dad says decisively.

– I’m going to get dressed. – I say

– I’ll wake up mom – says dad

7: 47

I am standing in a huge line at the pharmacy among people I know well: neighbours, classmates, and shop assistants from the nearest stores. I look at them to gauge their reactions and figure out how to react to them. Some people stand silently, with disappointment, pain, and despair on their faces, while others laugh and discuss some primitive topics. There is no internet, and I really want to know how Nazar and Vova 

(these are the guys I grew up with and we always saw each other every day) are feeling, I am terrified for Anastasia and her family, they are from Luhansk and I can only imagine how they feel, experiencing the outbreak of war again. I didn’t worry about Marichka, she always knew what to do. I decided that it was better to smile and not let fear get too close, to treat it with irony. 

9:40

I’m at home. Mom is packing an anxious suitcase. Dad is smoking in silence. The doorbell rings – it’s Nazar and Vova, they’ve also just come from the pharmacy and the ATM. It was the happiest part of the day, I felt safe with them, they also decided to treat fear with irony and did not show that they were afraid by any movement, I believed them. 

– So, Darka, we think that your experience of volunteering at festivals and at the dog shelter will be a good opportunity to help at the volunteer centres for refugees. – Vova says as if this is an incredible opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

– “I’ll come for you,” I say and let them go.

10:15

Fear continued to enter my heart. And I met with despair: I learned that I could not take animals to the shelter. What about my faithful red dog, Bonya? That was the first time I cried.

11:40

I picked up the boys from their homes, and we went to our usual meeting place, a coffee shop.

– “Daria, you’re going to some aid station, right?” Nastya, the owner of this coffee shop, which is surprisingly open today, asks me.

In fact, I didn’t know what to do until now, and these words spurred me into action.

– “Yes, of course,” I answer with an extremely confident tone

– “Take this money and buy whatever they need there,” she holds out an envelope with a large sum of money.

– “Can I put some money in, too?” a woman asks.

– Yes, of course.

And the rest of the people from the bus stop and those who were just nearby started handing me money, asking me to buy necessary things like medicines and take them to the aid stations.

I held the money and knew exactly what I had to do.

12:30

I came to the youth centre, because it was the only place I could think of to go (the internet is still down)

This is it. I run between people running with bags and boxes. My eyes find a woman who looks like she’s in charge.

– Hi, do you have a list of everything we need? I intend to buy this.

– Hi, yes, here’s the list. Thank you, and how old are you?

– 17

– Then thank you twice, it’s people like you that make miracles happen here.

Until the evening, Nazar, Vova, and I were carrying bags and boxes of different things, and I don’t know why, but this time it didn’t feel hard to walk so much and lift so much. I was fascinated by the songs, that day I heard so many Ukrainian folk songs that the volunteers were constantly singing.

20:02

My dad calls.

– Where can I pick you up? We’re going to my grandparents’ house,” says my dad.

21.00

At my grandparents’ house there were my grandparents, my mom, my dad, Bonia, my aunt and her husband and their 3-year-old cousin, and me. We went to sleep in the basement, because my grandfather is a handyman and the basement is like another apartment. We sang together for my cousin and went to bed together. My head was spinning with numbers. Oh, God, I hate numbers, but I used to dislike numbers because I have problems with maths, and now I dislike them because of the number of victims. Why? For what?  And I fall asleep. 

Daryna Yakovenko:

On 24.02.2022, I felt a mix of different unpleased emotions, mainly anxiety and fear. Anxiety felt like a huge burden that pressed my chest and lungs. The thoughts in my head switched with the speed of light, but the only question was: “What if?”.

What if the rocket hit the house? What if the basement where we were hiding collapsed? What if the Russians got into Kyiv? What if my parents would not come from work? Finally, as I was an anxious person, one of thoughts I had was: what if I did not have time to save my cat if the rocket hit the house? Against the background of the war, this thought sounds absurd, but my brain repeatedly scrolled through the imaginary frame of my house burning. It was hard to think about something without anxiety. 

My heart sank from these thoughts, and fear got deeply inside my head. Every loud sound increased my anxiety, and the feeling of the unknown made me insane. Also, at that time, there was an addiction to the news, as it gave a sense of control over the situation.

This day was the longest of my life and seemed to last forever. And the number 24 hung on the calendar for several months.

Kateryna Hrynchak

My first memory from February 24, 2024, is my father gently shaking me awake. He was saying goodbye, as he had to leave immediately to “fulfil his duties”. I noticed that he was wearing a military uniform. Dazzled and confused, I asked my mother: “What is going on?” She replied with: “They have invaded us, honey. Dnipro is under attack right now.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I had always thought that things would not escalate to this point. Then, suddenly, I had to live knowing that Russian forces may occupy my town. My father, who had fought in the war during the battles of 2014, was heading to the frontlines again. My brain could not process this information, so he went into survival mode as a defensive mechanism.

I knew that my family needed my support. My mom was glued to the phone at that time, so she was unable to take care of us all by herself. I tried to be as optimistic as possible to keep our morale high. That is why I did not experience such agony as others. However, as the full-scale invasion progressed, it was harder and harder to stay positive.

Julia Homeniuk:

My mother woke me up at four in the morning. She was distressed, I couldn’t understand why. She said something about our city being bombed, something about us having to go. I couldn’t really understand what she was talking about. Until I heard the first explosion.

The annoyance quickly changed into panic, and panic quickly changed into dread. Still in my soft bed with floral bedsheets, surrounded by my collection of silly cat plush toys, everything that was near and dear to me, I sat petrified, unable to process what was happening. My parents were walking around the hallway, changing into street clothes, packing documents, cash we had hidden around the apartment, hygiene products, any portable electronics, clothes, both winter and summer ones, anything else that could be of use during the next couple of weeks, months or years. They told me to do the same.

Trembling with my entire being, barely finding the floor with my feet, I got up and started packing too. Living in the state of unreality, almost complete dissociation for years before that, made it near impossible to fully comprehend both the event and my emotions. I stuffed the plush animals into my bag, trying to hold back a surge of tears.

Sounds of explosions repeated. What was I really afraid of then? Was I afraid of dying? Was I afraid of it so much that my mind shrunk this idea into a mundane fear of my favourite belongings being damaged? Was I afraid of change? Was I afraid of it so much that my mind made it out into a fear of leaving our apartment for a prolonged, uncertain period? Was I afraid of losing someone I love? Are all these fears the reason why I cried so much at the idea of a missile hitting our house?

Large tears fell onto my backpack as I zipped it. I only took the necessities, thinking that I would have to go from one place to another while migrating, so lots of baggage seemed to be unnecessary. I would later come to regret it. But I didn’t know it currently, just as many other things.

I was trembling and crying as we sat in our car. The dawn had barely started, and the air was still freezing cold. My mom suddenly started talking about what I should do in case I was being raped. At that moment, a desire to kill myself was fully set in.

When we arrived at our country house, I checked my phone. One of my friends was checking on me and asking whether I was alright. My closest person in the world at the time was telling me about her torn feelings and her hopes that her fellow russians (entirely ignoring that she was born and raised in Ukraine) wouldn’t bomb her. After a couple of days, I would sever any ties with her and wonder whether I did something wrong or what would’ve happened if I stayed with her and tried to explain things to her. And I already knew it was coming.

I’d spent that day in some sort of trance. By noon my worries were minimized, having been reduced to mere “will we have enough water?”, “will we have enough firewood?”, “will we have electricity?”, instead of “will our village get invaded?”. The latter thought tried to find its way into my head. But my cowardly brain pushed it as far away as it could.

When the night came, my mind was completely drained. I was still trying to comfort my brain and convince the person I held so dear and near to my heart that missiles wouldn’t magically omit just her. And then, the feeling of emptiness and detachment from the perceivable world started slowly creeping back in. A feeling that I already knew would stick with me even stronger this time. A feeling that would turn any miniscule event in my life into a tragedy, and a tragedy into a mundane nuisance.

Myron Matuzenko:

As foolish as it sounds, I liked to believe that the full-scale war wouldn’t start. So on 24.02.2022 I had an empty feeling inside – I didn’t yet know what was happening, but I understood that something was. Something was off putting. And then, early in the morning, my parents told me: “The war began”. Their words killed any hope that was left in me. I was gloomy throughout the day. We stayed at home, never leaving our rooms, for we feared that it would be too dangerous. But when is her the piercing sound of a plane flying over our house, it became obvious to me: not even our home is safe.

Anastasia Dumenko:

5 o’clock in the morning. A cold knot tightened in my stomach, I understood that I needed to do something, but I couldn’t, I didn’t know. My mind began to compete with my body.  I kept urging myself to act, but I couldn’t move. Was that a siren? Explosion? Every sound seemed amplified, every sound tinged with death.  Images flashed before my eyes: busy streets, worried and devastated faces, soldiers, military equipment, and everyone is on their way somewhere.  Suddenly the door closed. I ran out to the corridor headlong.

He immediately began to feel dizzy, his legs twitched. I cried for the first time in a long time. Dad left. At that moment, it seemed as if you had already died. The person most dear to you is gone, she left because of the war. My father will defend his family, his country. Strange sounds again, which became more and more frequent. Later it became easy to distinguish a rocket from an airplane, but these thoughts led to one thing. To the terrible fear, to the understanding that you really understand what it is? I was short of 

Katerina Moldahovska:

The first thing I heard was my mother’s voice. “Wake up, the war started.”

It was an early winter morning, cold a bit. I was cozy, in my bed, and these words felt like a freezing water poured out on me. My whole body tensed, and I came out of the dream world to the reality. It was expected, yet not less terrifying. My stomach was empty and inside my body I felt as if a stone had crushed me, pressing me to the ground.

My mother looked at me with worry, she helped me stand up and waited until I dressed up. Everyone was already in the kitchen when we entered. My family was standing near the TV, watching the news. I looked behind them – a huge panoramic window – so cool and beautiful previously, was now scary, such a large space and so much room for a possible explosion of glass on us. 

We spent this day together, listening to the sounds and checking out phones every other minute. We called and texted everyone we knew, from the dearest to the ones we have broke ties with a long time ago. I was crying. My friends were in Kyiv, and they were all in so much danger. 

When it was time to go to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I was trying to hear every sound outside. With every siren, my heart was sinking deeper and deeper. I was frightened.

Anastasia:

That day I woke up at 4 AM as everybody else in Ukraine did. I woke up because of the terrible sound of war. My hometown was occupied right at 4 AM. The sounds of explosions and the fear to lose everyone you love is the scariest thing ever. 

I felt like my home doesn’t belong to me any more. I looked in the window of my room and saw the huge, infinite convoy of tanks. 

The war was really close to my house, so that my family and I needed to leave it to survive, but there weren’t any options for us to move out. The only thing we could do was to stay at my grandparents’ house, as it was in a safer place. But it wasn’t that easy as well. The roads were blocked with tanks. We were waiting for an opportunity to leave. 

Explosions… Again, again and again. We spent 3 more days at home, but there was no end of that tank convoy. My younger sister was 2 years old when all that started. The explosions were that loud, that it was possible to become deaf. So, my parents decided to leave as fast as possible. 

My cat was terrified when I needed to take her with us. She hid in the bathroom and I couldn’t reach her. My parents shouted at me to hurry. But my cat… I was frustrated and didn’t say anything to my parents because of shock. I just left her some food, said “Goodbye” and started crying. I will never forgive myself for leaving her alone. 

We started to move out. My father was driving his car and we were moving right to the convoy of tanks. He saw the fear in my eyes, told me: “Never be afraid of anything!” and started driving faster right to the tanks to go them around. Fortunately, he did it successfully.

Then I told my parents that my cat was hiding in the bathroom and I didn’t take her with us. I started crying. My father was a bit mad at me, but he understood that I was too stressed to make the right decisions. He went home again. Right through that tank convoy. While we were waiting for him, a couple of explosions sounded again. It was really stressful to wait for him. Suddenly, I saw him bringing my cat. She scratched him, but them both were with us.

After we moved out, the only thing I could think about was the future of Ukraine. I was preparing for exams when the war started and took with me the History of Ukraine book. As mentioned before, my hometown was occupied, so I needed to hide this book somewhere all the time, as it could have been destroyed. I read a lot of Ukrainian literature and was hoping that we will be free again someday.

The war has changed our lives forever. I still don’t know what will happen to my family and hometown tomorrow.