On February 24, 2022, the world for these young authors didn’t just change; it fractured into a definitive “before” and “after”. This collection brings together the personal testimonies of students who woke up not to alarms or the smell of breakfast, but to the life-altering words: “the war has started”.
There is the haunting irony of a fifteenth birthday celebrated amidst fleeing traffic, the mechanical numbness of a fourteen-year-old forced to become the emotional anchor for a weeping parent , and the surreal attempt to find normalcy through schoolwork or favorite TV shows while explosions echoed in the distance.
These stories are more than historical records; they are a testament to the unbreakable resilience of the Ukrainian spirit. They capture the “pure terror” of the first hours and the “family closeness” that provided warmth on cold basement floors. By sharing these memories, these students ensure that while the date of February 24 will forever remain a scar, it also marks the birth of a “New History” and a “New Ukraine”.
Sophia Skyba:
I remember the 17th of February, one week before Russia invaded my home.
My mom and I were walking down an empty street after visiting my grandma.
“I think the war is going to happen,” my mom said.
I started crying.
I think we all knew what was going to happen. There was this feeling that something was wrong in the air, and it didn’t matter whether you believed it or not.
20.02.2022
My mom started preparing the bomb shelter.
I didn’t believe that this abandoned, empty space was supposed to keep us safe.
24.02.2022
I opened my eyes, saw my mom, and heard:
“Wake up. The war has started.”
I heard explosions. Russia was bombing airports.
I remember the sound of the first air raid siren, and I had a panic attack immediately.
We had packed our emergency bags a few days before.
I quickly took a photo of my room.
I thought it would be the last time I would see it.
Mariia Sydorenko:
That morning, I wasn’t woken up by the smell of warm breakfast, but by my mother’s screams: «The war has started.» To be honest, my family had been convinced that a full-scale invasion was impossible. However, a call from my grandmother shattered that sweet illusion. In a state of shock, I brushed my teeth and put on my warmest sweater (I still keep in my wardrobe). When it came time to pack my “emergency bag”, I didn’t reach for expensive gadgets. Instead, I chose what was truly important. Photos of my mother when she was pregnant and pictures of us, when I was small.
The following six hours I was scrolling through Telegram news channels and waiting for something. I still don’t know what it was. Death? I even did my homework. I suppose I am a bit of a nerd, but it was the only thing I could control. Although our building had a shelter, it was completely unprepared for an actual attack. We joined our neighbors there briefly, but the conditions were so poor that we soon decided to return home.
As evening fell, my entire family gathered in the living room. We huddled together on the couch with the TV on, watching the news until exhaustion finally took over and we all barely fell asleep. Not for long, surely.
Reflecting on that day now, I feel an immense sense of pride. Ukrainians have endured so much since that morning. We have proven our resilience, and we remain strong enough to continue moving forward, no matter how difficult the journey becomes.
Sonya Holovko:
I remember waking up early in the morning even before the first explosions. When I heard it, I was scared a lot—I didn’t know what it was, the beginning of the war or just something happening in the yard, and no one in my family seemed to be woken up by the noise. It turned out russian missiles destroyed the airport, which was not very far away from my house. Some time after my parents finally got up, my mom came in and said, “Wake up, the war has started.” I don’t remember much about what happened next, maybe because the start of the russian full-scale invasion was very traumatizing. There are only two things I recall clearly: an unusually big quick near the ATM in front of my house in the morning and how long this day felt. It was like the whole week, definitely not 24 hours. Perhaps I talked to my friends all day trying to stay in touch because no one knew what our parents would decide: to move to another city/country or stay. Nothing was clear, and nothing felt as it was before.
O.G.:
On February 24 of 2022 I was supposed to still be 14, but from then on I never had a chance to act it.
I remember holding my weeping mother in my arms, staying strong and collected for her so she could lean on me, while our world was ending around us. She was crying her heart out for what felt like hours, so I made myself numb and patient. I just stared at a particular scratch on the wallpaper behind her and rocked her slowly, not hearing anything beyond her sobs or the sounds of explosions at a great distance. I didn’t cry on the first day because I couldn’t, but I wish I did.
After that, I remember feeling nothing for a while, going through the motions of preparing our house with my father with unchanging faces and distant eyes. Covering the windows, storing as much water as we could, packing warm things and medicine for easy access — I moved mechanically from one task to the next, relying on him giving me another one after, and he always did. Because he knew I felt like stopping would be permanent, like I won’t be able to will my body to keep going if I let it lose its momentum. He knew because he felt this way too. We forced ourselves through what needed to be done, and we forced our emotions to stay locked, and we do that still to some extent even today.
Zlata Honcharova:
On twenty fourth of February 2022, Thursday, I woke up at about five am. At that moment I it was because there were a bunch of notifications coming from my classmates in our Viber group chat (wouldn’t be the first time they disturbed my sleep but the timing was weird even for them). The situation didn’t immediately click with me and I almost passed what they were talking about as a joke. But then, I found out that my parent were awake and I asked them what’s going on. My father confirmed that the war started.
It wasn’t immediate, but when it hit me I felt as if I was frozen and melting at the same time with fear and anxiety. I couldn’t move much, having an irrational feeling that there was something outside the windows that would destroy me and everything I loved if it spotted me. I was afraid of rockets, but my head was irrationaly picturing monsters with big eyes. I remember crying for about an hour in my mother’s arms like a small child. When I calmed down it was seven am or so and I asked if I needed to go to school today. The answer was no.
I dont remember much from the rest of that day. For most of the it me and my parents were packaging everything we could and brainstorming with our whole family about what we should do. At some moments it felt almost mundane. By the evening, I sat with a cat carrier beside me in our family car and it went to the house of my great-grandma in the oblast, where we would spend the next three months for the things to calm down. My mother would later comment that I was good at handling the stress of it all, which at the time I took with pride. But the important thing is that if it weren’t for those few hours of pure terror, I wouldn’t be here or even there.
Mariana Zadachyna:
I vividly remember the first day of full-scale invasion. That’s something that every Ukrainian can relate to.
Thankfully, my morning didn’t start from explosions. However, the words “you aren’t going to school today because the war has started” are not much better.
The fact is, I was going to ask my mother if I could skip school that morning. I‘m not the type to skip anything without a health reason, but I had a severe hysteria the previous day, so this was supposed to be the first time I tried to pay attention to my mental state as well. That’s a really twisted coincidence, which I wish didn’t happen, but here we are.
To be honest, I wasn’t really surprised by the news. I was aware of the war since 2014 and knew that no way russians were going to stop with the East of Ukraine. Additionally, the tension of the possibility of the full-scale invasion was in the air for weeks beforehand. For example, I still can remember the discussion of this probability with my French teacher and classmates.
As for my feelings that day, I’m still not sure, why didn’t I panic. It seems normal for people to lose their minds in this kind of situation. On one hand, it is possible that my brain decided to suppress any strong emotion to handle the stress. On the other, my mind could just be prepared for this scenario.
The rest of the day passed really fast. Me and my family were watching the news and making plans, where it was best to go. Next thing we did was leaving Kyiv and settling down in the village near it with my grandparents. I was lost in my head the whole car-ride, trying to vision my future life. I had no idea about wartime existence, so the images were pretty extreme.
Fortunately, my routine is nothing like the scenarios, created by my teenage imagination that day, but I won‘t ever forget that I owe my relative safety to the Armed Forces of Ukraine. The clear memory of the first day of full-scale invasion in comparison to my present won’t let me.
Daria Kozlova:
February 24, 2022
I woke up with a smile and a heart full of joy, surrounded by gifts, balloons, and flowers, listening to the warm wishes of my family. It was my fifteenth birthday. Strangely enough, no one in my family had checked the news or the President’s official briefings yet; the day’s focus was entirely on the plan to celebrate: a trip to Kyiv to visit museums, exhibitions, and the theater.
On the road, we were the only ones in our lane. On the other side, hundreds of cars were fleeing in panic. Usually, it was the exact opposite.
A call from my father’s friend jolted us back to reality: “The Russians are entering from Belarus. If you’re heading anywhere — turn back… It’s war.”
Later, breaking the silence, my father spoke with a cold, steady firmness: “This war is for the long haul. Likely, our entire lives will be defined by war… Until we, Ukrainians, produce enough of our own weapons, this war will be endless.” As time passed, this statement proved profoundly true — my family’s life became inseparable from the military, and the life of my Motherland became clad in armor and washed in the blood of its noblest warriors.
Back home, glancing at the History of Ukraine textbook I used to pore over and loved to study, I recalled a foolish childhood dream of mine: I had wanted the date of February 24 to hold historical significance, for this day to be endowed with special weight. One must be careful with what they wish for! Yet, this day is indeed a birth… the birth of a New History, of a New Ukraine.
Daria Odintsova:
Ahead of the 24th of February, there were some rumours going around about the upcoming attack, but it all came crashing down when my mom woke me up at 5 in the morning due to the explosions ringing out.
What followed was pure chaos, we got calls from our friends and relatives, unaware if all of us were still alive. My family and I got dressed in whatever was closest and came down to our building’s basement, which wasn’t a shelter but a service space for plumbing. People, who i saw cheerful before in our neighbourhood, were crying in the basement and clutching anything dear to them they could take. But to be honest, i was too shocked to even realize the situation.
I spent the first day of the full scale invasion watching Rupaul’s Drag Race, eating my favourite ramen in an attempt to feel normal again. I slept in the hallway while my parents took turns being on watch with the news, and as i slept i had the nicest dream ever, in which nothing happened and we lived peacefully. That fragile moment was broken by my parents waking me up to go to shelter again, the reality of our new world hitting harder than ever.
On the night before the 25th, my parents were awfully quiet. That morning i learned that we’re evacuating to my grandmother’s, but my dad is staying behind to join the army. My heart broke completely, and i cried all the time because i didn’t know, if we were see each other again.
To conclude, those two days were the most painful days of my life, which i can’t even tell without getting emotional. I’m glad we’re all relatively alright now, but those times will forever stay as a scar on my conscious.
A.:
The first thing I was told after I woke up on the February 24th of 2022 was that the full-scale invasion has begun.
My parents have thought it possible beforehand, so at the time I was in different place in Ukraine – where some of my relatives live. My family thought it would be safer there in case anything actually happened. Thought we all considered it unlikely, and some people I knew made fun of me a little for not remaining in my hometown.
My parents were right: it was much safer in the town of my extended family. Though it is relative, because there was an airstrike on that town early in the morning and air alerts afterwards.
I read news and social media in ukrainian constantly to understand what was going on. Unfortunately, I didn’t really filter it, so in retrospect I regret spreading some of the misinformation.
I was not sure wheather Ukraine would continue to exist as a country or if we were going to be occupied by Russia, which was terrifying. It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that I and my loved ones were permanently in more danger than before. Air alerts, which now, for better or worse, seem normal to me, then would remind me of that fact.
Yaroslav Vonsevych:
24 of February 2022 is a memorable date for every Ukrainian. It is a date that changed our normal lives into “before and after”. It is an ordinary date that many have come to associate with boundless pain and suffering.
It is the date of the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday. The day before, as usual, my classmates and I went to school, sat through classes, and joked about the absurdity of the stories about an “invasion.” For some reason, none of us believed, or at least didn’t want to believe, that it was real. But life has a way of making adjustments. And, as they say, they are not always pleasant.
I woke up at five in the morning, not from explosions or gunfire. Not at all. I was sleeping peacefully until my mother woke me up with the words “the war has started.” She had been tense for the past week, so at first I dismissed her words as her usual worries.
However, when I looked at the news feed, I began to realize that jokes and nerves were out of place here. The invasion had begun and was proceeding at a rapid pace.
Despair. That’s probably the first emotion I can remember from that day. It literally hung in the air of our cramped apartment. My parents were in despair, and I felt no better. No one knew what to do next, where to go, or what to do in such a situation.
I also remember my grandmother’s reaction to the start of the full-scale invasion. As someone who was born during World War II and lost her father in it, this news was particularly difficult for her.
Then it was time to make a decision. In such circumstances, any decision is difficult to make, especially one that determines your future.
It was dangerous for the family to remain in Kyiv, so all possible routes were carefully considered. There were two options:
1) to our house in the Kyiv region, near Bucha.
2) to a village in the Mykolaiv region.
My parents were leaning towards the first option, and we had almost decided to leave when suddenly someone called my mother. It was a relative of ours from the Kirovohrad region, who offered us shelter for an unlimited period of time.
As I now realize, it was the best decision. And we immediately set off on our journey.
Then the story unfolded even more turbulently than on February 24. We faced constant relocations, family hardships, and news of the occupation of the Kyiv region, including our house. But that is a topic for a completely different story.
What I realized from a modern and fresh perspective on the situation on the first day of the war was that our family closeness really helped us. It was exclusively the family spirit that allowed us to laugh and joke while lying on the cold basement floor.
It is worth noting that there was no fear. None of us panicked, no one sat idly by. Because that is the fastest way to emotional collapse.
Soon it will be the fourth year of full-scale invasion. Ukraine is unbreakable and will remain so. Therefore, the only thing I would like to say in conclusion is: let each of us, citizens, be as resilient as our country.
Glory to Ukraine!
