Read this article in Ukrainian: Аромат і пам’ять: Відкриваючи Одесу заново крізь запахи

Writing about Odesa today reminded me how memory itself can feel like fragrance—vivid, intangible, essential. I sit at my work table in Brussels, in the dining room, surrounded by familiar comforts. A bouquet of white freesias, casually picked up at the supermarket, fills the air with its violet sweetness. On my right, I’ve arranged a haft seen—a small altar celebrating the Persian New Year, a symbol of rebirth and renewal. Outside, even though I cannot see it from here, I know the tall magnolia tree in the garden is bursting into bloom, its petals opening softly, without hesitation.

Here in Brussels, there are no air raid sirens piercing the night, no unsettling hum of Shahed drones slicing through the quiet. In these moments, I feel deeply conflicted and yet comforted. Part of me wishes desperately to be there—in Ukraine, experiencing the intensity, the solidarity, and the rawness of life in Odesa. Another part feels profound relief to be here, safe yet yearning. I am suspended between two places, two emotional landscapes.

Memory offers a bridge. It lets me travel effortlessly, invisibly. In memory, I revisit streets filled with laughter and chaos, sea air tinged with salt and flowering acacias, the comforting dusty vanilla of old paper in vintage bookstores. I remember the way Odesa’s salty breeze tangled softly in my hair, how at night my skin carried traces of the city—sea spray, blossoms, sunlight—and how these scents whispered of moments lived fully, intensely.

Continue reading →

Read this article in English: Fragrance and Memory: Rediscovering Odesa Through Scent

Сьогодні, пишучи про Одесу, я згадала, як сама пам’ять може відчуватися ароматом—яскравим, невловимим, життєво необхідним. Я сиджу за робочим столом у Брюсселі, у своїй їдальні, оточена звичними затишними речами. Букет білих фрезій, який я випадково купила у супермаркеті, наповнює повітря ніжною, фіалковою солодкістю. Праворуч від мене стоїть хафт-сін—невеличкий вівтар до перського Нового року, символ відродження і оновлення. На вулиці, хоч я й не бачу цього зараз, розквітає велика магнолія, розкриваючи свої пелюстки спокійно й без вагань.

Тут, у Брюсселі, ночі не розтинають сирени повітряної тривоги, немає тривожного дзижчання дронів Shahed, що порушують тишу. У такі моменти я почуваюся глибоко розгубленою й водночас заспокоєною. Частина мене палко хоче бути там—в Україні, проживаючи всю гостроту, солідарність і справжність життя в Одесі. Інша ж частина з величезним полегшенням залишається тут, у безпеці, але сповнена туги. Я ніби зависла між двома місцями, між двома емоційними пейзажами.

Пам’ять—це міст, який дозволяє мені подорожувати без зусиль, невидимо. У пам’яті я знову йду вулицями, наповненими сміхом і хаосом, вдихаю морське повітря з присмаком солі й квітучої акації, відчуваю затишний запах пилу й ванілі старих книжок у вінтажних книгарнях. Я згадую, як солоний бриз Одеси м’яко заплутувався в моєму волоссі, як моя шкіра увечері зберігала відбиток міста—морську вологу, аромат квітів, сонячне тепло—і як ці запахи шепотіли мені про моменти, прожиті повно й інтенсивно.

Continue reading →

The morning after a massive Russian drone attack, I walked to the beach in Odesa. The city was quiet in a way that felt heavy, as if it was holding its breath. The night before, the sky had burned red and orange, and the air still smelled faintly of smoke and metal. Yet, as I reached the water’s edge, I saw something unexpected. People were there, men and women standing barefoot in the sand, their bodies rising and folding in slow, graceful movements. They were doing yoga, offering sun salutations to a pale, silvery sky.

The sea was calm, its waves lapping softly against the shore, as if trying to soothe the earth. Life continued, despite everything. In that moment, watching them, I realized something about Odesa. This city has always been a place of resilience. It carries its sorrow with elegance. It dances, it sings, it breathes deeply, even when the world around it trembles.

Continue reading →

A few days ago, I had the privilege of visiting a very special place in Kyiv, Ukraine—a children’s art school that offers free lessons to young people affected by war. This school is much more than a classroom. It’s a sanctuary where children can paint, draw, sculpt, and express themselves freely. It’s a space where they can be children again.

When I arrived, I was greeted by the school’s director, teachers, and students with warmth and openness. Inside, the rooms were bright and alive with creativity. Paintings of fantastical creatures—dragons, mermaids—hung alongside delicate studies of flowers and landscapes. There was joy in these works, and courage too.

Thanks to your generous donations, I was able to collect funds and purchase much-needed art supplies—paints, brushes, pencils, and sketchbooks. I made several shipments over the past months, but this visit was the first time I saw the children using them. It was deeply moving to witness how these simple tools became a means of expression, hope, and even healing.

Your contribution makes a difference: To Donate in USD. To Donate in EUR.
Continue reading →

Day 1 in Ukraine. I arrived in a city filled with flowers, sunshine—and acrid smoke. Another bombardment occurred last night. When I woke up in the morning, it was such a splendid spring day that it was difficult to believe in death and horror. Saturday was March 8th, International Women’s Day, and flower stands lined the streets. People queued to buy flowers, and every other woman I passed carried a bouquet of tulips. The smoke from the smoldering ruins darkened the skies, and the acrid smell clung to the flowers, but life went on relentlessly.

I bought snowdrops from a grandmother and buried my face in their delicate petals. After a while, I noticed nothing but this soft, sweet fragrance. My friend gave me a bouquet of pink and white tulips, and throughout the day, I carried my flowers with me in defiance of despair and fear.

It may sound strange, but being in Ukraine makes me feel complete and at peace. This visit, in particular, is meaningful because I arrived with a clear idea of what I was going to do, who I wanted to see, and what I aimed to achieve.

Thanks to your generosity and support, I can prepare more shipments of art supplies for the Kyiv Children’s Art School. I work with local suppliers, looking for items that will support small local businesses and bring joy to the children. If you would like to contribute to this initiative, I would be grateful.

To Donate in USD. To Donate in EUR.

You can follow my journey via my Instagram. I will be posting updates from the Kyiv Children’s Art School there as well.

Above all, thank you for your support of Ukraine. You can’t imagine how much it means—to me, and to the people here.

Love,
Victoria