my ukraine: 14 posts

In the fall of 2024, I traveled east to the frontlines. As the city faded behind me and the bombed-out villages receded, all that remained were the bare fields of sunflowers. The headless stems stood tilted in different directions, reminiscent of a vast cemetery. And yet, this desolate landscape was illuminated by the occasional blooming flower that sprouted after the reaper had taken its harvest.

I keep thinking about flowers on the battlefields as I think about Ukraine. Ukraine has forged its identity through centuries of attempts by larger powers to erase it. And yet, it has always regenerated itself in one form or another. Borderland places have deep roots, nourished by multiple histories, strengthening their sense of self and enriching their culture.

My Ukraine Fundraiser

Still, it’s hard to avoid feeling despair and anger given the current situation. I’m channeling my energy into preparing for my trip to Ukraine and my fundraiser for Kyiv’s Children Art School. The school works with children traumatized by war and provides them with free art classes and a safe space. The money donated is converted into art supplies that children can use right away to learn new skills and heal.

If you’re interested in helping, your donation will be much appreciated. To Donate in USD. To Donate in EUR. If you’re interested to participate in my seminar on Ukrainian perfumery broadcast from Ukraine on March 14th, via Zoom, 12pm EST, the proceeds will go to the art school. To Join Seminar.

You can follow updates about my Ukrainian trip and fundraiser via my Instagram: @boisdejasmin

In the meantime, there are other ways in which you can help Ukraine.

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Uncle Vladimir, diadia Volodya, passed away in his sleep in his home in Israel. He was in his 80s. He fell ill with polio when he was a child during WWII. The first doctor he ever saw, a German surgeon in another occupied village, told my grandmother that her son was as good as dead. “Just leave him here.” My grandmother was exhausted after a long journey and her own illness and at first she did. She put her child on a bench and started walking away. Volodya remembers seeing her leave. He didn’t cry. He didn’t call out to his mother. He just held his breath. My grandmother had already lost one son to a fatal disease. Her sister was shot in front of her by the Nazi troops. She remembered feeling nothing but numbness and complete depletion. She walked and walked and then she turned around and ran back to the bench. She picked up her son and returned to the village.

Volodya didn’t die. He survived polio with almost all of his muscles atrophied and his spine twisted. He spent his childhood and teenage years in a wheelchair. Then a friend gave him a bootleg copy of a yoga manual and my uncle studied it until the book fell apart and he stood up on his own. He never learned to walk straight and he never regained control of his right arm, but he enrolled into the university, learned engineering on his own and built his own sound-recording devices. He married and fathered a daughter, my cousin Marina, who eventually moved him to Israel.

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Day 22 in Ukraine.

Sunlight’s soft ballet
through lace of old curtains—
glimpses of empty streets.

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Dusk descends quietly
Sirens wail through the stillness,
Stars fade from the sky.

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Awoken at night
Flashes tear through the darkness,
Dawn feels far away.

Another day arrives. Why is time flying so fast? A week ago, I had a dream about waking up in the middle of an explosion (it was only a drone shot down in the fields nearby). In my dream, my house was in ruins, my dress was torn and I didn’t know where to go. I ran inside a large building and up a staircase. At the top of it stood a man holding my passport. “I found you,” he said. “Let’s go to Japan and open a porcelain studio.” (I had no idea that this was my subliminal desire, but fine, I’ll take it.)

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I heard a dull sound far in the distance, a slight reverberation of the earth under my feet and then the air raid siren blared. Or maybe it was the other way around. Now I can’t remember exactly. People continued on their way to work and school without paying attention to the wail of the siren. The golden leaves in Poltava’s main park fell faster and settled on the sidewalks.

It was the first time I went into the city of Poltava after arriving in my grandmother’s village just outside of town. It was the first time Poltava had experienced such a devastating attack since the start of the full-scale invasion by Russia on February 24, 2022. Two ballistic rockets struck a hospital and a college and killed more than 50 people and wounded hundreds of others. The children who waited at the bus stop near the college were killed instantly.

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I returned to Ukraine after a long absence. After a flight, several trains and a sleepless night in a small town in Poland, I watched the familiar countryside roll past the window and felt like I was in a dream. I imagined this scene countless times. I dreamed about it only to wake up with tears. Now I was looking at orchards laden with fruit and freshly harvested wheat fields and I tried to remember every detail, every leaf, every blade of grass.

Many people asked me why I wanted to return now. I explained that I could afford to take some time off from work this fall, that I could buy a ticket, etc. These were all practical reasons, but they didn’t capture the essence of what propelled me to return. The place where we’re born shapes us deeply. For someone like me who lived most of her life abroad in many different countries, the idea of home can be difficult to define. Today I know that my home is the place that draws me back despite all of the practical considerations. Returning to Ukraine during war, living through the daily reality of rocket attacks, air raid sirens and near constant blackouts, I feel at peace.

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