My phone reminded me this photo was taken two years ago on this day. That’s how I found my family in Kharkiv, in our cellar, on the morning of Feb 26, 2022, after ~50hrs on the road (I was abroad on Feb 24).

It was just the start of the third day of the war, but my children already knew when to run to the cellar, could distinguish bombs dropped by planes from MLRS, and knew that every evening small arms fire is heard from the city outskirts. Even the dog knew.

It was just the beginning. And our district of the city had it easy compared to other districts, and other cities. And my family had it easy compared to many other families.

Still, I will never forget: those children know how it is to be bombed. What’s the “two walls rule.”

Honestly, at the current moment, I can’t even properly hate those doing it. As if my mind refuses to spend even hatred on them, refuses to acknowledge them as somebody to communicate in human emotions. I just want them to cease existing.

I felt more emotions, anger and hatred, for those who could but refused to support us, supported in words only, or carefully measured “just-not-enough-to-lose-too-quickly” resources, for meddling politicians, both-side-ist journalists. Now, I don’t have emotions for them either.

And at the same time, there is only one type of vengeance I truly want, and the most impossible one: For all the people who did this to us, who continue to do this, to wake up one day, and truly, properly understand what they’ve done. And be unable to ever stop understanding.

For Russian “authorities,” and simple soldiers, and rocket-makers, and train drivers, and their spouses and friends. For all the musks, and jackson hinkels, and olaf scholzes with their never-arriving Tauruses, and speaker johnsons, and every last border-blocking farmer and “make Ukraine stop!” protester.

I want them to look at themselves and start screaming. And never, ever, stop.