Daryna Bondarenko

Each time I fly back to Odesa, my hometown, to see my family, I notice how things have changed since my last visit to Ukraine. Which is to say, how much worse they have become. Take the bombing raids, which used to happen only at night. Now they take place in the daytime as well and have grown much more violent and unpredictable. The Russians send over a cocktail of drones, ballistic missiles and guided aerial bombs. You never know where they’ll hit – residential buildings, shopping centres, pharmacies, trains, you name it (‘Russian Roulette’ is the new, blackly comic Ukrainian name for it). The war, all the time, is getting closer to you and your loved ones. It used to be happening in another part of your region. Then in another area of your city.

I am a 37-year-old Ukrainian woman, and have recently returned from Odesa, where I was born and grew up, and to which I’ve just had my ninth visit since the war began. I generally go back for two or three weeks each time, to see my parents who still live there. On these trips back home, I try to support my family, to do some nice things with them like going out to a restaurant or cafe, and to bring them, perhaps, a little joy. Joy is something it’s getting harder and harder in Ukraine to feel But joy is something it’s getting harder and harder in Ukraine to feel. Whatever you’re doing, even if there’s laughter, there’s always something black and heavy at the back of your mind. On each visit, the people of my country have amazed me.