Why I am in Ukraine

“Why are you here?”

That’s the first question Ukrainians always ask me.

It’s a question often asked of foreigners: volunteers, soldiers, journalists, and expats; the kinds of people who come to Ukraine in its “time of need.”

The question is especially poignant for those of us privileged enough to come from affluent countries, who have left much of that privilege behind, in order to live in a world of smoke and sirens and the sounds of death and destruction, of stark scenes and shattered dreams.

What they’re really thinking is, “Who in their right mind would leave their safe and sunny homeland to come to war-torn Ukraine?”

As it turns out, quite a few of us…

All of us are here for different reasons, and yet all of us are the same: wild, reckless, foolish, dangerous and deadly dreamers. People who were freaks or felons or fools in their homeland come to this country and are rechristened as heroes. It’s an addictive feeling, especially for those of us who felt forgotten by our society, looked down upon by the people we knew, undervalued or devalued for failing to live up to a code or standard we never could quite reach, and yet was always there, just beyond our fingertips, like a golden castle towering above our island of misfit toys, a reminder of everything we could never touch.

It doesn’t feel like that in Ukraine.

This place is pregnant with possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what you might find here. Every day is different and can’t be taken for granted. It’s one of the last places on Earth where you can still find adventure like in the stories. Mystery and magic stalk the land just as madness and misery stalk the battlefield.

Despite the war going on, people here treat me with respect and civility, and are honored just to shake my hand. In Ukraine, I feel valued just for being alive, which is very counter to the American need to justify one’s every breath to society.

In Ukraine, we’re all in the same, bullet-ridden boat.

We all bear the weight of the war. We all put our bodies on the line, however unequally, and in this country that makes every single one of us heroes. Whether or not we deserve that label rests in the judgment of better eyes than mine. Every day we fail to live up to our ideals, and yet every day we get a little closer to them.

Even someone who has “wasted” their life in the eyes of modern society, may one day find that their whole life was meant for just one moment, that moment when they stood for something, that moment when they lived for something, that moment when they died for something. Nothing is ever a waste. Everything is part of the process. Every failure of humanity is required for every moment of glory.

Heroyam Slava!

Glory to the Heroes!