I’m doing everything I can. But is it enough?

I don’t know how long I can keep doing this

IN UKRAINE, WAKING UP IS NOT A CERTAINTY. It is a privilege. And I don’t know how many more times I will have it.

So I get up, give thanks, and go out to make a living. War doesn’t wait for the poor. It doesn’t care if we have enough. So I work, because survival is the only choice I have.

But I also know that I have another duty. I need to write.

Here.

I need to make sure the world remembers. I need to make you understand what it feels like to live in a war. I need to make people see us and care.

And most days, I do it with pride.

I see the flags. I see the messages of support. I see people standing with Ukraine, and I know that our fight is not forgotten.

But some days…

With all the honesty in my heart?

Some days, I feel like a cheerleader at a funeral.

Some will never come home. Some will never see their families again. Some will never even have a grave to return to.

I see their faces in my mind. The ones I knew. The ones I never met. The ones who had lives, dreams, plans. Before the war took everything from them.

And I think: What am I doing here?

I write. I tell their stories. I fight with words.

But what is that against missiles? Against tanks? Against deals being made in the sumptuous palaces of the world, where men in suits trade Ukrainian blood for favors and minerals?

They sit in their places, shaking hands over contracts. We sit in the rubble, searching for bodies.

And I write. And I tell people to remember. And I tell myself that this matters. Because for sure, it matters. That’s reality. That’s the rawest reality possible.

But some days, I don’t know if I believe it.

I know that keeping Ukraine in the public eye is essential. That every word I write is part of the fight. That public pressure changes decisions, that voices raised in unity can shift the course of history.

But there are days when it’s impossible to avoid that feeling.

Even with so many manifestations of support, of love, of care, sometimes I feel like I’m screaming into the void.

Because no matter how many words I write, how many stories I tell, I will never be able to bring them back.

And I can’t do anything to stop the powerful from turning our survival into a business transaction.

But I have no other choice. Stopping would mean surrender.

Words are powerful. They travel farther than bullets.

Destiny wanted me to have this. To have your attention.

The alternative is silence. And silence is what they want.

But still, I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.

Today, I write. Because someone, somewhere, is reading.

And maybe that is enough.

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📖 “The Divine Comedian: Ukraine’s Journey Through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise” is more than a book: it's my attempt to capture Ukraine’s unbreakable spirit in our darkest and brightest moments. If you want to see this war through the eyes of those who refuse to surrender, I invite you to read it. Download it for free in PDF and Kindle formats: