This is A Glimpse of Hope, a weekly letter where I try to bring you something gentle for the weekend. Today, a story about a yellow arch, a boyβs dream, and the strange ways we keep parts of ourselves alive in Ukraine.
WHEN I TALK ABOUT FOOD, I USUALLY talk about health.
In Ukraine, weβre proud to know what real food is. Our fruits, our grains, our honey, our tomatoesβ¦ we eat fresh, pure, alive, close to the land. We learn it from our grandparents.
But thereβs one thing that breaks this rule for me.
One thing that might seem silly, or even shameful to confess.
That yellow arch.
McDonaldβs.
I know what you might think.
Fast food. Processed. A symbol of cheap global sameness. Of everything wrong with modern food.
But let me explain that for me, it was a window.
I was ten years old when McDonaldβs came to Ukraine in 1997.
I remember that first visit like it happened yesterday. The menu looked like as if it were a map to another universe. Those colors, those bright lights, they felt like a glimpse into something I had only seen in dreams.
The world was finally coming to us. We werenβt a backyard anymore.
Not a gray country left behind after communism.
We were part of something.
When I saw that arch, I didnβt think of calories or capitalism. I thought something like We are here. We exist.
Of course I didnβt had this conscious perception as a kid, I only realized it many years later. But I felt it. And itβs always something intense to feel that we matter.

In Kyiv, those restaurants became some of the busiest in the world. You could stand in line for hours. Sometimes you still can.
During the first months of the invasion, McDonaldβs closed. And when they reopened, it felt like an act of defiance. Like saying: We still live. We still choose.
People lined up in the rain. Delivery drivers waited for hours, cradling bags like they were carrying warmth itself. I read that rides to malls with a McDonaldβs went up by 30%.
People were taking those sandwiches across the city, through cold rain, just to sit in a park with his friends.
I remember to hear someone saying that it was like a gift, like hope served in a paper bag.
I had my first job in a restaurant in Dnipro in 2004. It was completely frenetic and tiring. I stayed for almost a year, and it was hard. Every day returning home with pain in my back and oil everywhere. I thought Iβd never look at that arch again.
But soon the pain faded, and that boy in me came again.
The boy who saw those golden arches and believed in magic.

I know itβs not good for me. I know my grandmother would frown. But sometimes, I go anyway.
I order the same sandwich, sit alone, and listen to that young version of myself.
The one who hadnβt seen bombs yet.
The one who didnβt know how heavy grief can be.
The one who thought the world was made of colors, not ruins.
And I find him. Every time.
I know some of you see that arch and turn away. You have better choices, healthier choices. And youβre completely right about that.
But for me, itβs not about food. Itβs also a bridge. A bridge to that boy who thought the world was waiting for him.
I keep him close. Because these days, we all need something small and irrational that still feels pure.
I see him when I find the courage to keep believing that there is something inside us worth saving.
A promise that life can still surprise us.
Thatβs the reason why I keep returning to that arch.
Maybe thatβs also why I keep writing here.
Thereβs still a child inside me, holding a wrapped burger, believing that the world is larger and more generous than it seems.
I donβt go for the taste, but for him.
And every time I do, I remember:
Iβm still here.
Heβs still here.
πΊπ¦
π If you believe in supporting Ukraineβs fight and my words matter to you, please consider a paid subscription. Your support doesnβt just keep this work alive. It keeps the truth from fading. It ensures the world still listens.
π Please take a look and join (if you liked, of course) my second journal I just launched recently in honor of our common fight:
π βUnited We Standβ is a photo book that celebrates the bond between our two nations. Download it for free (PDF format).
π βThe Divine Comedian: Ukraineβs Journey Through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradiseβ is my first book: about Ukraine, seen from inside the fire, and the hope that refuses to die. Download it for free (PDF & Kindle).
Oh Viktor, I must say I drive by McDonaldβs & think βyuck-not real foodβ. After reading your letter, I will see the Golden Arch differently. Hold onto hope. I lit a candle π―οΈ for you in church this morningβ¦praying for the end of this war, prayers for your protection, prayers for all of Ukraine πΊπ¦. Thank you for writing and sharing your story. Much love from Florida, USA.
I like how you try to look at your world through your younger self. It was a happy magical time then. Opposite of todayβs reality. π¨π¦πΊπ¦