Our Chronicle

I wrote a large, pathos-laden speech before this report but then erased it. Such words are probably unnecessary here.
Bitterness, sadness, sense of injury–these feelings must be removed from posts. It seems that, over the last three and a half years, we got tired of it. And if our earlier stories were full of tragedy, they’ve since become a chronicle. A chronicle of war, of aid, of human fates. I’d like to change a lot in the surrounding us world, but all I can do is talk about tiny fragments of human lives.
These are our “workdays” which are difficult to tell in a novel way every time.
Because they’ve become a “routine”, which fills our days.
For example, the story of Marina and Alyona, two girls who live without their parents.
The older one works and feeds and younger who is a student. They’ve never seen their fathers, the mother is unfit and even the girls say “it’s better she never comes back.”
So here I’m looking at a photo with the older Marine and the aid we brought, and see a very thin girl. Tiny, fragile, and a stuff elephant with a raised trunk. For some reason I wanted to write about the pink elephant. Small, like Marine herself, on a sofa in an apartment where there’s almost no furniture. With a rug as backdrop. The whole internet makes fun of things like that. But the rug keeps the heat in…And decorates the utterly empty apartment.


They also keep a water turtle and a chipmunk which noisily digs through papers. The girls smile shyly when we look at their home. I remember how once arrived without warning and they were afraid to open the door. They hid and turned off the light.
You can read more about the sisters by clicking on the “sisters” tag at the bottom of this post.


On the photo below, wearing a headscarf and holding a cane, is Elena Vladimirovna, sitting on a couch next to food. The grandmother is averting her gaze. Many whom we photograph do so. They are ashamed that things turned out like that. That they can’t feed themselves. But how else can they survive?
She raises a young granddaughter by herself.
And you know why?
Her daughter died in front of her granddaughter. She was killed by a single shell fragment which came into their apartment. The girl’s mother, the grandmother’s daughter, is gone. They live alone. Grandmother and granddaughter. They are surviving, and don’t know how to keep on…
The girl will bear what she saw for the rest of her life. She will have to cope with her mother’s death for the rest of her life.

But another granny, Larisa, is smiling from ear to ear. And so does her grandson. She’s also raising him alone. Her son joined the militia and was killed. Sasha later received his father’s posthumous medal for bravery.
There is a whole range of problems. Larisa is ill, her blood pressure varies wildly. She serves the role of the mother, the father, and the grandmother in this family. And they are laughing, they try to appear merry on the photos. It’s definitely for show, what happens inside cannot be captured by a camera. They are as uncomfortable when we visit as many others. To be helped by strangers. That’s how it all turned out…
Here’s what Zhenya said about their story.
“Granny talks to Sasha:
–If you get a C, you might as well not come home. (said and forgot)
He comes home and cries, doesn’t say anything but starts to collect his things.
–What are you doing? (Granny is in shock)
–I got a C! (and really starts crying) )))
The hugged each other and cried together.
–What are you talking about? You are my little Sun, I can’t live without you. I wasn’t thinking, please forgive me…
Then she furrows her brow.
–But you’ll fix the C?
–Yes, yes! Never again!


Friends, thank you for your help! Thank you for still reading me and participating in helping all these people. They have nobody else left.

If you want to join the aid effort for the people of the Donbass, please write me in person through LiveJournal, facebookV Kontakte, or email: littlehirosima@gmail.com. Paypal address: littlehirosima@gmail.com.


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