When I was seven my brother Van’ka of whom I have two, brothers I mean, said that on April 12, at the Gagarin Square, exactly at midnight, the monument raises its arm. He proposed we go there and see, in case I wasn’t convinced.
My life has undergone colossal changes during the last month.
It has been surrounded by such darkness that it defies words.
The many stories I have heard in Novosvetlovka, Lugansk, Pervomaysk, still upset me.
Children’s faces, signs on walls, grannies struggling down the stairs to get bread, houses with rubbled stairwells.
There is nothing that I want more in the world than to unhear these stories. Forget these faces. I want to go shopping and to the movies, and have heated arguments in the internet about who’s right and who’s wrong.
But on the other hand–this is life, and one has to know about it. Remember it. We all ought to know about it rather than turn away from it. Instead of sticking our heads in the sand, we should understand: war is not about reports from battlefields and pathetic statements from the generals. War is eternal pain and fear.
–During the summer, we buried the corpses in gardens. There was such shelling that one could not go further…The city smelled like decomposing corpses. It’s still unknown how many died. A body can spend a long time in an apartment. Without anyone knowing. Some may still be laying there…
The post about my visit to Pervomaysk caused quite an upheaval.
Especially among my friends and acquaintances.
Many wrote me directly to say that I am a poisonous devil, I am inciting, I am provoking hatred in my posts. There’s blood on my hands. Goebbels, in other words.