Last weekend, I was walking with my husband by the ocean. The beach was covered with fog, and we could barely see anything. The waves were shimmering in the sunlight that somehow managed to find its way through the dense clouds. The shore birds were busy looking for mollusks and hastily ran by the water. My husband said: “It’s like our future — so foggy that we can’t even guess what it will be.” His words reminded me of the New Year's Day of 2022. Back then, we lived in Massachusetts and went for a walk by the lake in our town. It was a cold and misty day. The sky was dark blue, and the streets were illuminated by Christmas lights. My heart was full of hope for a better year ahead. We had gone through so much pain and grief and desperately wished that life could give us a break. I pointed into the fog by the lake and said: “I’m curious what is hidden there. I hope this year is a good one.” Two months later, Russians dropped the first bombs on Kyiv, and my husband’s mom and grandma fled their home with two suitcases and two cats, and became refugees. In October 2024, I looked in the fog, squeezed my husband’s hand, and said that no matter what lies ahead, we will go through it together, as we always do.
These days are a vortex of emotions. I feel grief and despair caused by Russian violence and the destruction of Ukraine, the home of my husband’s family, my friends, and a huge part of my heart. I feel anger and déjà vu watching the events in Georgia, which painfully resemble what already happened in my native Belarus and made my family refugees. My heart and mind explode from these emotions because I feel helpless to change things on a larger scale. However, I also feel hope that, like sunlight, always finds its way through the fog. I feel love for my family and the country that became my home. I feel deep respect and awe for everyone who fights for freedom in Ukraine and resists Russian invasion in every way they can. I root for the people of Georgia to break free from Russian oppression. No one knows what lies in the fog, but I believe that, as humanity, we will make it to the other side and see the sun. We don’t have another choice.
I will finish this letter with a new poem.
“Remember my words: Russia will disappear when the Ukrainian sun rises."
— Dzhokhar Dudayev, 1995. Military leader of the 1990s Chechen Independence movement from Russia and the first president of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria.
*** Old kings are clinging to their thrones till the last breath. Empires crumble under the weight of thousands of bones. Afraid of change, the world continues following the same footsteps, ignoring that new forces already entered the game. No wealth or power can trample human will. Thousands of seeds start growing from the burned ground. A new era is coming, and the old ways fade under the rays of the rising sun.
Warmly,
Darya
Email: daryazorka@substack.com
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What a beautiful poem. And about the foggy day, that is truth right there: we don't know what the future holds, but we will face it together and go into it together.
Darya that is a beautiful poem.