COLABORACIÓN DE LINA ZALITOK
(english below)
11 de septiembre. El sábado escribí en mi diario de guerra que mi vida cotidiana en Kiev casi me había hecho olvidar que seguimos en guerra. De momento no tenía nada que añadir a mi diario. Hace dos semanas salí de Kiev hacia Polonia y Luiv, en viaje con mi amiga que había venido a visitarme desde el extranjero. Conocimos gente, visitamos otros lugares y pedazos de la guerra volvieron a entrar en mi vida. Por suerte, dejé que el tiempo decidiera si lo que quería escribir era bastante importante como para enviarlo luego. Y aquí estoy, escribiendo a la luz de las velas otro artículo de mi diario de guerra en mi portátil, que afortunadamente tiene suficiente batería. El texto que habla de mis dos semanas de vacaciones tendrá que esperara un poco más, tengo que editarlo un poco. Ayer hubo otro ataque sobre Ucrania y los rusos destruyeron gran parte de la infraestructura energética, así que de cuando en cuando hay apagones en Kiev para que puedan hacerse reparaciones. En cuatro regiones se ha cortado completamente la electricidad, nosotros hemos tenido suerte en ese aspecto hasta esta noche. Y como duermo durante el día puedo afrontar con toda mi energía esta noche romántica conmigo misma, hasta que se acabe la batería. O hasta que vuelva el suministro eléctrico.
Esta tarde he dado un paseo por mi barrio, y eso me ha hecho pensar que es posible volver a la vida “normal” en Ucrania. Los restaurantes y cafeterías estaban abiertos, había gente paseando con niños y perros, no faltaba género en supermercados y tiendas. Yo no había salido del apartamento desde el domingo por la noche. El domingo estuve viendo “Doctor Zhivago” (1965), que trata de la Primera Guerra Mundial, la revolución y la guerra civil, cuando la gente se moría de hambre y frío. Con esas imágenes en mi cabeza, vivir la realidad del presente en Kiev me dio mucho ánimo. Mis amigos me enviaron un chiste de internet acerca de alguien que está pensando comprar un generador eléctrico y botellas de agua, pero cuando se termina la alarma antiaérea después de cinco horas se marcha a comprar un café y una hamburguesa al McDonalds. Creo que ya había visto “Doctor Zhivago” siendo una niña porque me resultaban familiares esas imágenes de gente hambrienta, agotada y muerta de frío, huyendo campo a través en medio de la nieve. Esos recuerdos de libros y películas que vi de niña, pero también las advertencias de la gente y del gobierno acerca de la defensa de la población civil, me hacen estar preparada para lo peor y comprar equipamiento y ropas que serían útiles si no hubiera electricidad, gas o agua. Sin embargo acabo de comprar una tarta en el supermercado y me la estoy comiendo, acompañada de un té, a la luz de las velas. Por suerte hay agua corriente y gas, así que he podido hervir el agua para el té; mi amiga por el contrario sólo dispone de agua corriente cuando en su edificio hay electricidad. El único problema es que no puedo ver bien la tarta para disfrutarla más.
Debo decir que los supermercados y centros comerciales siempre me han producido calma, y eso que odio comprar. Sólo el hecho de estar allí ya me da la sensación de que me puedo permitir comprar cosas, de ser una persona solvente que tiene el control sobre su propia vida. Probablemente es un miedo ancestral que se ha transmitido durante generaciones, miedo a no ser capaz de ganarte la vida. Por ejemplo mi abuela siempre repetía que durante su infancia después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial pasaban hambre, y que por eso yo debía terminarme toda la comida del plato sin rechistar. Muchas abuelas decían lo mismo. Y además todas esas historias del Holodomor, la hambruna de 1932-1933 que yo había estudiado en los libros de historia y literatura y de la que he oído hablar a supervivientes en nuestra televisión local. El Holodomor hizo que mi ciudad se volviera mucho más pequeña, porque mucha gente murió de hambre durante esos años y los que vinieron después. Me viene a la memoria que escribí mi primera novela en la escuela acerca del Holodomor. Recuerdo la historia vagamente. Al final, la figura de una madre se aparecía como un fantasma a su hijo o hija. Llevaba puesta una vyshyvanka y decía adiós a su hijo antes de irse al otro mundo.
También recuerdo con mucha claridad lo feliz que me sentía cada vez que mi madre podía permitirse comprar salchichas en los años 90. Ya no se trata de que pudiéramos pagarlas, sino de que hubiera salchichas a la venta en los supermercados. Que las tiendas dispongan de género es una señal de vida normal y de que no estamos volviendo a la Edad Media. Quizá no necesite comprar huevos, por ejemplo, pero es reconfortante que estén disponibles.
También recuerdo con mucha claridad lo feliz que me sentía cada vez que mi madre podía permitirse comprar salchichas en los años 90. Ya no se trata de que pudiéramos pagarlas, sino de que hubiera salchichas a la venta en los supermercados. Que las tiendas dispongan de género es una señal de vida normal y de que no estamos volviendo a la Edad Media. Quizá no necesite comprar huevos, por ejemplo, pero es reconfortante que estén disponibles.
Apenas puedo expresar mis sentimientos acerca del ataque con misiles ayer en el centro de Kiev, porque no siento nada. Ni siquiera rabia. Parecía que un chiquillo enfadado estuviera lanzando trastos a su alrededor. No siento rabia porque esos ataques parecen realizados por auténticos idiotas, y enfadarse sólo sirve para que los rusos consigan la atención que buscan. Y más importante aún, nuestro enfado no es razón para que se mantengan en silencio respecto a los ataques. Probablemente es por eso que muchos ucranianos donaran ayer varios millones de manera voluntaria, y que pese a la tragedia que está sucediendo, siga habiendo muchos chistes en las redes sociales. Mi chiste favorito es una advertencia para que los ucranianos que practican yoga eviten hacer la postura del puente, ya que los rusos podrían considerarlos un objetivo estratégico. Mi prima le dijo a su padre que en cuanto oyó las explosiones cerró la ventana, “porque tenía que trabajar”. Como si cerrar la ventana pudiera hacer desaparecer la guerra. De alguna manera sí puede, al menos acústicamente. Sonó muy divertido y muy “ucraniano”. Una amiga mía escuchó las explosiones inmediatamente después del despertador y decidió seguir durmiendo. No quería enterarse de ninguna cosa horrible y le pareció una buena excusa para no ir a la oficina, “no sea que pase algo”. Como si quedarse en la cama pudiera hacer desaparecer la guerra. Y de alguna manera sí, puede.
Por otra parte, los misiles han caído en sitios por donde yo he estado paseando a menudo este verano y muchos veranos anteriores, y la semana pasada con la amiga que vino a visitarme. Eso me afecta pero no puedo expresarlo con palabras. Si nunca o casi nunca estoy andando por allí se reducen las posibilidades de que me caiga un misil. Por suerte ninguno de mis amigos resultó herido. Pero murieron algunas personas a las que yo no conocía. Ese ataque es totalmente incomprensible, aunque no por ello deja de ser terrorífico. Otra razón para considerar estúpida la estrategia rusa.
Aún así, destruir la infraestructura energética de Ucrania no parece tan estúpido. La infraestructura puede ser reparada, al contrario que las vidas de la gente. Pero al mismo tiempo, sumir a millones de personas en la oscuridad y de esa manera privarles de la vida civilizada, tiene un fuerte impacto. Parece que los rusos tratan de que se vuelva imposible, inaguantable, o al menos muy incómodo para nosotros (depende de lo grave del daño y de la reacción de la gente) vivir en nuestro país.
Hemos cambiado desde el 24 de febrero. Las noticias llegadas desde Bucha, Mariupol, Izium, etc. nos mostraban cosas terribles. Aunque no estuviéramos experimentando en persona todo eso, nos volvimos más resilientes y más duros, como suele decirse “igual que el acero de Azov”.
Hemos cambiado desde el 24 de febrero. Las noticias llegadas desde Bucha, Mariupol, Izium, etc. nos mostraban cosas terribles. Aunque no estuviéramos experimentando en persona todo eso, nos volvimos más resilientes y más duros, como suele decirse “igual que el acero de Azov”.
En los primeros meses de la guerra, tal y como apareció en un comic ucraniano, “teníamos miedo de que Putin en persona nos estuviera persiguiendo”. Recuerdo que yo misma borré un chat en el que hablaba con mi mejor amiga, por miedo a ser identificada como una patriota ucraniana. Borramos direcciones y datos personales. He publicado cosas en facebook y en cada ocasión he pensado si seré algún día castigada por ello. No es tan absurdo después de todo, ya que los soldados rusos estaban únicamente a docenas de kilómetros. Pero ahora que ya ha pasado el tiempo, parece una paranoia irracional.
Cuando escribo estos diarios de guerra trato de enviarlos lo más pronto posible, por si pasa algo que cambia completamente la realidad presente y a la vez mi propia percepción de ella. Al mismo tiempo, supongo que hay cosas que nunca cambian y pensamientos que son temporales pero no menos valiosos, ya que nos dan información sobre momentos concretos. Una de mis amigas escribió hoy que debido a que la ciudad de Kiev ha disminuido el alumbrado para ahorrar electricidad, ella ha podido ver por primera vez las estrellas en el cielo de Kiev. Mucha gente de mi entorno encuentra románticos esos apagones y hacen chistes, como por ejemplo que un hombre que posea un generador eléctrico es un buen partido. Cuando compré mi tarta en el supermercado, me dieron un ticket impreso en papel amarillo. Yo tenía una expresión triste mientras la cajera escaneaba mi tarta y mis verduras. El color amarillo me sorprendió y me hizo sonreír.
-“¿un ticket amarillo?” -le pregunté a la cajera -“sí, para dar alegría a la gente” -me respondió
Mientras escribo esto, ha vuelto la electricidad a mi apartamento. Es un mundo completamente diferente al de hace un minuto. Oigo el sonido de los aparatos electrónicos. Nunca me pareció que sonaran tanto. Puedo percibirlo todo con claridad. De repente todo me parece fácil: cocinar, lavar, leer… es reconfortante saber que no hay más limitaciones, de vuelta a la normalidad. Pero tal y como escribo esta frase, comienza a sonar la alarma aérea y la vida deja de parecer dulce y confortable…
Cuando escribo estos diarios de guerra trato de enviarlos lo más pronto posible, por si pasa algo que cambia completamente la realidad presente y a la vez mi propia percepción de ella. Al mismo tiempo, supongo que hay cosas que nunca cambian y pensamientos que son temporales pero no menos valiosos, ya que nos dan información sobre momentos concretos. Una de mis amigas escribió hoy que debido a que la ciudad de Kiev ha disminuido el alumbrado para ahorrar electricidad, ella ha podido ver por primera vez las estrellas en el cielo de Kiev. Mucha gente de mi entorno encuentra románticos esos apagones y hacen chistes, como por ejemplo que un hombre que posea un generador eléctrico es un buen partido. Cuando compré mi tarta en el supermercado, me dieron un ticket impreso en papel amarillo. Yo tenía una expresión triste mientras la cajera escaneaba mi tarta y mis verduras. El color amarillo me sorprendió y me hizo sonreír.
-“¿un ticket amarillo?” -le pregunté a la cajera -“sí, para dar alegría a la gente” -me respondió
Mientras escribo esto, ha vuelto la electricidad a mi apartamento. Es un mundo completamente diferente al de hace un minuto. Oigo el sonido de los aparatos electrónicos. Nunca me pareció que sonaran tanto. Puedo percibirlo todo con claridad. De repente todo me parece fácil: cocinar, lavar, leer… es reconfortante saber que no hay más limitaciones, de vuelta a la normalidad. Pero tal y como escribo esta frase, comienza a sonar la alarma aérea y la vida deja de parecer dulce y confortable…
(texto original)
Cake and candles
11 September. On Saturday, I wrote into my war diary that “war” almost disappeared from my life in Kyiv. For quite a while I had nothing to add to my war diary. Two weeks ago, I left Kyiv for Poland and Lviv to travel with my friend from abroad who visited me. We met people, visited places and some pieces of war (re)entered my life. Fortunately, I decided to let the text relevance get tested by time and send it later. And here I am, writing under candlelight another war diary on my laptop which was luckily sufficiently charged. The war diary issue about my two weeks’ vacation will have to wait a bit more and need some editing. With yesterday’s attack on Ukraine, the Russians destroyed multiple elements of energetic infrastructure, so from time to time there are blackouts in Kyiv in order to make repair work possible. Four regions were totally cut off from electricity. I was lucky enough to have electricity till tonight. As I slept during the day, now I can with full energy enjoy this romantic evening on my own, as much as the batteries of my devices allow. Or maybe, electricity comes back.
Today’s evening walk around my resident area restored my belief in the possibility of “normal” life in Ukraine. Restaurants and cafes were open, people were walking in the park with children and dogs, supermarkets and different shops were full of goods. I hadn’t left my flat since Sunday evening. On Sunday, I watched the movie “Doctor Zhivago” (1965) about the First World War, revolution and civil war when people died from hunger and cold. Having those pictures in my head, experiencing the present Kyiv reality was very much encouraging. My friends sent an internet joke about a person thinking about buying an electric generator and ten bottles of water, but after the end of five hours air alarm buying coffee to go and a burger at McDonalds. I guess, I saw “Doctor Zhivago” already as a child, because the picture of hungry people going exhausted and almost frozen to death through a snowy landscape seemed to me so familiar. Memories from the books and films I read and watched as a child, but also people’s and government’s advice on civil defense make me want to prepare for the worst and buy equipment and clothes which would be useful for times without electricity, gas or water. Instead, I just bought a big cake at the supermarket and am eating it under candlelight with tea. Fortunately, I have water and gas, so I could boil water for tea, unlike my friend who has water only if there is electricity in her building. The only deficit is that I cannot see the cake clearly in order to enjoy it more.
I must say that shopping centers and supermarkets have always had a calming effect on me, although I hate shopping. Just being there gives a feeling of being able to afford something, i.e. to be a solvent person having control over his or her life. Probably, it is a kind of archaic fear of inability to afford one’s living transmitted through generations. To illustrate, my grandmother always repeated that in her childhood after the Second World War, she experienced famine and that I should eat what is given without any whims. Many grandmothers said so. Add all those stories about Holodomor, famine in 1932-1933, which I read in history and literature schoolbooks and heard from people who survived, in our local television. Holodomor made my hometown much smaller, because lots of people died from hunger in those years and afterwards. It occurs to me that I wrote my first novel at school about Holodomor. I vaguely remember the story. At the end there was a figure of mother who appeared as a ghost to her son or daughter. She wore a vyshyvanka and said good-bye to her child before going to another world.
I also clearly remember how happy I was each time my mother could afford to buy sausage in the 90s. Now it is not about my ability to pay, but rather about the availability of goods. The abundance in stores is a sign of normal life and a proof that we did not roll back to Middle Ages. I do not have to buy eggs, for example, but it suffices to see that they are available.
I can hardly express my feelings about yesterday’s missile attacks on Kyiv center, because I don’t have any. Not even anger. It looked like an upset child throwing around ... big iron pieces with lots of explosives. I am not angry, because these attacks look quite idiotic and being angry only gives the Russians attention they wanted to get. More importantly, being angry doesn’t make them accountable to say nothing of punishment. Probably that was the reason why many Ukrainians donated yesterday many millions to volunteer funds and why despite the tragic of what has happened, there were so many jokes in social networks yesterday. My favorite joke was an announcement asking the Ukrainians not to do a bridge yoga pose, because the Russians can regard them as a strategic object.
My cousin told her father that as she heard explosions, she closed the window, “because she had to work.” As if closing the window could make the war disappear. In a way, it could, at least acoustically. It sounded very funny though and very “Ukrainian”. A friend of mine heard the explosions almost immediately after her clock alarm and decided to sleep more. She did not want to get to know anything horrible and found it a good pretext not to go to office, “lest something happens”. As if diving into sleep could make the war disappear. In a way, yes, it could.
On the other side, missiles hit the spots where I walked many times this summer and many years before and a week ago with a friend from abroad who came to visit me. That touches me, but I cannot put in words. As I rarely or never (?) walked at this time there, it reduces the possibility of me being hit there. Fortunately, no one of my friends was hurt. But some people whom I don’t know died. This attack is totally incomprehensible, but its incomprehensibility does not have an effect of terror. It is rather another reason to regard the Russian “strategists” as stupid.
However, destroying energetic infrastructure of Ukraine does not seem so stupid. Destroyed infrastructure can be restored unlike people’s lives which were taken away. At the same time, putting millions of people into darkness and in this way depriving them of achievements of civilization does have a strong impact. The Russians seem to be trying to make it impossible, unbearable, or at least uncomfortable (it depends on severity of damage and people’s reaction to it) for us to live in our country.
We changed since 24 February. The news on Bucha, Mariupol, Izyum, etc. showed us horrible things. Even if many of us didn’t experience it personally, we got more resilient and harder, some say, like Azov steel. In the first months of war, as one Ukrainian comic put it, “we were afraid that Putin personally comes after us.” I remember myself deleting a chat with my best friend because of fear to be identified as Ukrainian patriot. We deleted addresses and personal data. I posted publicly on Facebook and was thinking every time if I will be some day punished for that. It was not that unreasonable after all, as Russian soldiers were some dozens kilometers away. But now, from future, it looks like unreasonable paranoia.
When I am writing my war diaries, I am trying to send them as soon as possible, before something happens which completely changes the present reality and respectively my perception of it. At the same time, I suppose there are things which do not change and there are thoughts which are temporary, but not less precious, as they tell us about some certain moments. One of my friends wrote today that because the city of Kyiv dimmed lights to reduce electricity consumption, for the first time ever she could see the stars in the Kyiv sky. Most people from my “bubble” find these blackouts in Kyiv and Lviv romantic and crack jokes, for example that a man with an electric generator is now a perfect candidate for marriage. When I bought my cake at the supermarket, I got a receipt on a yellow paper. My face was sad, as the woman at the cash desk was scanning my cake and vegetables. The yellow color surprised me and made me smile. “Yellow receipt?” – I asked the woman. “Yes, to bring people some joy.” – she answered.
Now as I am writing this, electricity is back in my flat. It is a totally different world than a minute before. I hear the sound of electric devices. They never seemed to me so loud. I can see everything clearly. Suddenly everything becomes so easy: cooking, washing, reading... It comforts to know that there are no limitations anymore. Back to normal. But as I am writing this sentence, there is a sound of air alarm and life does not seem to be so comfortable and sweet anymore…
Cake and candles
11 September. On Saturday, I wrote into my war diary that “war” almost disappeared from my life in Kyiv. For quite a while I had nothing to add to my war diary. Two weeks ago, I left Kyiv for Poland and Lviv to travel with my friend from abroad who visited me. We met people, visited places and some pieces of war (re)entered my life. Fortunately, I decided to let the text relevance get tested by time and send it later. And here I am, writing under candlelight another war diary on my laptop which was luckily sufficiently charged. The war diary issue about my two weeks’ vacation will have to wait a bit more and need some editing. With yesterday’s attack on Ukraine, the Russians destroyed multiple elements of energetic infrastructure, so from time to time there are blackouts in Kyiv in order to make repair work possible. Four regions were totally cut off from electricity. I was lucky enough to have electricity till tonight. As I slept during the day, now I can with full energy enjoy this romantic evening on my own, as much as the batteries of my devices allow. Or maybe, electricity comes back.
Today’s evening walk around my resident area restored my belief in the possibility of “normal” life in Ukraine. Restaurants and cafes were open, people were walking in the park with children and dogs, supermarkets and different shops were full of goods. I hadn’t left my flat since Sunday evening. On Sunday, I watched the movie “Doctor Zhivago” (1965) about the First World War, revolution and civil war when people died from hunger and cold. Having those pictures in my head, experiencing the present Kyiv reality was very much encouraging. My friends sent an internet joke about a person thinking about buying an electric generator and ten bottles of water, but after the end of five hours air alarm buying coffee to go and a burger at McDonalds. I guess, I saw “Doctor Zhivago” already as a child, because the picture of hungry people going exhausted and almost frozen to death through a snowy landscape seemed to me so familiar. Memories from the books and films I read and watched as a child, but also people’s and government’s advice on civil defense make me want to prepare for the worst and buy equipment and clothes which would be useful for times without electricity, gas or water. Instead, I just bought a big cake at the supermarket and am eating it under candlelight with tea. Fortunately, I have water and gas, so I could boil water for tea, unlike my friend who has water only if there is electricity in her building. The only deficit is that I cannot see the cake clearly in order to enjoy it more.
I must say that shopping centers and supermarkets have always had a calming effect on me, although I hate shopping. Just being there gives a feeling of being able to afford something, i.e. to be a solvent person having control over his or her life. Probably, it is a kind of archaic fear of inability to afford one’s living transmitted through generations. To illustrate, my grandmother always repeated that in her childhood after the Second World War, she experienced famine and that I should eat what is given without any whims. Many grandmothers said so. Add all those stories about Holodomor, famine in 1932-1933, which I read in history and literature schoolbooks and heard from people who survived, in our local television. Holodomor made my hometown much smaller, because lots of people died from hunger in those years and afterwards. It occurs to me that I wrote my first novel at school about Holodomor. I vaguely remember the story. At the end there was a figure of mother who appeared as a ghost to her son or daughter. She wore a vyshyvanka and said good-bye to her child before going to another world.
I also clearly remember how happy I was each time my mother could afford to buy sausage in the 90s. Now it is not about my ability to pay, but rather about the availability of goods. The abundance in stores is a sign of normal life and a proof that we did not roll back to Middle Ages. I do not have to buy eggs, for example, but it suffices to see that they are available.
I can hardly express my feelings about yesterday’s missile attacks on Kyiv center, because I don’t have any. Not even anger. It looked like an upset child throwing around ... big iron pieces with lots of explosives. I am not angry, because these attacks look quite idiotic and being angry only gives the Russians attention they wanted to get. More importantly, being angry doesn’t make them accountable to say nothing of punishment. Probably that was the reason why many Ukrainians donated yesterday many millions to volunteer funds and why despite the tragic of what has happened, there were so many jokes in social networks yesterday. My favorite joke was an announcement asking the Ukrainians not to do a bridge yoga pose, because the Russians can regard them as a strategic object.
My cousin told her father that as she heard explosions, she closed the window, “because she had to work.” As if closing the window could make the war disappear. In a way, it could, at least acoustically. It sounded very funny though and very “Ukrainian”. A friend of mine heard the explosions almost immediately after her clock alarm and decided to sleep more. She did not want to get to know anything horrible and found it a good pretext not to go to office, “lest something happens”. As if diving into sleep could make the war disappear. In a way, yes, it could.
On the other side, missiles hit the spots where I walked many times this summer and many years before and a week ago with a friend from abroad who came to visit me. That touches me, but I cannot put in words. As I rarely or never (?) walked at this time there, it reduces the possibility of me being hit there. Fortunately, no one of my friends was hurt. But some people whom I don’t know died. This attack is totally incomprehensible, but its incomprehensibility does not have an effect of terror. It is rather another reason to regard the Russian “strategists” as stupid.
However, destroying energetic infrastructure of Ukraine does not seem so stupid. Destroyed infrastructure can be restored unlike people’s lives which were taken away. At the same time, putting millions of people into darkness and in this way depriving them of achievements of civilization does have a strong impact. The Russians seem to be trying to make it impossible, unbearable, or at least uncomfortable (it depends on severity of damage and people’s reaction to it) for us to live in our country.
We changed since 24 February. The news on Bucha, Mariupol, Izyum, etc. showed us horrible things. Even if many of us didn’t experience it personally, we got more resilient and harder, some say, like Azov steel. In the first months of war, as one Ukrainian comic put it, “we were afraid that Putin personally comes after us.” I remember myself deleting a chat with my best friend because of fear to be identified as Ukrainian patriot. We deleted addresses and personal data. I posted publicly on Facebook and was thinking every time if I will be some day punished for that. It was not that unreasonable after all, as Russian soldiers were some dozens kilometers away. But now, from future, it looks like unreasonable paranoia.
When I am writing my war diaries, I am trying to send them as soon as possible, before something happens which completely changes the present reality and respectively my perception of it. At the same time, I suppose there are things which do not change and there are thoughts which are temporary, but not less precious, as they tell us about some certain moments. One of my friends wrote today that because the city of Kyiv dimmed lights to reduce electricity consumption, for the first time ever she could see the stars in the Kyiv sky. Most people from my “bubble” find these blackouts in Kyiv and Lviv romantic and crack jokes, for example that a man with an electric generator is now a perfect candidate for marriage. When I bought my cake at the supermarket, I got a receipt on a yellow paper. My face was sad, as the woman at the cash desk was scanning my cake and vegetables. The yellow color surprised me and made me smile. “Yellow receipt?” – I asked the woman. “Yes, to bring people some joy.” – she answered.
Now as I am writing this, electricity is back in my flat. It is a totally different world than a minute before. I hear the sound of electric devices. They never seemed to me so loud. I can see everything clearly. Suddenly everything becomes so easy: cooking, washing, reading... It comforts to know that there are no limitations anymore. Back to normal. But as I am writing this sentence, there is a sound of air alarm and life does not seem to be so comfortable and sweet anymore…
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