January 21st 2026

Yuriy opens up about his prolonged absence and the challenges faced due to personal struggles with depression and caution in communication. He provides an insightful look into the difficulties Ukraine is currently facing, including severe winter conditions, escalating attacks on civilians and infrastructure, and the pervasive impact of the ongoing war on future plans. Yuriy shares a poignant narrative about the harsh realities of living in war-torn Ukraine and the need for global support and understanding.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)    

This is January 21st.

I've been absent from here for quite a long time. This is connected, first of all with depression, which from time to time catches up with me and turns me into a person who's simply unable to write a conscious, coherent text. And secondly, is connected with caution. I really don't want to say something that could damage relations between Ukraine and the United States, something that officials in America, if they hear it might perceive as an insult and begin to put even more pressure on Ukraine.

These are very hard times right now, probably the hardest of all the years of the full scale war. We don't know what to expect from our, until very recently, main ally, and at the same time, this is very coldest winter in years. It is very cold and Russia is constantly trying to make advantage of it. Every day the occupiers bomb heat and power plants living millions of Ukrainians without heat and electricity. This happened in previous years as well, but now everything is much worse because of a prolonged severe frost and the large number of missiles and drones the Russians have stockpiled. The number of civilians killed by this scum grows every day.

No one hopes for a quick end of the war anymore. All plans for this year are connected only with the war. The son of my friends who will turn 25 in November, the age of conscription into the active army, is already looking for a unit for himself already now, almost a year in advance. He wants to find one where he can be as effective as possible.

As it turns out, it is very difficult to live in a world where for years your future is tied only to war attempts to plan something to dream about something are absolutely futile. You begin to live in  short stretches of time to make it to the next week, to wait until it gets warm, even just to make it to evening.

When you live in this mode and at the same time, know exactly who has imposed this mode on you, it is very painful to watch how somewhere in the world this maniac and murderer is still considered a respectable person, is invited places, is consulted about something- damn, I'm about to slip and to things I shouldn't.

So just know this: we are holding on despite everything, and we believe that reasonable people from all over the world are with us and on our side. Thank you.

December 12th 2025

In this episode, Yuriy, a journalist-turned-soldier, reflects on his experiences with body armor during his reporting years in conflict zones such as Syria, Iraq, and Gaza. He explains his decision to forgo wearing body armor due to its cumbersome nature and the logistical challenges it presented. Reflecting on the early days of his military service during the full-scale war in his country, he discusses the difficulties in acquiring suitable protective gear and the realization that body armor has an expiration date. Facing an uncertain future, he hopes that the war will end before his current body armor becomes unreliable.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

 It is December 12th.

In my former life as a reporter, I eventually started neglecting my body armor. And that's easy to explain: it is heavy, takes up a lot of space, it is hot inside it, and it's difficult to move. I always took a helmet with me to every dangerous assignment, Syria, Iraq, Gaza, and so on. But the west I carried far from always did I ever regret, not taking it with me? No, at least I don't remember ever regretting it. Did I regret it when I did bring the vest? Almost every single time. I had to look for a bag big enough to fit it, pay huge extra fees for its excessive weight at airports, and once the border guards confiscated it from me, right upon arrival for the Arab Spring in Cairo- it just sat in the warehouse for two weeks until I flew back. Essentially, I just took the vest on a round trip to Africa at my own expense. And it is very hard to run in it, especially with asthma: getting into a car or an APC is a struggle and clothing under it gets ruined very quickly from friction and sweat. Long story short, at some point I simply decided I was not going to take it anymore -that a helmet alone was really enough for me.

I even justified that decision with Vietnam War era statistics claiming what the likelihood of suffering a severe head injury was much higher than getting hit in the body by a bullet or shrapnel. I did not know how accurate those numbers really were, but they suited me, so I clung to them. The helmet did save me a few times. It took hits from the stones and tear gas grenades, it served as my pillow, my chair, and my hammer. At one point, I just gave my body armor to a friend who was heading into a dangerous place and told him he could keep it. I said that it only collected dust and took up space. So when the full scale war came to my own country, I ended up having no armor at all.

In the first weeks of the war, they gave me a strange old plate carrier with large, heavy plates. It was poorly sewn and fell apart very quickly. I tried to find a new carrier for the plates that remained, but it turned out those plates were completely non-standard and simply did not fit into normal carriers.

I had to buy new plates- with the money raised through this podcast -ordered from Austria, they arrived very quickly and fit perfectly into standard vest. Honestly, I don't remember whether I read the markings on those plates at that time or not, but recently I took them out of the vest and accidentally noticed that they have an expiration date. They are not eternal and in fact not very long lasting. Mine are good until June 2027. What happens after that is hard to say. As far as I understand, some kind of composite material, which makes the plates somewhat lighter than the solid metal ones, will start losing its properties and won't be as strong as before. Of course, they won't crumble into dust in July 2027, but they won't be as reliable as we are now.

I hope I won't be serving in the army long enough for that date to matter, that the war will be over before then. But there is no guarantee at all. In the winter of 2022.    When I went into the Army, I thought it would be for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, but I've been serving for almost four years now. June 2027 is already much closer than February 2022. 

November 11th 2025

In this milestone 300th episode of Fighting For Ukraine, Ukrainian journalist-turned-soldier, now war Veteran Yuriy marks his 45th birthday on the front lines — another year lived inside the Ukraine war. What should have been a day of celebration is instead filled with reflection, grief, and quiet resilience.

Yuriy looks back on the years the war has taken — from 41 to 45 — and the many personal losses along the way, including the recent passing of his beloved cat, his longtime companion and namesake for his army call sign. Through this heartfelt story, Yuriy opens up about the loneliness of a soldier’s life, the pain of being far from aging parents, and the small, sacred comforts that keep hope alive — even if that hope now takes the shape of a “cat god” watching over his furry friend.

Recorded on Veterans Day, this episode is both a birthday reflection and a meditation on endurance, love, and the cost of survival in wartime Ukraine.

Here is his substack about his cat Pumpkin: https://open.substack.com/pub/yuriymatsarsky/p/pumpkin?r=dzvo1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

Send Yuriy your letter of support [email protected] 

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is November 11,

And this is the 300th episode of my podcast, and it is special because today is my birthday. I turned 45. When the full scale war began, and I became a soldier, I was 41. Yes, it has been going on for that long. 41, 42, 43, 44, and now 45- these are the years of my life taken by the war. The past year has probably been the hardest. My parents, whom I haven't seen in several years are getting sicker, and my chances of seeing them again are getting smaller. By the way, today is also my mother's birthday. She gave birth to us- to me and to my traitor brother -on her own holiday.

This was another year of unfulfilled expectations, a year of painful losses. Even the end of my 44th year was very hard. In the first days of November, my cat passed away and he was actually something more than just a kid. He was my little furry best friend, and I even took my call sign in his honor when I joined the army.

Once my cat was even with me on a mission the summer before last, my comrades and I were in the east and we were housed in a building that was full of mice. It was impossible to live there because of the number of rodents, so I brought my cat with me. He did not catch a single mouse- he was terribly afraid of them- but just his presence and his smell scared the mice away. They left and we were able to live there in peace. 

He was such a good cat, so dear to me. Even in his death, he saved me. In recent days, I was in a very bad psychological state, truly very depressed. All of it was headed either toward a nervous breakdown or a heart attack, and then I found out that my cat died and something in me just burst. I cried for about an hour bitterly and without stopping. And I felt better afterwards. I felt calm. I don't believe in human god. He does not exist, or at least not the one described in the Bible- all good and all powerful. If he existed, this whole nightmare simply would not have happened. But I really want to believe in a cat god, one who would take care of my little cat, tell him kind things and wrap him in a blanket before sleep. I like a god like that. I will think about him or her and maybe it'll make things a bit easier.

So this turns out to be another set episode, even though it's a birthday one. And it's also Veterans Day to day. So it should have been a double celebration, but I don't feel festival. In the previous episode, I talked about the books I bought a year ago, planning to read them after the war. It was my gift to myself last year. Back then I had hoped that about a year later I would already be reading them. But that didn't happen, and most likely it won't happen by my 46th birthday either. I'm slowly accepting this reality and learning to live inside it.

Thank you for still being with me for all these years and hundreds of episodes. It truly means a lot to me, and please find a couple of minutes to read a short story on my substack, which I dedicated to my late dear cat.

November 4th 2025

In this moving episode of Fighting For Ukraine, Ukrainian journalist-turned-soldier Yuriy reflects on life in the midst of the Ukraine war — and on the small dreams that help him and his comrades endure.

As the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine stretches far beyond the first six months, Yuriy shares how Ukrainian soldiers hold on to hope by imagining the peace that will someday come. Some plan to ride motorcycles or rebuild farms; Yuriy dreams of returning home to read two heavy volumes — The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings and The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings.

Yuriy reveals the inner world of a Ukrainian soldier: the longing for normal life, the optimism that survives even on the front lines, and the reminder that every unread book or unplayed record can become a symbol of survival.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

 It is November four.

In the early days of a full-scale war, we in the Army held on thanks to the confidence that it would all end soon: in six months or in a year, everyone would go home, return to the usual routines. All the conversations back then were about what awaited each of us at home or at work. But as six months passed, then a year and even more time, it became harder and harder to cling to the expectation of a quick return to normal life. Even the most stubborn born started to realize that this was going to drag on for a long time. Those with more flexible minds were the lucky ones. These people adapted pretty quickly to military life, eagerly started earning ranks and had no problem tying even their distant future to the army. There are actually a lot of them- people who were completely civilian before, who became real warriors and feel perfectly fine in their new role.

But there are others who still need to envision some kind of conditionally peaceful future. Since in our reality, it is still nowhere in sight, people start inventing it for themselves. I have a friend who bought a motorcycle for after the war, even for he does not know how to ride it. Another one, with no agricultural experience whatsoever, bought an abandoned farm that he plans to restore and start growing some plants. I'm still a civilian inside too. I need some picture of future outside the army. So, a year ago I bought myself two slightly used books The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings and The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings. These are very detailed description of jazz and blues recordings starting from the dawn of sound recordings and covering almost up to the present day. And the title does not mean that the books were written by penguins, or that the Penguins are the primary audience. It refers to the publishing house, Penguin, which printed the books. 

You might say, that is nonsense compared to a motorcycle and especially a farm- but I'll tell you that this purchase is a proof that I'm no ordinary optimist. Behind buying the books was the imagination of how after the war, I'd spend evenings, slowly reading them, listening to the albums, mentioned in them, and then buying on vinyl those what I liked the most. There are already too many assumptions in that. I have to live until peace comes. I have to keep my hearing and my love for music. I need to have time and the opportunity to read those books -and the money for the records. Like I said, I'm an optimist.

The books are waiting for me at home. They are big and heavy to lug around, they have delicate paper covers. And anyway, I bought them specifically to read after the war, not now. So, I haven't even opened them yet. And once for a moment, I even regretted that. Completely unexpectedly, a few months ago, not far from the front line, I was with a few comrades in open terrain when a Russian drone came flying straight at us. And for some reason at that moment, I didn't think about my family, my daughter, or anything else only, that I had never started reading those books. A strange moment: these could be your last seconds, and you regretting that you never opened The Penguin Guide To Jazz Recordings. The drone flew past us, giving me a chance to eventually get to my books. I hope I'll still make use of that chance.

October 27th 2025

Yuriy returns to his childhood apartment in Kharkiv, reflecting on memories and the stark changes brought by war. Amidst the remnants of the past, he finds solace in small comforts and prepare the space for fellow Ukrainian soldiers passing through.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 27th of October.

I'm recording this episode sitting in the kitchen of my apartment in Kharkiv. I came here for, just a few hours and almost as soon as I finish this story, I'll be living again. This apartment belonged to several generations of my family. I grew up here, as did my cousins, my daughter, and my nephews. There were always a lot of people here, always noisy and cheerful, you know those silly comedies where stereotypical Italian families all cram into a tiny kitchen and everyone talks at once, it was kind of like that here too.

But for almost four years now, it hasn't been like that. The Russian border is less than 20 miles away and constant sharing has destroyed much of the civilian infrastructure. There is no heat in the apartment and electricity is often cut off. I look out the window and see almost the same view I saw all my childhood- trees with yellow, autumn leaves a few people walking by dogs, pigeons perched on the wires, waiting for my elderly neighbor to come out and feed them bread crumbs. Of course, many things in the courtyard have changed. The big, beautiful riping willow is gone, only the stump remains. A few weeks before the full scale war, it was struck by lightning and burned completely. If I believed in omens, I would have taken that as a very bad sign.

Next to the stump, there is something else that was not here when I was a child, a green military van. It's mine. It's large and fairly comfortable though, it's already 20 years old. It could easily fit my whole family and we could drive somewhere to the sea, to Crimea where it is still warm, even if swimming in the sea is no longer possible. But there is no one to go with, and Crimea has long been occupied. My family is scattered across the world. The once noisy apartment now stands silent and slowly falls apart. I'm not selling it or renting it out- not only for sentimental reasons, but also because I use it as a place to rest during my trips. There is still gas here so I can hit some water and take a shower. When the power's on, I can even do laundry in the washing machine. You can't imagine what a luxury that is for a soldier.

I made several sets of keys to this apartment and gave them to friends who serve nearby or occasionally pass through Kharkiv. I can tell that someone was here recently. There is a bottle of water and a can of food on the table just in case someone arrives late when the stores are closed, so they'll have something to eat and something to make tea or coffee with. Someone also spent the night in my daughter's former room and read books from her little library, Sherlock Holmes, and some modern science fiction.

It's time for me to go. I'll check if I've turned off all the lights, leave some fresh water and a bit of cookies on the table for people who can come here in the future and head out from my childhood home once again.

I don't know when or if I'll come back, but I really hope I will.

October 7th 2025

In the wake of increased Russian bombings targeting Ukraine, the city of Dnipro stands as a primary target. Despite the ongoing devastation and personal horror, residents persist in daily life, adapting to the continuous threat while grappling with immense fear and loss.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is October seven.

In recent months, the Russians have been bombing Ukraine more intensely than at any time during the previous three years. Every day they launch dozens of missiles at cities and several times a week they also carry out hyper attacks. Using hundreds of chemical drones, cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles. They target boiler houses and power plants, which is especially painful now with the weather is turning cold, as well as railway stations and residential buildings. People die horrible deaths, suffocating under wearable, crashed by the remains of their own homes, or burnt alive after explosions.

The city of Dnipro, a huge metropolis in Eastern Ukraine, is one of the main targets of these bombings. It lies not far from the front line, so the Russians [00:01:00] shell it constantly, and with everything they have. It is interesting that at the beginning of the invasion, Dnipro was not bombed at all. For several months, the occupiers furiously bombed Kyiv, Kharkiv and Mykolaiv, but not Dnipro. I think it was because of their false believe that most of the population there supported Russia and would soon rise up against the Ukrainian government. For a long time, the Russians actually believed that nonsense. They never knew anything about Ukraine and they never understood us. And now they're taking revenge for the destruction of their own illusions by raining rockets and drones down on Dnipro.

I've been in Dnipro for past few days. I saw the horror with my own eyes. You know, it's terrifying when a drone carrying tens of kilograms of explosives hits a building right next to you and completely destroys it. The smoke rise over the city [00:02:00] in a massive column: several streets are literate with a debris of ruin structure; there are dead and badly injured people. And yet life goes on. People rush to work, drink coffee, public transport runs, shops are open. It's not because people are heartless, it's because they're grown used to eat. When it happens once, it's a shock. But when it happens every day for years, there is no strength left to react. People adapt to the horror and learn to live alongside it.

Is it easy? No, it's incredibly hard. A few days ago I spoke on the phone with my daughter. She's studying at university. Fortunately, she doesn't have to pay due tuition now because the children of combatants are allowed to study for free. She studies, works two jobs and is currently looking for a third. I ask her why she need such a heavy workload [00:03:00] since her income should already be enough for a modest life, but it turned out it's not just about money. She told me this: "When I have free time, I cry from fear and despair. That's why I want to have as little free time as possible."

The great war has been going on for an almost four years now. Almost four years of fear, despair, and heroism.

Yuriy reflects on his three and a half years in the army, recounting experiences of loss, perseverance, and the ongoing conflict that has spanned 1,300 days. He shares personal anecdotes and the emotional toll the prolonged war has taken on him and his country.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is September 16th.

I took a long post to try to make sense of what's happening. I've been in the army for over three and a half years. I've buried countless friends and colleagues, and I've watched entire towns perish and enemy bombardments. And there is still no, end in sight. The big war has been going on for over 1,300 days, and before that there was a smaller war confined to a couple of regions in the east of a country. In total, the war has been a region for 11 years. And I constantly think about how it could easily drag on for another 11.

I spent a lot of time driving now. Sometimes I have to cover 400-500 miles in a day. You drive and you constantly thinking, constantly recalling stories you'd almost forgotten. For example, I remember how in the first days someone gave me a NATO first eight kit- a very valuable thing even now, but back when it was worth its weight in gold. A few days later, I gave it to a guy who was replacing me at a position before I was sent to rest, that was the first or second week of a big war. I thought it would all be over quickly, so I wouldn't need the kit anymore. I figured I'd return from the rest straight to the civilian life. Why would I need a first aid kit there? It's been 1300 days ago and I still haven't returned. I don't regret giving away the kit. Maybe it saved someone's life. But damn, what a fool I was back then. I believed the end was near.

I also remembered a woman in Iraq who escaped from ISIS on the boat with several children, an ordinary peasant widow. She rowed it for nights, hiding in the reeds eating almost nothing, but she made it out. I asked her how she managed. She said 'I did not even want to see was bastards but that's what gave me strength.' Our whole country has been holding on for years, probably only because we don't want to see these bastards crawling over our northern border. But refusal, it seems to me it's the only inexhaustible resource a normal person has. All the other resources: optimism, faith in the future, hope for better days, even tolerance for hours are running out. At least for me.

I've become harsh in human root and I increasingly offend people for no reason. I understand it all, but I can't do anything about it. Everything has changed so much. And so have I.

August 22nd 2025

Yuriy returns after a long absence to discuss the uncertain future of Ukraine's war. He shares his concerns about decisions being made without Ukraine's consent, the potential humiliation in impending peace talks, and the internal divisions in Ukraine that may follow.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 22nd of August.

Sorry, I've been absent for a long time. First, I was somewhere without stable internet connection, and when I came down with COVID, which I only just managed to recover from Stevie, who helped me make this podcast, who actually came up with the idea for it and who has been distributing it and supporting me in every possible way since day one sent me your letters of support. I am very grateful to all of you right now. Support is absolutely essential. It feels to me like we are entering the most uncertain and bleak stage of the war.

In the beginning, everything was very simple: take up a rifle and go to the trenches- either you stop the occupiers, or you vanish along with the country. And for quite a long time, that's exactly how it was. Now everything is completely different. Decisions about Ukraine's fate are being made without Ukraine. For months, we've been under pressure with various ultimatums. One moment we are told to give up our regions and hand them over without a fight to the invaders. Another time we are told to hold elections in the middle of a bloodiest war in Europe in decades, then they come up with something else. And all this is not coming from our enemies, as one might expect, but from our partners and allies. Maybe I'm wrong, but I have a bad feeling that we are being prepared for something terribly humiliating.

One of my fellow journalists who has long been serving in the army recently said something terrifying. "Enjoy the war because of a peace will be horrible." And I'm afraid he's right. Because it looks like the Russians will simply be forgiven for everything they've done and even allowed to keep the territories they've occupied. Hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians will remain under occupation. Right now, they still have hope that the Ukrainian army will return and free them, but once the war is frozen, that hope will vanish.

Once the war is frozen. Ukrainians also will start looking for someone to blame, for failing to take everything back and destroy the enemy once and for all. And I fear that many will decide that the ones to blame are us, the soldiers. That we did not try hard enough, that we did not give it everything we could, that we let everyone down. Entire political parties will appear representing the interests of those who dodged the draft. They will hound the military and belittle the sacrifice of wars who died. Once again, we will be voices calling for cooperation with Russia dragging back Russian music, movies, and money.

Meanwhile, Russia will be preparing for the next war. It has already learned from its mistakes and it's only waiting for the right moment to try to take all of Ukraine. It does not need much for that division within Ukraine itself, and more money which will flow in as soon as sanctions are lifted. The future really does look uncertain and frightening. And so perhaps for those of us still alive, it really is worth enjoying the war while waiting for the terrible peace, but I very much hope I'm wrong.

July 28th 2025

Yuriy reflects on his experience with illness, the enduring effects of war in Ukraine, and the striking parallels between his own journey and that of his grandfather, both marked by their status as war veterans.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is July 28th

And it's beautiful rainy day. I had stayed silent for quite a while, but it wasn't by choice. For the past two weeks, I've been sick with COVID. I have to admit these were two terrible weeks at times it even felt like we might be my last. These days, every illness seems harder and more severe than the previous one, and yet during the first year of a full scale war. I did not get sick at all. Despite having to sleep on concrete floors or frozen grounds, my body somehow mobilized itself and made it through the whole year without any illness. Only my teeth started falling out.

Then at the beginning of my second year of service, something broke inside. And I began to fall ill, bronchitis, flu then flu again, then COVID again. It felt like my immune system had just stopped working. I tried to push through every illness on my feet, refusing to go to the hospital, but it did not always work. I remember the first time I found myself in a hospital ward that had a sign on the door. Ward for war veterans. The sign dated back to Soviet times, still written in Russian. I remember thinking then: how did I end up here in this kind of ward?

The thing is, for many years there was only one "war" in the public consciousness. The USSR fought in plenty of wars, but officially they were called something absurd: fulfilling international duty assisting fraternal socialist nations, or something like that. And there was only one real war, the second World war.

Or rather,, just the part of it starting from June 1941, when Hitler attacked his former ally, Stalin, and launched a war against the Soviet Union. Only the veterans of that war were considered true veterans and it was them that signs referred to when we said a hospital ward or tram seat was reserved for war veterans.

For me, a war veteran had always been someone old and very ill- like my grandfather. In his final years, he was always in wards, veteran wards, constantly being operated on by doctors trying to prolong his life a bit more. And now it suddenly turns out that I'm a veteran too. Well, I'm definitely sick like one, unfortunately.

By the way, about a year ago when I was in Kharkiv, I happened to find my grandfather's veteran ID. He received it from the Ukrainian authorities after the collapse of USSR. And you know what? It looks exactly the same as the one I received 30 years after my grandfather.

July 11th 2025

Yuriy reflects on the psychological toll of war, the loss of close friends, and the inescapable horrors faced in Ukraine. Amidst widespread destruction and cruelty, he delves deep into the struggle of being both an observer and an active participant in the conflict.

You can email Yuriy, ask him questions or simply send him a message of support: [email protected]   

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 11th of July.

I'm starting to forget my fallen friends. A few days ago, someone reminded me of anniversary of one of their deaths. And it took me quite a while to remember who they were even talking about. I think this is how the minds defense mechanisms work. They push away the nightmarish memories of losing close people and with them their names and even their faces. These can probably be prevented, for example, by keeping a journal. Many people around me do just that: they record everything that is happening. Some have already published their journals as books, or turned them into film or theatre scripts, but I don't want that. I don't want to keep a journal or publish it or turn it into a screenplay about the war. I haven't even listened to a single episode of my own podcast. It's too painful for me digging into memories, dragging out the shadows of the death and the suffering of a wounded.

You know, being a reporter- and I've done that for over 20 years- is above all about knowing how to be invisible. You write about events in Syria, in Iraq, in Egypt- wherever- but you yourself are not present in the texts. You never use the words "I". Or at least you try not to, because you are not the main character here. You're just an observer who cannot and must not influence what's happening.

But here, you can't be invisible. A soldier in war is an active participant, not an observer. And when you write about this war, you write about yourself too. Or rather, first and foremost about yourself. And how can you write about yourself when you are alive and countless, thousands are not. In just the last three months alone, over 1500 civilians have been killed. Every night Ukrainian cities are destroyed by missiles and kamikaze drones. And you can't imagine how ordinary Russians celebrate this on social media. Every murder Ukrainian child is a holiday to them. Every destroyed home, a reason to cheer and laugh. It's a twisted world. Instead of raising their our children and building their our own cities, they kill our children and destroy our cities. The mind just can't handle it. Because the cruelty and hatred are so unnatural, so inhuman that it feels like it simply can't be real, but it is, and we are living in it for the fourth year now. And we are starting to forget those who died in the war with this inhuman mass that came for us.