Ukraine 2026
Unending, 2022-2026
The Border
On February 24, 2022, Russian forces invaded Ukraine. Millions of refugees surged toward the borders of neighboring countries. In the dead of night, the faces crossing the border held a complex mix of emotions. Behind the relief of having escaped immediate danger lay the looming anxiety of an unfamiliar life in a foreign land. The immediate journey of flight had ended, but their displacement was just beginning. Shattered by the sudden upheaval, their daily routines were gone, and their faces were drained of vitality from days of tension and fitful sleep. They were tormented by the stark reality of not knowing where to go next or when they might return. Expressions of profound sadness or despair were rarely visible; eyes consumed by the sheer will to survive left no room for such displays. Clutching their phones with tense, acutely anxious faces—that is who stood upon that border.
Kyiv Express
The train from Warsaw took eighteen hours to finally reach Kyiv. The outskirts of the city were scarred with ruins. To look upon ruins is to inevitably imagine the harrowing process of their destruction. Meeting the people who lived amidst it was only possible after first trying to fathom a depth of misery so hard to measure. Yet, laundry hung from the balconies of bombed-out apartments, and people exchanged warm greetings as they walked between charred cars.
Dance in Kyiv
War must be recorded not only through bullets and missiles, but also through the lives of ordinary people. The tragedy instigated by a handful of the powerful poured down like a disaster upon the heads of countless individuals, yet it could never ultimately consume their lives. Before the people dancing passionately once again in the Kyiv metro stations, and before the powerful gestures of Grandma Valentina, who, despite losing her home and family, tilled the earth to plant potatoes in the spring fields—the war seemed small. It must be in this very manner that humanity has made its way to the present. On a spring Sunday, people leaving Mass held willow branches in their hands, sprinkled with holy water that had long comforted their souls. The protracted war had undeniably woven itself deep into the fabric of Ukrainian life. Yet, the more I tried to look at the landscapes of war within their daily lives, the more I noticed the small, resilient lives that made the war seem small instead—the deeply rooted history of their existence.
On the Road
Amidst days without a fixed destination, chance encounters continued. A certain gaze, a particular space would stop me in my tracks. At the end of every path, there were moments that brought a sudden lump to my throat. Perhaps I was wandering. On the road, many things vanished and were born within my heart. This journey is a story about the fleeting moments I crossed paths with. I pressed the shutter whenever a vague, lingering ache stirred within me. Perhaps I wanted to feel a certain vitality, faint yet intense. Perhaps those sights that caught my eye were a reflection of something deep within myself. There is a distinct clarity found in faint things. Though they are dim reflections that words fail to capture, the meaning they hold is anything but faint.
