My day begins between 6 and 6:30am, just as the women in my area begin sweeping their yards with tethered bundles of sticks and the booming bass of music begins blaring from houses near and far. Instead of the call of roosters I hear donkeys and the rumble of semi trucks as…
"My gin, my juice, my soul."The world is abundant.
"Even among those Ukrainians pleased with the current turn to the West, many are grappling with the almost inconceivable idea that Russia has become a mortal enemy, forcing Ukrainians to draw a line between themselves and what has long been their cultural motherland.
Ms. Bekeshkina, the sociologist, noted that Ukrainian independence came virtually overnight 23 years ago, so it took the conflict with Russia for people here to grasp its importance. ‘People are now deciding who they are as a people,’ she said.”
I think Oksana Zabuzhko’s response in Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex ties it together pretty well:
"because your homeland is not simply the land of your birth, a true homeland is the country that can kill you.
Before I begin I would like to thank all of you, present here and absent, for the completely unjustified attention you have given my country and my humble persona—because if there’s one thing that we haven’t been spoiled by yet it’s attention: to put it bluntly, we’ve been lying there dying unnoticed by bloody anybody (and I’m still in a rather privileged position here, because if I were to really have the guts to say fuck it and pour the rest of those tablets in the Orange bottle down my throat, my body would be found relatively soon, I’d say, probably within three days” (29-30).
It’s okay to be fucking angry. Героям слава.