On July 31, 2025, a Russian missile struck a residential building in a quiet neighborhood of Kyiv once again. The first two entrances of an old nine-story building were destroyed in an instant—completely wiped off the face of the earth. There were 31 victims and 159 injured, 16 of whom were children.
For the second day in a row, I find myself reliving that night. Somewhere between midnight and 3 a.m., the sky sounded like a swarm of angry bees—missiles flying one after another, piercing through Kyiv from the direction of the Zhytomyrska metro station. Explosions from air defense could be heard here and there, but mostly drones continued on their course, passing by our home. My husband and I stayed in bed, wrapped in the darkness of sleep and anxiety, barely hearing the distant explosions—deafening, like strikes echoing in the subconscious. Yes, I know this is extremely irresponsible, but honestly, we no longer care.
At 5 a.m., everything changed. A terrible blast tore through the sky—piercing, like a hammer hitting the chest. Our building shook, just as it did on April 24 of this year. The explosion was weaker, but the shutters loudly slammed against the frames. I remember the orange-red glow in the sky—an eerie light that, along with the thunder, resembled the most frightening storm I’ve ever experienced. It was an Iskander missile. It claimed lives instantly in two of the entrances.
For the second day in a row, I’m trying to gather myself. This is a trigger. I’ve gone through this before in April, but now, besides asking myself, “How did we get so lucky?”, there’s another inner feeling - “living on credit.” We’ve won this day, but only in the universe’s cruel game, in some insane “Russian roulette” devised by neighbors turned lunatics.
“Living on credit”—honestly, it’s an incredibly oppressive reality. But for now, it’s all I have.
Probably since university, I’ve developed a habit of binge-watching the series Friends during stressful moments. I think many people can relate. Somehow, this sitcom miraculously distracts me, transports me to a world where everything is okay—where friends are nearby, happiness is possible, and each day begins with coffee and a gentle smile. The series acts like a warm blanket, comforting me when the world outside is bursting into chaos. Each episode rekindles a romantic hope for the future.
The future—such a strange and, for now, such an abstract concept for me. I believe it’s the same for many Ukrainians.
Next to me, there are ruins once again. Death plays hide and seek, lurking in the dark corners of the night. And someday, it will catch up with me. It will surprise me, to be honest. But not today.
I want to be brave, but every day, that seems to become harder. New victims—these mad, metallic jaws called “war.”
A girl who fell from the 9th floor only broke her leg. But she lost everything—her parents, her home, everything— in an instant. A 6-year-old boy, who was mastering karate just yesterday, will never open his eyes again.
There are too many. Too many.
How do I live with this? ...It hurts... so much.
