Since 24 February, when Russia started this monstrous war, I have begun to differentiate the notion of fear from the notion of terror. Fear is about one's life or the lives of loved ones, about one's own and their well-being. Terror is the impossibility to accept what is happening.

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More than nine months have passed, but I still cannot believe that the country I once called my own has turned out to be an aggressor, not in the sense of the story in a book, but in the sense of real on-air cannibalism. I still can't believe that this country is bombing and killing Kiev, one of the best cities on earth. And I still can't believe that I'm unlikely to ever be able to call this country my own again - it haas not hurt for a long time, though.

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It seems to me that on 24 February I stopped breathing, and since then, reading the news, which suddenly became so close, I have stopped breathing, again and again. Now I have to get used to living like this, in an airless space, because it's a long time coming.

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If I knew how to pray, I would be praying every minute for the victory of Ukraine. But I can't, and all I can do is help, raise money, talk, empathize. I am sure that Ukraine will win, and I really want to believe that the Ukrainians will forgive us one day.

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I know for sure that everything will be all right with them. I am not so sure about us though