a Kind of Refugee

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Things move too slowly in Kyiv. I move too slowly in Kyiv. It’s not that I’m relaxed, things just take too long. The other night I went out for drinks on the right bank. Getting back home by curfew would have meant cutting short the time I had with my friend, so I decided to…
Larissa Babij
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Tuesday evening the courtyard, flanked by tall apartment buildings, rings with children’s voices. It’s a typical summer soundscape—except for when there…
Larissa Babij
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I have talked to so many people over the past several months, people whom I never would have met in my former patterns and routines. These are my fellow…
Larissa Babij
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Dear Readers, Friends, The past weeks have been full of activity. I recorded a video-address in English, sitting on the ruins of a hotel in Mykolaiv…
Larissa Babij
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It’s a good morning when you wake up to the sound of your alarm clock. Not like the other day, when I felt a light burst of air through the open window…
Larissa Babij
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War is a dirty affair. You don’t need to shoot a gun or have killed somebody with your own hands to be sullied by your participation in it. It is…
Larissa Babij
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Summer in southern Ukraine feels like a seaside resort: the soft evening air, water everywhere and those gray-green trees that the locals call “Southern…
Larissa Babij
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Every return to Kyiv is euphoric. And each time—a greater intensity of emotions: elation, love, appreciation, horror, fear. Along with a growing resolve…
Larissa Babij
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a Kind of Refugee

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