Kyiv, In My Own Words (2025) – A country suffering after 3 years of war

We all talk about Ukraine. Some began on 24th February 2022, while others, like myself, have followed events since 2013, during the Euromaidan protests. As an Eastern European living in the West, I have often been asked about the state of the war. Generally, few people know much about Ukraine beyond the fact that Russia persistently tries to invade it. Having friends in the capital, they invited me despite the air raids. I knew this would be a unique opportunity. Reporting from the field and doing so digitally are two entirely different experiences.

When I started planning my trip, Christmas was just around the corner. I only told a few close friends, knowing they would call me insane. They tried to persuade me not to go. I went anyway. The only thing that could stop me was Russian strikes. If I were to die, at least I would have resisted the Russian state.

How does one travel to Ukraine when martial law has shut all airports? Coming from Spain, I took a four-hour ride to Warsaw, Poland. The next morning, I set off for Chełm, a small city near the Ukrainian border. The big question on my mind: what would they say at the border? Being Bulgarian, I am used to crossing non-EU borders in the Balkans, where processes tend to be long, with officials questioning the purpose of the visit. I feared the same, particularly in the context of war. As a German citizen, I wondered whether border inspectors might question me further. I understand some Ukrainian, but I felt a sense of “good” anxiety—typical of any trip.

To my surprise, there were no difficulties. I was not asked why I was going to Ukraine or how long I intended to stay. The train itself was an overnight ride, and we arrived in Kyiv eleven hours later. Each compartment accommodated four people, with every person having their own bed. There were blankets, and in the morning, passengers were offered coffee. I had brought snacks from Poland and arrived on time in Kyiv.

It did not take long to experience the Ukrainian reality since the invasion. After taking a taxi, we stepped out of the car, and I heard the sirens. I immediately realised what was happening: an air raid. I could die at any moment. I was not afraid, but the reality sank in. My host and I had planned to visit a supermarket. When sirens sound, major shopping malls cannot open. Some small corner shops may still operate, but that’s about it. This marked an eventful start to my visit.

I did not complain. I felt neither fear nor panic. I wanted to experience the reality firsthand, having already interviewed Ukrainian refugees about their memories in the previous semester. They made it clear that the sound of sirens stays with them. I remember thinking: how can life continue when sirens blare? I soon understood.

Although it never reached that point for me, my Ukrainian friends told me about the ‘two-wall rule’. When air raids occur, it is best to stay in corridors, ensuring at least two walls separate you from windows. This reduces the risk of injury or death should a missile strike nearby. At the same time, I knew that Kyiv’s air defence system was arguably the best in the country—perhaps even the world. Most air raids took place late at night, usually around 1am. On some occasions, they lasted several hours. I often woke up to warnings of potential air raids at 7am, with the latest I recall seeing at 9am. As I prepared to visit the city centre, my host warned me that bridges are closed during air raids. This meant I could end up stuck in the underground for minutes or even hours, depending on the situation. To be honest, this was my biggest concern.

When I mention Kyiv, people assume it is a grim place. Most of them have never been there. While war concerns everyone, local residents try to live their lives. Those kind enough to speak with me seemed to trust the Ukrainian army. Young adults danced with street performers, just as they would in any other European city. This is an aspect of Kyiv that I want to emphasise.

Although I lost count of how many times I heard sirens, I was constantly reminded of the reality by the sheer number of military uniforms I saw while walking through the city. Some belonged to veterans, others were likely military academy students. In any case, they reinforced the gravity of the situation. I remember speaking with a 17-year-old girl who gave me a wristband in Ukraine’s national colours. She had lost several relatives since the war began. She handed me the wristband as a ‘thank you’ for coming to Kyiv to cover the war and asked me to promise I would not take it off until the war was over. As I write this article, I still wear it.

Before arriving in Kyiv, I did not know what to expect. I knew the city was large and culturally significant, but I assumed UNESCO heritage sites had been heavily damaged by Russian attacks. To my great relief, the main sites remain intact—a testament to the strength of Ukraine’s defences. This reaffirmed why it is crucial to supply Ukraine with defensive tools. Without them, none of this would have been possible.

I was in awe of the architecture. The old Orthodox style of the churches was familiar to me. As a Bulgarian, we share many cultural and architectural traditions, which made me feel at home. Walking past these churches, I was reminded that they had sheltered Euromaidan protesters from the police. I shed tears when I arrived at Independence Square—the birthplace of Euromaidan. In other words, where everything started. Flags filled the space: some Ukrainian, others belonging to brigades. Each flag represented a life lost to war, many of them soldiers. This included volunteers who did not have to fight, but did. They left everything behind and gave their lives. Internally, I was crying. I returned to the square multiple times—not just because it was central, but because I felt immense gratitude.

I also made it a priority to visit the Holodomor Museum, which honours the victims of the man-made famine under Soviet leader Josef Stalin. I read the index of every registered victim. It was a stark reminder that Ukraine’s struggle for independence did not begin in 2022, 2014, or even the 20th century. Once again, I came close to tears. My soul ached as I recalled countless stories of oppression.

There are many misconceptions about Kyiv and Ukraine. I also visited Bucha, a village outside Kyiv infamous for Russian war crimes in early 2022. I was astonished at how much of the town had been rebuilt. I was deeply impressed by the resilience of Ukrainians—particularly those willing to share their experiences with me. As a foreign journalist, they had every right to refuse to speak with me, yet they welcomed me. I quickly felt part of Ukrainian society. Visiting Kyiv felt essential. I knew the risks, yet here I am, writing this from sunny Madrid. To those wondering what life is like under air raids—this is just a brief account. However, I encourage readers to see Kyiv with their own eyes, as I did. Many preconceptions will be shattered. Depending on the neighbourhood, Kyiv’s architecture varies dramatically. Its diversity is truly remarkable. For those passionate about culture, I could not recommend a better city. I felt welcomed in Kyiv, witnessing how multicultural it remains despite the war. And this is what I will always remember from my trip.