FA+
Shop
Two years of full-scale invasion.
a year ago
I remember the first day of the full-scale war. I never believed it would happen, but I was preparing. I bought a backpack carrier for cats and ordered a new motorcycle windshield. On February 23rd, I sat down to play Horizon Forbidden West and stayed up until 3 in the morning. Suddenly, I heard very distant explosions coming from Boryspil. From that moment on, I couldn’t play, sleep, or even eat. I witnessed a missile being shot down above my house, and for nearly three days, I couldn’t eat because the food simply wouldn’t go down. Even a single unfortunate sandwich remained half-eaten because everything kept coming back up.
Around February 26 or 27, my friend messaged me, urging me to leave Kyiv. According to information from her military relative, the muskovites had entered Chornobyl and were planning an attack that could result in radioactive fallout affecting the entire city of Kyiv.
It was an unusually warm day for February—6 degrees Celsius, sunny, and with dry asphalt. Without much hesitation, I attached a new windshield to my motorcycle, gathered warm clothing, my cats, and headed to the gas station. Fuel was already scarce, and the lines at gas stations were long. Fortunately, I managed to refuel and set off from the city. Kyiv was eerily empty, with military personnel stationed on the bridges. It was terrifying, and that feeling haunted me throughout the journey.
I had to cover nearly 500 kilometers through villages and backroads because the direct route across Zhytomyr was occupied by russian forces. Thanks to my friend, I had a safe route planned. However, those 500 kilometers were challenging—potholes replaced smooth asphalt. At times, I was afraid to drive because there were no other cars around. The road was deserted, surrounded by fields, and dusk was setting in. Usually, I loved empty roads, but this time, I clung to car convoys to feel safer (and warmer).
The journey felt long, but I only made it to Fastiv in Kyiv Oblast. It was dark and late. I had a couple of hours left until curfew, and I wouldn’t reach Khmelnytskyi in time. I searched for a place to spend the night and found a local church that was accommodating refugees. They had a shelter. My cat endured the first part of the journey stoically, but my other cat was terrified. At least they didn’t ruin the room.
The night was restless. Fighter jets roamed the skies above the city, preventing any chance of sleep. I was used to sleeping under the flight path in Kyiv, but this time, I couldn’t rest. Every noise woke me up when I barely dozed off. Later, everyone was rushed into the shelter because they heard gunfire on the outskirts of the city. My thought: all in vain. The shelter didn’t save us from the soldiers; it might have even been a trap.
I managed to get some sleep, but it came at the cost of oversleeping and setting off on my journey later in the day. I made a mistake by not refueling in Fastiv, thinking that one tank would be enough for the trip. At a checkpoint, I was warned that there would be no more gas stations ahead, but I was confident everything would be fine. It wasn’t.
Khmelnytskyi was only a hundred kilometers away, and my fuel was running low. The gas stations I saw were closed due to fuel shortages. However, I found one station that was still dispensing gasoline. When I joined the queue, they started shooing me away, saying that the car in front of me would be the last they’d serve before closing—not because they were running out of fuel, but simply because they were closing. It was my first experience of a panic attack. Usually, I quickly found solutions and remained calm, knowing I’d figure things out. But this time, the prospect of sleeping in the cold field with two hungry animals behind me loomed on the horizon. And it was only 5 p.m.—the next day was still very far away.
Thankfully, the driver ahead of me let me go first, and we both got refueled. Relieved, I continued my journey. Now with a full tank, I should have enough to reach my destination. However, the road ahead was through cold and pitch-black darkness. I shivered from fear and cold; my knees were hitting the motorcycle tank from trembling. I had to consciously calm myself, tensing my legs and my entire body to stop the shivering.
After Khmelnytskyi, I encountered rural roads. Terrible road conditions and no other vehicles in sight. My final destination was Horodok, a small town in the region. I arrived there during curfew hours. Thanks to a local police patrol, I found my friend’s address and was finally safe and warm.
I must emphasize that if I had been driving a car, the journey would have been much longer. At checkpoints, there were insane kilometer-long queues, which I easily bypassed on my motorcycle (and warmed up between the cars xD).
Thanks to this forced journey, I never regretted buying my Honda NC700x in December 2022, even though it was my last bit of money. It potentially saved my life and made this trip possible—with cats behind me, warm clothing, and the necessary equipment for work.
Around February 26 or 27, my friend messaged me, urging me to leave Kyiv. According to information from her military relative, the muskovites had entered Chornobyl and were planning an attack that could result in radioactive fallout affecting the entire city of Kyiv.
It was an unusually warm day for February—6 degrees Celsius, sunny, and with dry asphalt. Without much hesitation, I attached a new windshield to my motorcycle, gathered warm clothing, my cats, and headed to the gas station. Fuel was already scarce, and the lines at gas stations were long. Fortunately, I managed to refuel and set off from the city. Kyiv was eerily empty, with military personnel stationed on the bridges. It was terrifying, and that feeling haunted me throughout the journey.
I had to cover nearly 500 kilometers through villages and backroads because the direct route across Zhytomyr was occupied by russian forces. Thanks to my friend, I had a safe route planned. However, those 500 kilometers were challenging—potholes replaced smooth asphalt. At times, I was afraid to drive because there were no other cars around. The road was deserted, surrounded by fields, and dusk was setting in. Usually, I loved empty roads, but this time, I clung to car convoys to feel safer (and warmer).
The journey felt long, but I only made it to Fastiv in Kyiv Oblast. It was dark and late. I had a couple of hours left until curfew, and I wouldn’t reach Khmelnytskyi in time. I searched for a place to spend the night and found a local church that was accommodating refugees. They had a shelter. My cat endured the first part of the journey stoically, but my other cat was terrified. At least they didn’t ruin the room.
The night was restless. Fighter jets roamed the skies above the city, preventing any chance of sleep. I was used to sleeping under the flight path in Kyiv, but this time, I couldn’t rest. Every noise woke me up when I barely dozed off. Later, everyone was rushed into the shelter because they heard gunfire on the outskirts of the city. My thought: all in vain. The shelter didn’t save us from the soldiers; it might have even been a trap.
I managed to get some sleep, but it came at the cost of oversleeping and setting off on my journey later in the day. I made a mistake by not refueling in Fastiv, thinking that one tank would be enough for the trip. At a checkpoint, I was warned that there would be no more gas stations ahead, but I was confident everything would be fine. It wasn’t.
Khmelnytskyi was only a hundred kilometers away, and my fuel was running low. The gas stations I saw were closed due to fuel shortages. However, I found one station that was still dispensing gasoline. When I joined the queue, they started shooing me away, saying that the car in front of me would be the last they’d serve before closing—not because they were running out of fuel, but simply because they were closing. It was my first experience of a panic attack. Usually, I quickly found solutions and remained calm, knowing I’d figure things out. But this time, the prospect of sleeping in the cold field with two hungry animals behind me loomed on the horizon. And it was only 5 p.m.—the next day was still very far away.
Thankfully, the driver ahead of me let me go first, and we both got refueled. Relieved, I continued my journey. Now with a full tank, I should have enough to reach my destination. However, the road ahead was through cold and pitch-black darkness. I shivered from fear and cold; my knees were hitting the motorcycle tank from trembling. I had to consciously calm myself, tensing my legs and my entire body to stop the shivering.
After Khmelnytskyi, I encountered rural roads. Terrible road conditions and no other vehicles in sight. My final destination was Horodok, a small town in the region. I arrived there during curfew hours. Thanks to a local police patrol, I found my friend’s address and was finally safe and warm.
I must emphasize that if I had been driving a car, the journey would have been much longer. At checkpoints, there were insane kilometer-long queues, which I easily bypassed on my motorcycle (and warmed up between the cars xD).
Thanks to this forced journey, I never regretted buying my Honda NC700x in December 2022, even though it was my last bit of money. It potentially saved my life and made this trip possible—with cats behind me, warm clothing, and the necessary equipment for work.
And from the beginning of the full-scale invasion, for about a month or more, I couldn’t listen to music through my headphones. I was hyper-aware of every sound around me.