HOMO in Love-icus, or How to Notice Beauty in the Chaos of Existence
A poetic-philosophical read
Winter March morning.
We burst out of the apartment building like lunatics — because that’s just how we operate. Two growing dragons, locked in fierce daily competition from an early age, and me, their self-proclaimed mediator in this eternal battle.
After the hundred-and-fiftieth brawl over the elevator button (immediately followed by another for the intercom), my sons thunderously announce to the entire building and courtyard that they are alive, well, and fully prepared to conquer the KPIs of second grade and preschool.
Reaching the car — crawling, running, flying, dragging one by the scruff (crossed out — I mean, hood) and the other by the backpack — is my daily micro-heroic feat. Once we’ve finally crammed ourselves inside and survived ten more rounds of bickering, only to realize we left the gloves at home (oh well, to hell with them), I exhale to the sound of my car’s purring engine — my mobile sanctuary for self-therapy, reflection, and (crossed out) flight… or at least bumper-deep existential musings.
At the school parking lot, we disembark in reverse order, under the same battle cries — because, naturally, we forgot the school uniform too (oh well, to hell with that as well, because I refuse to turn back). As we dash toward the school, I deliver a stern, lecture-like monologue to my older son about personal responsibility and forgotten uniforms, which serves as a meta-message for the younger one — his turn for the exact same speech (but about winter gloves) is coming in ten minutes.
Unleashing (crossed out — I mean, sending off) my older dragon into school, I and the younger one return to the car at a much more relaxed pace — absence of competitor detected. We blast Monatik* on full volume and head to preschool.
In those two song-length minutes, we manage to catch our breath, make peace, and forgive each other.
Pulling up to the daycare, we even manage to step out of the car gracefully, momentarily pretending to be a perfectly normal mother and son with an ideal, healthy, eco-friendly family dynamic full of peace, harmony, and boundless love for one another.
I grab Platon’s hand and practically drag him toward the gates, my mind already deep in work and personal projects, frantically prioritizing which fires to extinguish first once I return to my home office.
We step inside. I close the gate behind us.
And suddenly — cutting through the noisy monologues in my head — I hear a voice from beyond:
"Plaaaatoooon! Plaaatoooooshaaa!"
I freeze.
We stop and turn around.
A little girl is running toward us, genuinely overjoyed to see my son (future mother-in-law detected). Her mother trudges patiently behind her, and despite the mask, I can see her smile.
The girl wrestles with the heavy daycare gate, finally pushes through, rushes up to Platon, and, breathless, asks:
"Will you wait for me after they check your temperature? Can we go to the group together?"
Like Jenny meeting Forrest Gump…
Like Whitney Houston stopping the plane and running toward Kevin Costner…
Like Baby flying into Patrick Swayze’s arms in that final dance…
I saw all of this compressed into a single fleeting moment on this crisp, frosty morning.
A tiny, ordinary miracle — love — unfolded before us.
Today, the universe chose to create something beautiful: the birth of a new connection between two six-year-olds in a preschool in Boryspil.
That evening.
"Platon, did you wait for that girl this morning, like she asked?"
"Yeah. That’s Nadya. But actually… I’m friends with Solomiya."
*a famous Ukrainian pop singer.