How I was leaving my home. Day 7
March 2, 2022
Having bought European car insurance, I felt much better, as it was a sign that the goal was close. Later, I found out that refugees were supposed to receive it for free. But, well… it is what it is. After so many nights without sleep, I had little idea of my rights.
It's not often you get to be a refugee.
It was around 1:00 AM.
There were many people and cars at the Ukrainian border. Our border guards weren’t going from one car to the next. Instead, they were running, trying to complete their tasks as quickly as possible. A huge, playful shepherd dog with a ball in his mouth jumped between posts. Everyone had their own responsibilities.
A young woman checked our car. She asked for our passports and car documents. She ran off to check them and returned, glancing at my sleeping children and mother before stamping our papers. She didn’t check anything else.
She handed me our documents and said only one thing:
- Come back.
Oh Lord... I thought. Well, I can’t cry anymore — why are you tearing my soul apart?
I forced a smile and pressed the gas pedal.
We left Ukraine and headed toward the Polish border.
I didn’t feel anything.
Nothing.
It seemed I had completely turned into a cyborg, a machine with only one mission — to save my relatives. The Terminator, ready to lose all functions, just to get their family to safety.
Nothing hurt me. The car seemed to spread its wings into the night, reborn like a phoenix.
These words may sound loud, pretentious, or far-fetched, but that's what I felt, saw, and did.
As I overcame this hardship, I sometimes blurred the line between conscious and unconscious thought. I couldn’t tell where reality ended and where my fantasies about armor, chain mail, and a helmet began. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that hallucinations start if you don’t sleep for an extended period.
In my case, I consciously created my own augmented reality.
In this reality, I was beautiful, brave, and strong. I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was taking my family. In this reality, I was a highly trained professional who would never be broken by anything and who had a well-prepared emergency bag with her children’s passports all up to date.
But none of this existed in my real reality.
In my augmented reality, I remembered to take the most important things from home — my grandfather’s orders and medals, a WWII veteran, and other important books.
But I forgot.
Of course, this was just fantasy. But it helped me a lot.
We were on our way to the Polish border for about 20 minutes. Once there, we were let through even faster. We drove out and parked at the humanitarian aid station.
I had never seen anything like it: all kinds of food and essentials were available.
My mother got out of the car with one wish — to smoke and drink coffee. She went to the first table and asked for coffee. The young man looked at her and, as he poured a bowl of hot soup, said:
- First, you should eat. Then, coffee.
That was the final straw. I think I cried my last tears right there. Those simple words of a quiet kindness shattered the armor and chain mail I had carefully built.
At that moment, I knew we were finally safe.
The boys were asleep. I stood, looking at my mother, and felt a powerful surge of strength.
I drank coffee and told my mother it was time to go.
When I left the west of Ukraine, I had no destination in mind. I arrived at the hotel in Lviv, and when I left for Poland, I was still uncertain. But along the way, several acquaintances and friends offered accommodation in Germany, France, and Poland. One was even a Tinder acquaintance.
I chose the closest option — Warsaw. An apartment was waiting for us there.
- Mom, it’s five hours to Warsaw. I can do it.
- Are you sure? You haven't slept for 6 nights.
- Yes. Let’s go.
t was a crazy, totally unreasonable idea...
We crossed the Polish border at 2:00 AM on March 2. Then, we immediately headed toward Warsaw. The navigator worked perfectly, the roads were amazing, and everything seemed to be falling into place.
Seemed.
The roads in Poland were as smooth as butter, lulling me to sleep every 20 minutes. Nothing helped — music, talking, rubbing my eyes, or pinching my nose.
Additionally, it wasn’t possible to nap on the side of the road. The highways between cities are different than in Ukraine, with no designated stops. A few times, I stopped with the emergency lights on in the right lane and tried to nap for at least 10 minutes. But it was a bad idea — the cars sped past so quickly that the air made my car wobble like a kite.
I rerouted to the nearest location and we stopped at a gas station. There, I napped for a while, drank two cans of energy drink, pulled myself together, and headed for Warsaw.
By dawn, I felt better. The sun rose, and the wind hit my face as we drove along the Polish roads.
My loved ones were asleep, and I was flying down the road, breathing in the almost-completed mission. A mission that began at 5:00 AM on February 24 when I heard explosions in my hometown of Boryspil. Now, I could only congratulate myself for getting out of the shelling and bombing without any major incidents.
But in reality, I still don’t fully understand what I did.
We arrived in Warsaw around 8-9 AM. I had “Warsaw” entered on the navigator, and it was time to find a specific address. I couldn’t find a parking spot to enter the location. I didn’t want to stop in the capital, which had already taken in more than 700,000 refugees, in the wrong place and violate traffic rules. I saw a small courtyard, carefully drove in, and turned on the emergency lights. I started typing the address into the navigator. The app froze.
And then my mother said:
- Olya, you parked next to the police station.
WTF, I thought. Only I, Olya, could get into this kind of situation.
Indeed, it was a police station — the sign was modest and unassuming. There were no patrolmen, only Ukrainian refugees in the yard with their emergency lights on.
What could I do? I needed to enter the address into the navigator.
As I was swearing at Waze, a handsome policeman, two meters tall, slowly walked out of the station. I blinked in panic, wondering what to say. He came to our car. When you don’t know what to say, tell the truth. I blurted out:
- Good morning. I’m terribly sorry. We’ve just come from Ukraine, and I’m trying to find the address of our apartment. Sorry for my behavior.
Smiling was pointless. And not necessary. The policeman was clearly moved by the scene — he’d been disturbed from his morning coffee by a mere refugee from a neighboring country.
He wished us good luck and calmly walked away.
We quickly drove to the house and found the apartment. We practically crawled inside. We left our things at the threshold and sat down on the floor.
The first thing I did was take a shower. Then, I opened the refrigerator and couldn’t stop staring.
It was filled to the top with food, and there was a pot of broth on the balcony.
The hospitality of the Polish is a whole new chapter of my life. I will definitely write about it and tell everyone everything. This country is now my second homeland because nowhere else were we hosted like this.
And I still don’t know why I deserved it all… but that’s another story.
We were in Warsaw.
I was experiencing a high level of PTSD (I took the test). So, I regularly communicated with my therapist and worked on recovering through peaceful skies and my children’s smiles.
I got back into a working rhythm and slowly began rethinking everything that happened to me and the world.
While I was writing these posts, many people reached out to ask if I was scared, hurt, how I made up my mind to do this, and how I found housing, among other things.
I’ll keep it brief — today, no one knows what decision is right. It was my decision. And I’m proud of sticking to it.
Your decision will be yours. In the end, we are responsible for our own choices.
I spent 6 days driving without sleep. I drove 1080 km. My family is safe. My country is on fire. And now, there is no longer a question of "Why?". There is only fierce, cruel hatred for Russian creatures, which I will pass on carefully to future generations.
Thank you to everyone who joined me in this journey by reading these posts. Hugs, and take care of yourselves.
Well, I’ll end with my favorite phrase — Russian warship, go and f**k yourself!
