Just don’t get caught, just don’t get turned in

My mom was glad that Melitopol was occupied. Her opinion is built on Russian propaganda: eight years, America, NATO, Nazis… I’ve argued with her many times.

Before 2014, Mom never said anything against Ukraine. There wasn’t even a hint that she was unhappy about anything. We have relatives from eastern Ukraine who, after 2014, said that Ukraine and the Armed Forces of Ukraine were to blame for everything. Mom completely and unconditionally started believing the relatives, Russian propaganda, and Putin more than me.

I asked questions she couldn’t properly answer. I asked: what if China attacked Russia, started doing everything Russia is doing to Ukraine — calling Russians “Nazis,” occupying territories — how would she react? She couldn’t find an answer, but she still holds the same opinion.

I wanted to leave, but my conscience wouldn’t let me leave her alone. I talked to her about leaving, argued a lot — she didn’t want to let me go and didn’t want to go anywhere herself.

In the end, I got stuck here. Despite my stance, she still loves me and worries about me. Now I only talk to her about everyday matters.

I feel like I’m in prison. I have very few friends left in the city — about 10 people. The city has very few people in general; many left and continue leaving.

I thought the occupiers might be monitoring correspondence, so I communicated with friends who’d left in secret. I tried not to describe my attitude toward the occupiers and the occupation — I just chatted about whether they were okay, alive, healthy.

Living under occupation, for me personally, means constantly thinking: “Just don’t get caught,” “Just don’t get turned in.” I go outside very rarely, to avoid running into the occupiers. When I do go out, I try as hard as possible not to attract attention.

On the city streets, the occupiers check a lot of people, especially car drivers (as a rule, they’re looking for former military and police, and they also check photos on phones, messages, social media — SP).

It’s like being held hostage by terrorists. They tell you what to do and how to live, they pressure you psychologically. You see people being led away somewhere, then you see the person come back beaten and exhausted — and some don’t come back at all.

You understand the same could happen to you. And what comes next — you don’t even know. I sit at home all the time, and the only thing I can do is work. I work online at two jobs.

I follow security protocols, I connect through a VPN. I have to constantly change them — some get blocked very often. Then I realized the occupiers aren’t monitoring me through Telegram; I relaxed. If they were, I’d definitely be in the basement of the commandant’s office.

Once I was walking through a private-house area. On some gates, you could see bullet marks; one gate was crumpled like paper. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that’s how they took people to the basement.

On Telegram, there’s a channel about missing people in the city — those who held a pro-Ukrainian position. Last year, I saw a photo there of my friend. First the occupiers took his father. My friend went to them, asking where his father was — the occupiers took him too, held him in captivity for a long time.

After some time, he and his father were released. I don’t know what condition he was in, what’s happening with him now, or where he is — there’s no contact. I sincerely hope he left with his family and is okay.

Month by month, the situation slowly worsened. First they banned Ukrainian mobile service and started introducing Russian SIM cards. Then they started seizing businesses, shut down Ukrainian banks, banned hryvnias, started introducing rubles.

Melitopol used to be bright and modern. Our city’s pride is its cherries — they’re known worldwide. So many things were connected to cherries: ice cream, drinks, cakes, desserts — the fountain was even painted cherry-colored. I remember a cherry-themed costume parade down the main street in the city center.

Both the authorities and the people tried their hardest to keep the city from being gray and boring. There were lots of cafes, restaurants, barbershops, shopping centers — business was thriving. They renovated the fountain in Gorky Park. Many people started walking there regularly, and so did I. Now I don’t go out for walks at all.

I used to go to the Peremoha cinema often. Now they mostly show Russian premieres.

In January, the collaborators tore down the monument to Taras Shevchenko on the central square. In the evening, when curfew started and nobody could see. In its place, they’ll put some kind of “military glory” stele.

The singer Chicherina visited. At the entrance to Melitopol, she attached a sign reading “Russia is here forever.” Later, partisans crumpled that sign.

People started coming from Russia, converting stores to suit themselves. Medications are more expensive than Putin’s aqua disco. A heart arrhythmia medication costs about 1,100 hryvnias in Ukraine, but under occupation it’s 4,000. A pack of vitamin C costs 160 rubles at the pharmacy — that’s 128 hryvnias. Under Ukraine, it cost 10 hryvnias.

Most Protestant churches were seized. We had the Melitopol Christian Church; on the square in front of it, the collaborators chopped down a large cross — it was as tall as a two-story building.

The Russians converted the church itself for their own use. Now it’s just a hangout spot for pro-Russian youth.

Shopping centers have been turned into headquarters for “United Russia.” A former vocational school became a military commandant’s office with a high fence, barbed wire, and cameras.

The sign for the “Lviv Croissants” café is gone, but the café is somehow still operating. Under occupation, there are quite a few bans on anything Ukrainian. They think everything Ukrainian is “Nazi symbolism.” For example, they consider Ukrainian books “Nazi” and say they must be removed.

We have a library in the city center. Last year, a collaborator went in there and started confiscating Ukrainian history textbooks, saying it was “Nazi” literature.

The Armed Forces of Ukraine know their job and will definitely liberate Melitopol. When Kherson was liberated, I read the news and smiled. Inside, I felt a small victory.

I’ve thought more than once about how after liberation, Melitopol will be shelled the same way Kherson is. But I’m ready for that — better under shelling than sitting as hostages of terrorists.

And it’s not just me — many people in Melitopol are waiting for Ukraine. The darkest night is always before the dawn.

All I want right now is simply freedom. To be free of this filth.