I never thought I would be a refugee. I had built my dream life in Kyiv, working as a fashion stylist and art director for eight years. I had been living in a lovely apartment in the city centre, right by a park where I would walk my corgi – named ‘Editor in Chief’ or ‘Edit’ for short – every day. I would get my coffee from the same café each morning and then went to my office to meet with my assistant. We would be on shoots three times a week, working on campaigns for Ukrainian fashion brands and editorials for magazines like Harper’s Bazaar Ukraine and L’Officiel Ukraine. Looking back now, I can see just how happy and full a life we were all living.
Up until the day before war broke out on February 24, I had been working on a fitting for a campaign shoot. No one was prepared for the invasion or expected it to be such a huge event. We thought it was going to be a few shots, just to scare Ukraine. But that day, life stopped.
I learnt that war was coming early that morning. My friend called to tell me; he didn’t say the words, ‘The War Has Started,’ he just said, ‘It’s begun,’ and I knew what he meant. I started packing my emergency bag with all my documents and making panicked calls to friends and family to discuss what we should do.
As soon as I heard the sirens and the beginning of the airstrikes, any semblance of normality vanished in a single moment. It was the most terrifying sound. I stood on the balcony of my apartment, listening in disbelief. I could see families running with backpacks trying to get to the Metro to seek shelter.
At that point, you stop thinking about where you might have breakfast or what’s on your to-do list, you’re only interested in staying alive and what you should bring with you to the bomb shelters to keep you warm while you try to sleep. You’re thinking about finding a route out of the city to travel safely across the country and avoid being shot at while you’re in your car. About having enough fuel because it could run out at any point, and you might come to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
I knew though that I should leave Kyiv as soon as possible and go abroad. But the reality was so much harder. There were already back-to-back traffic jams on every road out of the city. So on that first day, my friends and I went with our dogs to a bomb shelter that was five minutes from my home.
We slept on our coats on the floor, trying to drink as little water as possible and retain as much charge on our phones as we could. We didn’t have signal down in the shelters which made it impossible to sleep, not knowing what was happening outside. The first night in the shelter was the worst night of my life. And the morning after, it became my singular mission to leave. It’s just over a month since I made that decision. That’s how long this journey to safety has taken.
I took only enough food for the dog, which I’d stocked up on by chance. I left behind my wardrobe which I’d spent years building up. The only clothes I took were two black tracksuits and a Uniqlo puffer jacket, which can be easily packed away. Right before I turned my back on my apartment, I grabbed my JW Anderson bag, maybe because it was just by the door, but it’s now become a symbol of my previous life.
We set out along the ring roads of Kyiv, driving in convoy with friends and their dogs, and saw tanks and checkpoints manned by the Ukrainian army. It was incredibly moving to see so many people like us in the other cars, some with pets and babies, none of us with any idea about what might happen next.
At midnight, after 15 hours of driving, we were confronted with an airstrike on the road ahead. Suddenly, all the cars came to a standstill. It’s hard thinking about that moment now, and all the what-ifs. I'm just thanking God for every minute that kept us alive.
We had to find a detour, but we were running out of fuel. It was hard to think straight imagining that we might be stranded. We spent two hours waiting in a queue at the gas station before we managed to fill up with petrol. Then we decided to park opposite the gas station to try and get some sleep. We were in the middle of nowhere but managed to close our eyes for an hour before continuing our journey into the darkness of the night.
The road took us through the middle of a field. There were so many hidden ditches and we were terrified we were going to break down or get a puncture. It felt like we were driving into nothingness. There was huge fear; of not knowing what might happen to us next or if the path would carry us where we need to go. But we were compelled by the need to keep moving, to be doing something. Staying still wasn't an option.
As soon as I crossed the Polish border, I started listening to Ukrainian songs on repeat, which helped keep me calm and strong. But the war didn’t end for me when I arrived in Warsaw, after three weeks of driving. As it rages on, it's getting even harder to cope, emotionally. I feel guilty for every night’s sleep in a warm bed and for every hot meal I eat.
When I think about refugees now, my opinions are so different to what they were before. Other people don’t understand how you feel. Of course, we know about war and how terrible it is, but you could never imagine how difficult it is to be forced to flee your home until you have to do it yourself. I wouldn't wish it anyone.
I am a Kyiv citizen. I was born and bred in that city. Before the war, I had planned to travel to the UK and study for a master's at Central Saint Martin’s. But now, the only thing I want is to go back home, to my homeland and everyone I love.
When I watch footage from friends who have stayed in Kyiv, I yearn to be there. One friend is working in a restaurant to prepare food for the army. Another rescues pets from flats that have been abandoned by their owners. Others help by driving vans and transporting supplies. My 87-year-old grandfather stayed alone in Kyiv, but there are volunteers who help him with food and medicine. He’s happy there because he doesn’t feel alone. It’s so inspiring: we truly believe that our country has a huge future and great hope.
I’m unsure how to process all of this. Every second of every day, I think about what I could do more of to help. I am throwing myself into work, to earn money to send back to friends and family who have decided to stay in Ukraine. I know that remaining in the country was their decision. They all had the option to leave when we did and everyone takes their own risks, but I feel that if I’m the lucky one to be here, I should work to support the cause there. That's my end of the deal. It's my part of the war for now.
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