Inna — an engineer by education, a very sociable person by nature, and a pilot in her dreams. She comes from a small village near Kharkiv, studied at Kharkiv Aerospace University, and fell in love with aviation from her very first year. The full-scale war put her plans to obtain a pilot’s licence on hold, but it did not destroy the dream itself.
Today, Inna lives in Germany, works as an engineer at a large company, is building a family, is learning to allow herself to be happy and to live with a pain that never completely disappears. This is a conversation about control and trust, about the sky and about people, about being forced to grow up and about the strength to remain alive.
— Inna, when talking about your interests, you mentioned aviation. Are you already a pilot, or are you still training?
— I’m not a pilot yet, but I’m planning to get a pilot’s licence for a single-engine aircraft. It’s an old love of mine.
I studied at Kharkiv Aerospace University and I am a process engineer by education. There were airplanes everywhere on the university campus. There was a wonderful tradition: first-year students were taken to a small airfield, the airfield in Korotych. They held a big festival there: airplanes flew, people went skydiving. It was very exciting, and I fell in love with aviation from the very beginning. I was fascinated by the idea of being able to lift such a machine into the air. I dreamed of taking flying lessons. I saved money, worked, completed my master's degree, and I already had an application ready. I had saved enough money and was just about to start. But then the war began.
— Were you able to return to this idea after emigrating?
— It just so happened that I ended up in Passau. After some time, I met my future husband here. He knew about my dream, about wanting to fly, and he told me that there was also an airfield in Vilshofen. We went there. I realised that everything was possible — just in another language. So I haven’t abandoned the idea. I still want to get my licence. You fly at an altitude of 3,000 metres, you have the controls in your hands, and it depends only on you whether you land safely or not, whether you make it to your destination. I think this kind of control through the sky is something I want to have in my life.
— Are Inna in the air and Inna among people two different people?
— Yes. In the air, I am very focused and serious. In general, I am cheerful and easy-going. I trust life and sometimes I simply put my fate in its hands. But in the sky, I am the complete opposite, because you have no right to make a mistake. You have to pull yourself together. You cannot get distracted. Maybe I’m missing a little bit of that in everyday life — that kind of isolated concentration.
— Being a pilot is often about being alone in the cockpit. Are you comfortable being alone with yourself?
— Actually, being around people is very important to me. I am a social person. At the moment, I work for the large company Intica Systems SE, which has around 500 employees. I work in an office as an engineer in the Quality and Control department. So, as far as being a pilot is concerned, it is more of a dream than a future profession. It would be an opportunity to fly privately. I’m happy that I am surrounded by people now. When I first arrived, I learned German quite quickly. Later, I volunteered — I went with Ukrainians to all kinds of appointments as an interpreter, partly so that I could meet people and get to know them. So I can’t say that I chose this dream because I want to be alone. It is more about my desire for control.
— How exactly did you come to Germany?
— I came with my aunt and my cousins. My own brother, my mother, my father and the rest of my family stayed near Kharkiv. We are from a small village. When the war started, I left Kharkiv and went to my parents in the village. We all gathered there. We are a very close family. We had already been staying at my parents’ house for three weeks when we started thinking and decided: the children should not have to see this. My cousins came from Dnipro. Thank God, they did not experience even a single air-raid siren because they left immediately. We understood that we had to get the children out so that they could wait somewhere safe, because even an adult’s mind cannot cope with something like this. And a child may have to live with these traumas for the rest of their life. My aunt had friends in Passau who said: “Come to us. Stay for a month or two until things calm down.”
— Was it your decision to accompany them?
— My aunt said: “I’m not going. I have never been abroad. I don’t speak English, I don’t know anything. I’ll lose two children somewhere in Europe.” And since I no longer had a job, and it was frightening to return to my apartment in Kharkiv, I said: “I’ll go with you.” And we left. Four days on the road, eight trains… When we arrived here, I said: “Let’s stay for a month or two. I’ll help you a little — with the children’s school, documents, visas — and then I’ll go back.”
Everyone thought everything would be over soon. For the first six months, I didn’t even go to a language course because I thought I didn’t need to learn the language. I was going home anyway. So I lost six months. Then it became clear that I had to live my own life and help those who needed help.
— You mentioned your family who stayed behind. What do you miss most now, apart from your loved ones?
— I really miss being surrounded by my family. We were, and still are, very close. Moving away also meant a kind of forced separation from my parents. I was 22 when the full-scale war began. I miss my friends and my university environment. We were very close — we studied together and lived in a dormitory. The war scattered all of us.
I miss the city. I love Kharkiv very much. I have been to many places, but Kharkiv is the closest and most beloved city to me.
I even miss people who are not close to you, but whom you know: the person working in the café, the cleaner in the park, because you walk the same route every day. I miss that feeling of belonging.
— You said you decided to “live instead of waiting”. What helped you build a life here so quickly?
— I told myself that I was starting from zero. And I did everything I could not to waste time, but to learn and live.
Although it is difficult. When you move as a student, you leave less behind. But in Ukraine, you have already built emotional connections, attachments to your work and your hobbies. I used to dance samba and bachata. I still haven’t found a dance school here. Self-discipline helps. Sometimes it means going on even when you don’t want to, when it is difficult, even through tears. I have a very strong desire to live and perhaps an overly optimistic view of the world.
Today, Inna works as an engineer in the Quality and Control department. Her work requires precision: she selects, approves and checks suppliers. This area of responsibility gives her a sense of stability and financial independence.
— How did Germany and the local people receive you?
— Honestly, I don’t know whom to thank — God or some guardian angel — but very well. I know there are millions of different stories. In my case, 99.9 percent of the people I met were open, sincere and kind, and willing to help.
— Do you notice a difference in mentality? What have you learned from Germans, and what have they learned from you?
— Germans are more reserved. We are more sincere and open. At work, I notice the difference. Sometimes I miss empathy.
But I like that they accept me as I am, because I remain myself with everyone. They have a phrase: “Sicher ist sicher” — “better safe than sorry”. They make sure of everything three hundred times. I used to be rather carefree, but now I also double-check things much more often. You think three times about whether you should do something. We don’t even have to look far — my husband’s family. They are very happy that I became part of their family. They say: “It’s like fresh air has come into our family.” We hug and talk openly. They were always open to this, but they were not used to asking about someone’s emotional state or having deep conversations. I changed their perception of Ukraine and Ukrainians, first of all.
— You mentioned your husband. How do Ukrainian and German cultures live together in your everyday life?
— The first things he learned to say in Ukrainian were: “Я тебе кохаю” — “I love you”, “кохана” — “my beloved”, and “зірочка” — “little star”. We often listen to Ukrainian music in the car. He has been learning Ukrainian for a year and a half — with me and through language apps. The grammatical cases are very difficult for him. But we have been to Ukraine. He has met my parents, and because I speak with them every day, he wants to participate and be part of the family. As for food, I cook at home. Varenyky, borscht, our soups — all of these are part of our life. Bavarian cuisine is not very different from ours. It also has rich, calorie-heavy and meat-based dishes, so our food is well received.
— How do you perceive what is happening in Ukraine now, while being safe here?
— War is pain. It is an overwhelming longing for my country, for the past. And it is an overwhelming feeling of injustice.
It is indescribable pain that, unfortunately, I cannot block out. I was the person who kept saying until the very last moment: “Come on, are you serious? Tanks in the streets in the 21st century, right outside our windows?” And then they came.
I lost my faith in humanity. I have decided that while I am here, I will try to get the maximum out of every opportunity every day — to learn the language, to gain experience. But after every conversation with my parents, I cry. My psychologist and I even decided that I should only read the news about once a week, because if I read it in the second half of the day, I sleep very badly.
— Are you a happy person today?
— You know, for a long time I didn’t allow myself to be happy. I blamed myself: “I’m here, everything is fine for me, while there are people who are suffering much more.” My brother is there, and I simply couldn’t tell him anything good. I thought: “How can I tell him that I passed my driving test when he is there under the missiles?” But then we had an honest conversation, all of us together as a family. And now I am trying to allow myself to be happy, because there really are reasons to be happy.
— Have you changed during this time?
— I have become stronger and more grown-up. Even too much. I didn’t want that.
When I think about the children who are experiencing war, I know this should not happen. There should not be this kind of sudden, forced growing up. But I had no choice. I had to take on an enormous amount of responsibility. Without a doubt, I am very strong now, very grown-up and… smart.
— What do you dream about now?
— Before the full-scale invasion, my dreams were material: a better car, a bigger apartment. But the war brought me back down to earth. I want peace. And I want a just peace. That is my biggest dream. When this nightmare ends and the borders open again, I dream of seeing my parents more often than once every six months. I want to show them my life here, so that they can become part of it not only through a phone screen. And, of course, I want healthy children. I really want three.
My husband and I are still discussing it, because for him, as a German, two children is already a lot. But we’ll see.
— Where are you more often in your thoughts now — in Ukraine or here?
— Probably here and now. For the first year and a half, I never completely unpacked my suitcase. I kept thinking: “I’ll be leaving any moment.” But at some point, I realised that life was passing by. And only I can decide whether I will build something for myself or simply give up and wait. So my everyday life, my work, all the little things — they are here.
But I haven’t given up on the idea that in ten years, even with a German husband and children, we might live in Ukraine.
Interview and editorial editing: Slava Onufryk,
Ukrainian journalist and volunteer
