War. Forced displacement. What does it really mean?

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In Ukraine:

You are Aliona. You lead a team, are a respected professional with a university degree. You have friends, family, a home, your favourite hairdresser, and your usual Americano with milk—a coffee that people in Europe hardly even know.

You are living your best life, surrounded by your family: your mother, your father, and your brother. You feel free. Your life feels complete.

Until the occupiers come to your homeland.

And suddenly, life turns into hell, forever divided into "before" and "after."

First, you lose your father. Then your older brother.

In an instant, you are forced to grow up.

The feeling of childhood disappears, along with your inner peace, the warmth of your family, and the comfort of home.

Your wings are clipped. Your dreams, your future, and everything you lived and worked for are taken away.

You are not simply thrown back to zero. You are pushed far below it.

Surrounded by loss and unbearable pain, you must save your child and begin a new life in a place where you are an unwanted guest, where nobody was waiting for you.

In exile:

You become nobody. An invisible person. Without a face. Without a voice.

Without, in many ways, even the right to be yourself. You lose yourself.

You hide your sense of humour. You are no longer the life of the party—and there is no party anymore. Loneliness and alienation become part of your everyday life.

You can no longer smile. You no longer sing. You no longer dance.

You are no longer the heroine of a colourful Disney film.

Instead, you become a character in a black-and-white silent movie. Your university degree is not recognised. Your language skills are limited.

It feels as though your previous life and everything you achieved never existed.

You stop existing as a person in the eyes of others. In a crowd, no one notices you.

Abroad, everything is unfamiliar.

You do not know where the pharmacy is, where to find the nearest supermarket or bus stop, how to make a doctor's appointment, how to rent a home—or countless other things.

Helplessness and uncertainty drain your strength.

You lose yourself and no longer know how to move forward.

Despite all the hardships life has prepared for me, I am endlessly grateful to the country that gave us shelter—a roof over our heads, the opportunity to learn the language, to wake up in peace, to live, and to keep moving forward.

I thank the Universe for sparing the lives of my mother, my husband, and my daughter.

I remember how, three years ago, my daughter and I were studying a foreign language in a cold, dark house. At that time, it felt as though nothing awaited us in the future and that life had no more gifts left for us.

Only through hard work, countless sleepless nights, tears, and the fear of the unknown does my little girl now speak German fluently, receive certificates of academic excellence, and rank among the top five students at one of the best schools.

I am also grateful to every person we have met along our journey.

I am even grateful for the walls of misunderstanding and the stones thrown in our path, because they pushed us to keep moving forward.

I am deeply thankful to my employer, who believed in me, took the risk of giving me a job, saw potential in a woman from Ukraine, reached out with a helping hand, and restored my confidence in myself.

If I am still alive, then my purpose on this earth is not yet fulfilled.

I am grateful for the ability to breathe, to see, to hear, and to feel.

As for my dreams, I no longer make plans far into the future.

Every morning, I begin with the words:

"Thank You, God, for this new day."

I dream of a large house with a beautiful garden full of flowers.

I dream of giving my daughter everything that fate denied me.

I dream of inner peace and emotional balance, of travelling, discovering new places, and finding fresh inspiration for life.

I long to be accepted and recognised as part of society.

At work, what matters most to me today is feeling that I belong, and having the support and understanding of my colleagues.

I am deeply grateful to them for their patience with my German and for answering the many questions that arise every day.

I truly believe that life is beautiful in all its forms.

And I know that after the darkest night, the brightest dawn will always come.

                                                                                                                                                           Personal text by Alyona Sapon