They call it filtration

In the last few days I've gotten used to my life in the Netherlands.

Since I've been there I've been trying to learn some Dutch, but the language is really difficult.

Sounds like English, but it's not.

Cafes, cinema, theatre: I can't afford the luxury that I had in the Ukraine here.

I miss that a lot.

But these are all small things compared to the horrific acts that are happening right now.

A friend who fled to Russia via the contested zone in Donbass is on his way to Germany.

To Europe.

I often hear about friends' cell phones being checked at the Russian borders.

Apparently they keep lists: lists that classify Ukrainians as “nationalist” or “not dangerous”.

Whether you are "nationalist" is often decided by a small Instagram post,

a meme or a comment.

I don't know how they find out.

They supposedly call this “filtration”.

Eva sleeper

Editor in the "Life" department of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sunday newspaper.

  • Follow I follow

Now the war is getting fiercer.

I worry about my relatives and friends in Donbass.

I haven't been able to reach her since the new offensive began.

Here in cozy Enschede, the war seems all the more terrible to me.

I hope this slaughter will finally end.

Can I pay my share in the Netherlands?

I dont know.

Sometimes it feels like fighting windmills.

I hope that I can at least help Ukraine a little.

Margareta, 22 years old, Enschede

An acquaintance was arrested

With the sunny weather that we had all week, we went for a lot of walks in the beautiful Düsseldorf parks, where flowers are blooming on every corner.

The boys both have bikes now, which is great.

I signed up for an intensive language course, three times a week for four hours.

I'm looking forward to it, because the language is the key to integration.

For Orthodox Easter, which is celebrated on weekends, we usually eat a specific pastry.

A friend told me in which Russian shop I could buy it here in Düsseldorf, but somehow I can't bring myself to enter this shop at the moment.

I'll buy some dyed eggs.

As a resident of Kharkiv, I am of course very concerned about the new Russian offensive in eastern Ukraine.

Many of my acquaintances are only once out of the city for a few days in the country, which was not a problem.

I follow the news all the time, including whether there will be an exchange between the arrested Viktor Medvedchuk, a Ukrainian friend of Putin, and Ukrainian soldiers and civilians who are stuck in Mariupol.

I worked as a real estate agent in Kharkiv, dealing with two Russian clients who have not contacted me since the outbreak of war.

On the other hand, from Belarus, where I used to live for a while, I got a message from two acquaintances who basically apologized to me that they couldn't do anything about it.

One of the two then posted his rejection on social media and was arrested as a result.

The situation in Belarus is so bad.

Elena, 43 years old, Dusseldorf

I am unmotivated

A few weeks ago, when Kiev's future was still very unclear and bombs were falling every day, I read words that moved me very much: “All of us here in Ukraine are war migrants.

Some flee abroad, others who stay flee within themselves.” Anger, sadness, anger – the escape into the interior is expressed very differently by my friends and me.

Hatred of the aggressor must be turned into a positive, helpful activity for society.

Taking in refugees, educating them on social media, working as a volunteer or even going to war are all helpful.

But I also notice that some fall into depression.

I myself notice that I am unmotivated and have no energy for any activities.

A fellow student has suspended her studies and is going to see a therapist.

She hasn't managed to complete her inner escape yet.

But still, any reaction to this war is humane and valid.

This is the human side of war.

Since my brief visit to Kyiv, where I actually live, last week, I think my inner escape has ended.

I am firmly convinced that I will soon be able to feel the outcast.

But the right moment has not yet come.

The war goes on.

My way out of the inner flight has only just begun.

I don't know when it will end.

I'm not a refugee, even if I flee inside.

And I don't want to identify myself that way.

Discursively, I also do not allow Russia to mark me as a war refugee.

I am an inner migrant, like all Ukrainians.

Vlad, 20 years old, Vinnytsia