I'm a Ukrainian soldier, and I've accepted my death

In the 10 months I spent on the front line near Popasna, in the Luhansk region, I thought often about death. I could feel its quiet steps and calm breathing next to me. But something told me no, not this time.

Now, who knows? Currently my service takes place on the northern border, where I patrol part of the Chernobyl exclusion zone. It is safer here than in the east or south, although the proximity of the autocratic Belarusian leader takes a psychological toll. Our unit’s task is to prevent a repeat of the events of March, when the northern part of the Kyiv region was occupied and the enemy shelled the outskirts of the capital with artillery.

I’m ready to get into any hot spot. There is no fear. There is no silent horror as there was in the beginning, when my wife and son were hiding in the hallway of our Kyiv apartment trying to somehow calm down or even fall asleep amid the excruciating howling of air alarms and explosions. There is sadness, of course: More than anything in the world I just want to be with my wife, who is still in Kyiv with my son. I want to live with them, not die somewhere on the front line. But I have accepted the possibility of my death as an almost accomplished fact. Crossing this Rubicon has calmed me down, made me braver, stronger, more balanced. So it must be for those who consciously tread the path of war.