Sometimes, it’s so hard to start writing. Sometimes, you have so many thoughts in your head, but pulling one out and developing it feels nearly impossible. In my country, there’s a saying: “What I see is what I sing about.” So, I’ll give the go with the flow method a try.

So, there’s a room—my room. At least, it’ll be mine until January 15, 2026. After that… who knows what it is going to be after. We all live in such turbulent times, nobody can say anything.

Anyway, how do you even know that a room belongs to you, even if just temporarily? Honestly, I have no idea if there are any objective criteria. I believe that a place belongs to me because of the living beings around me. I really hope it’s not the furniture—a table, a bed, a wardrobe—that defines my space, because those things are, well, lifeless.

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I believe in life. In my case, the living beings that make a place mine are my children, my cat, and my houseplants. I love plants, and I take care of them, both in Ukraine and now here, in Switzerland. My children are always with me—I care for them every day. And the cat! She holds a special status as my personal therapist; she’s absolutely amazing and smoothing.

And one day, hopefully, my husband will be here, in this very flat, too.

But you know what? More than anything, I’m sure of one thing—these are my plants  that will always be with me.