When We Scream and the World Is Silent / Когда мы кричим, а мир молчит

[fox_in_me]

📝 Оригинальный текст записи

Сегодня напишу несколько слов о том, что происходит сейчас.
И об одном очень сильном событии этих дней.

Я уже писал, что ситуация с электроэнергией и теплом сложная. Даже больше — город во льду. Не хватает средств, не хватает человеческих рук, чтобы бороться со стихией, не говоря уже о последствиях войны. Это то, чего не могут понять те, кто не находится здесь.

Несколько дней назад группу электриков, приехавших устранять последствия обстрела, забрали в армию прямо с места ремонта. Городские дороги — почти без света и во льду. Пешеходы часто падают прямо на проезжей части. Та же проблема и в больницах: не хватает санитаров, не хватает мужчин. Я уже не говорю о врачах. Те, кто есть, — молодые, без достаточных знаний: последние годы из-за ковида и всего остального обучение было фактически регрессивным.

Я заехал выпить кофе и пообщаться со знакомым. Пока ждал его в магазине, где мы обычно берём кофе, в очереди стояла пожилая женщина и выбирала колбасу. Она спросила, какая вкуснее. Ей показали и назвали цену — она сразу выбрала ту, что дешевле. Но и на неё у неё не хватило денег. Так же было и с остальными покупками: печенье, хлеб, самые необходимые вещи.

Я видел, как она еле держится на ногах, с тростью — недавно упала на льду. Возраст. Я знаю продавщицу, я частый гость в этом месте, и просто попросил оплатить всё за неё. И корм для её котов тоже. У меня внутри всё рвалось. Какой бы период я сейчас ни переживал в своей жизни, я знаю, насколько сложно ей. И ещё сотням тысяч таких же.

Я могу хотя бы оставить свои эмоции здесь. А многим и поговорить не с кем. Просто поговорить. Я очень хорошо знаю это чувство.

Когда я вышел из магазина со своим кофе, ко мне подошёл другой пенсионер. Нет, он не просил денег. Я видел его уже несколько раз. Он просто хотел поговорить — о том, что у него наболело. Об обстрелах. О выживании. О том, что сейчас он никому не нужен.

После этих двух контактов мне стало невыносимо. Хотелось сделать больше, но я даже не понимал — что именно, где и как. И ещё сильнее я понял, как мне хочется быть вне этого театра абсурда.

Почему весь мир молчит, когда мы кричим?

К чему все мои интервью и эти события — словно мы на арене цирка? Мы платим жизнями. Платим выкупами за мужчин, вырванных из рук людоловов. А мир не реагирует. Я просто смотрю на свой город с разбитым сердцем.

Я хорошо понимаю того пенсионера. Сейчас, получив травму, мне тяжело даже с домашними делами. И вот странная деталь: в ту первую ночь после травмы, когда я пришёл домой, в темноте упал — рядом были мои коты. Темнота. И мне хотелось плакать. Не тихо — громко. Не из-за того, что происходит в моей жизни, а из-за осознания того, что я не могу это изменить.

Красиво звучит фраза: измени своё отношение к тому, на что не можешь повлиять.
Но правда в том, что я очень хочу изменить именно свою жизнь.
А сейчас — не могу.

И, наверное, единственное, что остаётся — не ожесточиться.
Не пройти мимо.
И продолжать говорить — даже если кажется, что нас не слышат.

Note translated in assistance with AI.

Today I want to write a few words about what is happening right now.
And about one very strong moment of these days.

I have already written that the situation with electricity and heating is difficult. More than that — the city is covered in ice. There is a lack of resources, a lack of human hands to fight the elements, not to mention the consequences of the war. This is something people who are not here simply cannot understand.

A few days ago, a group of electricians who had come to repair damage after shelling were taken into the army прямо from the repair site. The city roads are almost without light and covered in ice. Pedestrians often fall прямо on the roadway. The same problem exists in hospitals — there is a lack of orderlies, a lack of men. I am not even talking about doctors. Those who are there are young and inexperienced: the last few years, because of COVID and everything else, education has been largely regressive.

I stopped to get a coffee and talk with an acquaintance. While I was waiting for him in the shop where we usually buy coffee, an elderly woman was standing in line, choosing sausage. She asked which one tasted better. They showed her and named the price — she immediately chose the cheaper one. But even for that, she didn’t have enough money. The same happened with other basic things: cookies, bread, the simplest necessities.

I could see she was barely standing, leaning on a cane — she had recently fallen on the ice. Age. I know the shop assistant, I am a regular there, so I simply asked to pay for everything for her. And for food for her cats as well. Inside, everything was tearing apart. No matter what period of life I am going through right now, I know how hard it is for her. And for hundreds of thousands of others like her.

I can at least leave my emotions here.
But many people have no one to talk to.
Just to talk.
I know this feeling very well.

When I left the shop with my coffee, another pensioner approached me. No, he didn’t want money. I had already seen him several times before. He just wanted to talk — about what hurt him. About shelling. About survival. About the feeling that he is no longer needed by anyone.

After these two encounters, it became unbearable. I wanted to do more, but I didn’t even know what exactly, where or how. And even more clearly, I understood how much I want to be outside this theatre of the absurd.

Why does the whole world stay silent when we are screaming?

What are all my interviews for, and all these events — as if we are on a circus arena? We pay with our lives. We pay with ransoms to pull men out of the hands of human hunters. And the world does not react. I just look at my city with a broken heart.

I understand that pensioner very well. Now, after my injury, even everyday household things are not easy for me. And here is a strange detail: on the very first night after the injury, when I came home and fell in the darkness, my cats were nearby. Darkness. And I wanted to cry. Not quietly — loudly. Not because of what is happening in my life, but because of the realization that I cannot change this.

It sounds beautiful to say: change your attitude to the things you cannot influence.
But the truth is, I really want to change my life itself.
And right now — I can’t.

And maybe the only thing that remains
is not to harden.
Not to look away.
And to keep speaking —
even when it feels like no one hears us.

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Comments

[loganberrybunny]

This is something people who are not here simply cannot understand.

That is true, of course. But I think it's also part of the reason the world looks away. Because people care about things that they understand, or at least think they understand. And if they keep getting told "You cannot understand" then human nature makes it natural to respond, "Then if it's impossible, I shall stop trying." It isn't fair and it isn't right. But I think it's at least a small part of the reason.

[fox_in_me]

Help can take many forms. I’m not talking about military equipment, or about the help ordinary people give — sending clothes, money, vehicles — that is invaluable.

Real help would be to stop all of this. That would be the strongest gesture. Not showing polished, beautiful videos, but the reality that exists here. Because one day peace will come, and everything I write about will only deepen for many years — against the background of total destruction and poverty.

[chuka_lis]

сил Вам! и бессилия- Вашим врагам.

[fox_in_me]

Спасибо, раз - да прибудет с Вами сила очень глубока, не смотря на популярность.

[motodraconis]

It is hard for me to wrap my head around. The Ukrainian lady living in the apartment under my house vanished, and I was frantically messaging her asking if she was ok and safe. She replied that she was staying with a friend, I think she went back to Ukraine for nearly 2 months, but she is back with me now, which is a relief.

[fox_in_me]

Thank you for sharing this. I can imagine how frightening that uncertainty must have been. I’m really glad she is safe and back with you — that kind of relief means so much these days.

It’s deeply touching to know that people care and worry for each other across borders. This attention and humanity matter more than we sometimes realize.

[soricel]

Here in Romania, it was *very* icy until recently, and no one really cleared the sidewalks...I fell a bunch of times, and saw a couple older people who'd fallen too. I didn't get badly hurt, but in a way I was grateful for the pain, because it helped me stay sensitized to the much worse pain so many others feel. Like you said, I don't want to harden. Reading your entries helps with that too, so thank you for sharing them.

[fox_in_me]

Thank you very much for your comment.
I wish I could write about more pleasant and joyful things, but my inner storage is filled with this.
Our falls are our experience — the place where we learn. I wish that yours will be only in a positive sense.

[wantedonvoyage]

It is true that it is impossible to really understand from a distance, but I try to never let the situation escape my mind, even in the midst of so much other bad news.

[fox_in_me]

Thank you very much for your comment. Both local and global news fail to convey the full picture. I’m aware of the catastrophes happening in the world and the consequences of wars in different countries, they are not shown in their entirety either.