Lviv’s locals joke about their city being the London of Ukraine. They are not referring to the cost of eating out. The city surprises you at every turn with its attractive restaurants, generously portioned dishes and reasonable prices. But to the rest of Ukraine, the city is known for its rain. A guidebook advised me to bring both my sunglasses and my umbrella, and in the event, I needed both.
I mostly draw on personal influences, among which mental health, queer identity, Jewish heritage and contemporary social history are the topics I’m most interested in writing about right now.
The more I’ve read around the subject and listened to lectures, the more I understand there’s a Myth of the Resistance. Sure, millions did resist the Nazis, and there are many reasons French people can stand tall and celebrate this history of Resistance. But there’s something about the June 18th anniversary which doesn’t quite work when you read Charles de Gaulle was seen as rather an oddball himself.
The words, the single units, are overpowering scents of cheese. To my ear, the sentences are most troubling. They’re occupied provincial markets. Other times, they consist of warring articles and prepositions, hooting at one another as if they’re busily competing to reach the coast.
To some degree we’re conflicted. These conflicts are awful for some, and for others, the conflict will appear indirectly but touch them nevertheless. Much as we look at strangers and observe their lives in comparison to ours’, and imagine how seemingly straightforward are their lives, the reality is that no one has it easy in life.
This last week, I regulated use of social media just a little bit. I felt I had time to catch my breath. I also sat with my emotions even when they were that bit harder to confront. No topless men to waste minutes ogling on Instagram; no tweets to foam and fulminate at.