I don’t know why, as a 12-year-old, I felt all the gravity of events and decided to meticulously write down everything that was happening that day. For a teenager, the developments and characters were weird enough.

But one thing remained clear. Great changes lie ahead and I will be part of them. This evoked pride and interest. So what will happen next?

Time passed and my childhood diaries are gone. The August page, however, is still a vivid memory. I only partly recall how Ukraine was born and grew up after Aug. 24. I fell in love, entered a teacher training university, studied.

The first years of studies were hard – potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner – the potatoes we cultivated ourselves. University fees had to be paid. Then I was head over heels in love with the first teaching years, all of which distracted my mind and heart from the country’s politics.

My feelings of patriotism and national identity were sparked, strangely enough, not in Ukraine. During my first trip abroad, in 2003, I flew to Tallinn, Estonia. There I attended a Council of Europe’s training on human rights education. I went as a representative from Ukraine.

For the first time ever in my life, I introduced myself to foreigners and introduced my country. I had to tell other countries’ nationals about Ukraine – our symbols, traditions, cuisine and music. I brought Ukrainian chocolate and even sang a song.I tried my best not to miss a thing.

But above all – during breaks in training sessions, at the parties, in conversations – I suddenly became aware of an abyss between myself and other participants. I do not know my history. I could remember key dates, but not the essence.

Other participants had never thought of themselves as apart from their countries. Since birth, they were Germans, Frenchmen, Finns, or Spanish. From childhood, their hearts absorbed everything connected to history and the culture of their motherland. They were filled with knowledge and were proud of it.

For Ukrainians, it was different. We were a part of something big and vague, with no roots and piles of stereotypes. Most of the people living in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialistic Republic had no idea who Ukrainians really were.

That’s how we were brought up – Lenin on the wall in the kindergarten. Our address is not a house and not a street, our address is the USSR [lyrics of a famous Soviet song: наш адрес не дом и не улица, наш адрес – Советский Союз]. And our centuries-old history was twisted, even in school textbooks. So how on earth are young people supposed to know who they are?

At that point I realized one more thing. It’s truly a must for me to discover Ukraine. And another must is to reveal Ukraine to others.


Kyiv Post newsroom manager Svitlana Kolesnykova can be reached at
[email protected]