Back home in England it is all too easy to dissociate oneself from the daily plight of the average Ukrainian. A click of the off button or turning of a page, and the suffering we shake our heads at – the ruins, the rubble, the refugees – are instantly gone.

This vast and beautiful Ukraine through which I’ve been travelling to document the ongoing war has its own unique identity; its own culture and people; a rich history and sovereignty that – as with the independence of so many other great nations before it – was obtained via a mixture of love, blood, and human sacrifice.

It is these invaluable traits that Russian oppressor Vladimir Putin seeks to erase; his main ‘reason’ being that, historically, the territories which make up Ukraine once had the misfortune of being occupied by Russia.

Such reasoning, one might therefore argue, could thus be applied as justification for a British invasion of America, or perhaps the entire continent of Africa – were it not for the fact that it is nothing more than the same flawed and illogical excuse uttered from the lips of every dictator and expansionist in living memory, from Adolf Hitler to the present-day madman of Moscow.

Other excuses persistently peddled in Putin’s propaganda are that this illegal invasion aims to ‘liberate’ Ukrainians, rid their nation of Nazis, and that no civilians are being targeted.

In reality, every Ukrainian I’ve met so far, from Lviv to Luhansk, has made it clear that they wish to be liberated “from” Russia, not “by” it. Russian units (some containing soldiers with links and sympathies to Neo-Nazism) have been sent in to remove a democratically elected Jewish president. And residential areas across the country are being shelled at any given moment, with entire families displaced – many sadly not making it out alive.

I’ve witnessed this first-hand on my ongoing journey as a foreign journalist in Ukraine. The burnt homes of Bucha; the ruins of Borodyanka; the lost mother in Bakhmut who, with inconsolable grief told me of her seven-year-old little boy whose innocent life had been stolen by a Russian airstrike.

It was from Bakhmut that I travelled with a humanitarian convoy led by the brave and spirited Member of Parliament Sviatoslav Yurash, to deliver supplies to hospitals and army bases on the eastern front lines.

Among the group were volunteers from across the world, together symbolizing the international unity that has arisen due to the universal disgust over the invasion of an independent nation and subsequent crimes against humanity carried out by it.

Heavily shelled along the road, and with black smoke curling up from numerous rooftops, we took cover in an underground bunker with soldiers – men from Ukraine, England, America, France and Norway. All banded together to fight for the same cause and under the same banner.

The following day we returned to Bakhmut only to find that the council leader had officially instructed all citizens to evacuate. Placed on a night train packed to the rafters with refugees, I will never forget the goosebump-inducing wailing that filled the carriage from scared and grief-stricken mums and grandmothers as the train finally clunked over the Dnipro River, uncertain of when they’d be returning to their homes and livelihoods.

Nor will I forget what the middle-aged soldier whispered to me in broken English as I handed a young mother a packet of tissues. “We will win. They will be fine”.

And if there’s just one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that he was right. Because no matter how hard Russia attempts to knock Ukraine down to its knees, Ukraine stands defiant.