The heavy burden we carry leaves a deep trail on the road behind us, and our heart keeps dragging all those confusing and pressing feelings along. We have brought it so far that the load of unsaid words is so heavy that it just blocks our path, and the very realisation that you chose to stay quiet is self-destructive.
The story takes place in an apartment in Lviv.
He spends most of his time with an older brother, and his father works away from home, so during the span of the past years, they haven’t seen each other often. However, they still occasionally enjoy watching games together, making trips, and whatever…does it even matter, it’s so boring to describe a routine.
Who could have ever thought that a human could be so connected to this routine?
We tend to underestimate the value of just living life without the deceitful assumption that the construct of time will be available to us in the future.
The story continues in February.
That’s when the storyline takes a turn to the past, the howl of siren alerts: their bombs can destroy your routines.
Sometime in March, he sees two military men standing on the doorstep of his apartment and holding what appears to be a verdict scratched by an official institution on a piece of paper. Strange to realise that as soon as that stamp is put on this document somebody’s fate is decided. His father got a military summons.
War sifts through the skin and clarity of mind, changes collapse on you, this fatigue, contempt, despair, agony, numbness, abandonment, fear, anger, and hatred are not to be put into words. So many people have already applied all possible techniques trying to describe war to finally get through to people and yet, for some reason, it happens again. Anyway, this story has a different purpose.
We can cut down time again because now even phone calls are occasional. No games together, no warm dinner filling up their stomachs in the Lviv apartment, only pain watching his mother lose the spark in her eyes and genuine smile on her face. He shows unconditional respect for the advice he gives because now talking to his dad about the routine back home is not boring anymore, and his father in turn sounds happy to listen to each minute of his son’s day. Routine closes the theatre stage behind him like curtains during the intermission. After the beeping sound of the telephone provider, the intermission ends and the horror movie backstage is ready for the next scene.
When he says “bye” his father hangs up, never mind, he can say “I love you” later.
We tend to underestimate the value of just living life without the deceitful assumption that the construct of time will be available to us in the future.
His father turns around and the whole military unit is bustling about, probably shelling: “Wait. Did I tell you how much I love him?”
