Russian missile hits my childhood streets

A rocket hit the street of my childhood. A sleepy green neighborhood where football was played more than schooling, and where you're more likely to find an ATB store than a Silpo, let alone a decision-making center.

The rocket made a huge splash in the place where I used to run with my friends during my school days. The rocket sent a blast wave at the windows from which I looked at the world when I was very young. The rocket knocked out the windows of the apartment where I spent most of my life, where I was happy and sick, where I experienced my first love (I had time to dream about love, but also mutual love) and where I read my first books, cherishing dreams of my own, and where I waited for exam results and football matches. A rocket blew out the windows in my mother's kitchen…

Rocket did this because some sick creature in the bunker ordered the generals to turn off the lights in Kyiv on New Year's Eve. At any cost.  Even if the price is a shame…

What I feel is a trifle compared to what people who are left without loved ones are going through. Without housing. With no hope of returning all that was taken from them…

Revenge is a dish served cold. If the Russians think that one day we will forget…

Our hatred does not need shouting. It should be without emotions. But effective. It will be effective. It will find everyone. It will have a very good memory. It will not forget anything even when the politicians declare peace.

And we will remember this not only in 2023.  Oh, not only in 2023.

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About the author. Serhii Fursa, investment expert, blogger.

The editors do not always share the opinions expressed by the authors of the blogs.