"So your boyfriend is Ukrainian too? What made you fall in love with him?" I ask my friend over the phone. Margherita is a 27-year-old Italian woman, and, just like me, she fell in love with a Ukrainian man. But fate was crueler with her: to meet her love during wartime, Margherita must travel alone for more than 1,800 km, through Italy and several other countries.
On the bus, she can chat with few other passengers: almost all of them are women. Almost all of them are Ukrainian. Men cannot leave Ukraine and no foreigner visits Ukraine now, except the husbands of some Ukrainian middle aged lady. They are surprised to meet a civilian Italian woman on the bus, a young woman who undertakes that uncomfortable and perilous journey several times a year "only" to meet her beloved guy. It's truly unusual - and romantic - to meet a Western girl who ventures into the depths of a war for love. Some Ukrainian women think she's simply a fool, while others study her with interest and admiration. Some are in shock to hear a foreign woman who speaks and understands Ukrainian language pretty well.
"Pavlo is a real man. He's so nice and gentleman, I've never met any Italian guy like him. He wants a family with me, we are looking for a house now. His wage is good, we'll can soon buy an apartment for us." She explains through the phone. "I want to have three children with him: men with three children don't have to serve in the army anymore and can go back home."
"But... There's a war going on. Get married first! Anyway, I understand you. When you love somebody totally, the eventuality that he may die pushes you even more to desire a child from him before it is too late. There is no time to focus on what we lack, but urge to accomplish something before if is too late. Yes, Ukrainian men are fantastic." I answer. I think for a moment about what I would do in her place if my husband were locked in Ukraine like her Pavlo, and I'm practically certain that I'd go to Ukraine too. But she is definitely braver than me, I respect her, and at the same time I feel like a privileged to have my husband with me every night. I kiss him every night before going to sleep.
Margherita informs me that she's about to leave for Ukraine again. A few days later, she sends me her location. She's arrived and is not far from my husband's grandparents' village, and seeing her in that place, even if only on a screen, gives me a pang. I feel her so much!
<<They bombed *****. >> She texts me. The Italian news hasn't reported it yet, but my friend informs me in parallel that the Russians have hit the main city in the province, where she and Pasha were walking hand in hand only a day before. And not only that: Russians have hit also my husband's city centre.
<<It's the second time that I've come here in ****** and the Russians have bombed it. >> She texts me.
<<No area of Ukraine is really safe anymore. >> I comment. And here's today's topic: how does it feel, as a Western woman raised in a peaceful world, when a great love brings you to a country ravaged by war?
THE LOVE THAT MOVES THE SUN AND THE OTHER STARS
True love cannot exist without movement. Love is a dynamic force, it is desire, thought and action. It is not seek for comfort. Nor Jesus nor God seeked comfort when they faced torture, pain and cross for the love of humankind. Western women are often described as greedy, cold, and materialistic, seeking comfort and fun. Yet, true love is that force that always pushes you toward the object of your affection, whether physically or even just in thought. My friend is the image of the true love. She risked her life twice to see his beloved one.
Margherita left behind the Riviera, the sun, coffees under the porch, and security, not for a fat wallet, but for a greater value: the Cossack courage, beauty and absolute virility, which makes you feel protected even under Russian drones, because whatever happens, you will never be alone. The feeling to can trust someone totally and to never be really alone is the most beautiful feeling in life. It is complete abandonment to another person, the opposite of independence. And if this "other" is foreigner, well, things are actually even more romantic.
In the steel of war, there are no useless ideologies about who should pay what; here, reality cuts straight to the chase, like the man she is about to hug again. Three of his comrades are already dead, but he is still alive. The two hug each others, mixing their languages in their speeches. His gaze is composed and a little gloomy, but she tries to bring Mediterranean lightness in his world. "Tell me that you love me," she asks him in his language. The Cossack thaws: "Ti amo." He tells her in Italian.
What may seem like an easy life from the outside can become ordinary alienation: buying cucumbers in a Western supermarket while your loved one is in the trenches slowly becomes alienating: the contrast between the "here" and "there" is so stark that you begin to feel like a stranger in your own country. A homeland that from the outside portrays itself as a country of class and luxury, but which is supported by millions of precarious and underpaid female workers of the hospitality and food&beverage sector like Margherita. Pavlo—and Ukraine—represent not only a love, but also a hope for a different future, in a different country. It's our bet on the winning horse.
The Ukrainian soldier doesn't represent the wealth of those who possess large amounts of capital, but the strength and solidity of those who know how to fight enemies, build solid walls, and provide protection to a woman devoured by the turbulent Italian economic system. The Ukrainian soldier becomes the archetype of security, ironically in a context of war and insecurity.
<<You know - I tell her - I think that the prize is worth the risk. It would be worse to stay in Italy, in precarious job market and in a liquid society made of beggars and of "every man for himself," and to wake up at 50 years only to realise that you are still disappointed with the circumstances and not free. Death isn't just the rapid and physical one caused by bombs, it's also the slow wear and tear of a system that no longer works, or that doesn't work for everyone. Death is also when you are spiritually dead. >>
Then I ask: <<Do you love more Ukraine or Italy? >> I already know the answer. It's Ukraine of course. She runs to Ukraine every time she can, not to Italy.
So I add: <<Our motherland has deluded both of us. And so have Italian men. Ukraine feels like a new motherland, a new start, and our husbands are like the passkeys to this new beginning. Ukraine for us is a new motherland that we have the chance to build almost from scratch, while here we can only assist to the slow decline, long agony and final death of "Starlett Italy", which will become a black hole. >> She agrees. I can cold-read her well. I know her feelings, I can predict her. <<You want some little Pavlovich, it says enough. >>
<< We should not focus on the brutality of the Now, of the war. We should set our thoughts on the future. The future will be bright. We must do things with this thought in mind. >>
Che stupida ci sono tanti bei ragazzi in italia
RispondiEliminaPer me sono stupide quelle che si mettono con i maranza. Lei la stimo, è stata coraggiosa e, come me, ama l'Ucraina. Conoscendola meglio posso dire che ama anche lei l'Europa bianca e cristiana.
Elimina