I am now a refugee in England, and my father and grandmother stayed at home in Kremenchuk. Our only
way to stay in touch is by phone.
In this screenshot, Dad shows me the first tomato that grew in the garden of our summer house during and against
the war. He was left alone, and this house is now the masterpiece of his heart. But the connection is so bad
that I can barely see what it shows.
This photo is a metaphor for my relationship with him. It is just as unstable as an internet connection that can
break at any moment. And after each such combination, I am afraid it may be the last. And maybe not
because of another rocket, but because of the chasm, this war will build between us.