A Heavy Weight on my Chest
A remnant of a Russian MI-24 helicopter hangs on my neck. Cut from the wreckage, this necklace I wear represents the strength of my people, the strength of Ukraine.
Without this knowledge it hangs on my neck; plain, unremarkable even. It is a mere fragment of the ongoing destruction, the blood being spilled. Reminding me of the men on the front and the families missing them. The displaced children and the victims of rape. Those facing a winter without heating or light.
But amongst this destruction, around my neck hangs hope. Reminding me of the Ukrainian spirit and its ability to endure.
Do you have any meaningful jewellery? He asked.
It was New Years, in a room away from the party, I was sat on a stranger's bed. I could hear the distant throb of music downstairs. When it was my turn to respond, I pointed towards my neck, to my most recent addition of jewellery. I wear a thin chain on which hangs a piece of silver metal.
When I say jewellery I use the word loosely.
The shape and the size of a dog tag, the metal has scratches, a hole and is inscribed with MI-24. It is bulky and jangles when I move. I think it may be causing a rash.
Once a weapon, the tag, pendant, the bit of metal which I wear everyday comes from Ukraine, or, I suppose, originally Russia. It is a remnant cut from the ruins of a destroyed Russian MI-24 helicopter shot down in the Kyiv region. Part of a collection in which each tag is unique, bearing its own individual scars, holes and markings; all dependent on the part of the helicopter from which they were taken.
Once a weapon it now serves as my armour.
A magpie may not see the value in my pendant, opting for shimmering jewels or golden rings. I am not a magpie, I do not take what is not mine. Unlike the Russians who leave carrying Ukrainian toys, microwaves and toilet seats. No, I am Ukrainian. This is a country of truth. This is a country of freedom. Our national bird is a stalk. Their nests are believed to serve as amulets protecting against evil . Sacred, a stalk is a symbol of spring, new life and peace.
Its weight on my neck reminds me of the ongoing suffering. Morbidly I wonder about the Russian pilot who must have died when his helicopter was shot down. But then again, the war has given me cause for some less than kind thoughts towards the Muscovites.
Responsible for this battle bijouterie are journalists Petro Shuklinov and Maria Ksyondzyk. Metal collected, the tags were cut and sold online amongst a range of other ‘war themed’ items. Since the start of Russia's full scale invasion the pair have run a fundraising campaign with all profits sent to the Ukrainian Armed Forces (aside from 15% for expenses and processing).
Back at the New Years party, in the bedroom upstairs he looked impressed. I think my story won the show and tell, contemporary war is superior to the ring that your strange aunt Susan gifted you. It's topical and gives me an edge. But frankly I’d rather have another kind of victory.
January is a good month for reflecting. It is the month when you reminisce on the year just past. My memories could have been sweeter.
The necklace was a gift from my Mum. She brought it the last time she visited home, these days a confident regular on the three day journey from London to Warsaw to Kyiv and back.
Leaving Ukraine she had no room for her own jewellery. I remember her thick amber beads, sometimes enclosing flecks, petals, and even insects. I remember her heavy red coral necklaces. Both are part of traditional Ukrainian dress.
Last time Mama made the journey, along with the MI-24 necklace, grechka (buckwheat) and backpack of clothes, she brought my Babushka (grandmother).
My Babushka did not want to leave Ukraine. She is an active woman, a retired doctor, who until of late kept busy splitting her time between her apartment in Kyiv and the dacha (country house where she grows fresh produce) in Poltava.
In the safety of England there is not enough to busy her. Aside from the occasional walk or family outing, she spends her time reading or on her phone. Although not at complete ease with the device she is able to watch videos on Facebook. Each morning she tunes into Zelenskiy’s address.
Dressed in a barrage of camouflage, the man and the clothes he wears have become part and parcel of this war. Clad in taupe’s, khaki’s and greys, the soft yet sombre uniform serves a stark reminder of the raging war. With clothes reminiscent of Yeezys Season 2 collection, Zelenskiy's attire comes at a fraction of the cost. After all, he is a Servant to the People.
On a recent visit to the White House, Zelenskiy wore a hoodie originating from MTAC; a “casual military wear” brand. On their site the slogan reads ‘Born for revolution, hardened by war’. Perhaps this applies to all Ukrainians. It seems the Ukrainian spirit grows with every strike. My motherland, a place of golden fields of wheat.
A symbol of the battlefield, this war time uniform is at stark contrast with Putin's garb. Who, while his soldiers sign up to die for a small fee, remains draped in designers. I calculate that a Russian family would have to lose 2 boys to afford their president's Loro Piano jacket.
The way we dress means something, it tells our story. It is our packaging. We wear our values, responsibilities, our clothes speak of our people. From my mothers beads, to Zelenskiys uniform.
My necklace hangs on my neck, where it will remain long after this war is over. If the chain breaks, I will fix it. It is a reminder of who I am as well as a reminder of what Russia has done and continues to do.
The Ukrainian spirit will endure. We will continue to wear it proudly on our chest. As goes the first line of our national ‘Sche ne vmerla Ukraina’ - Ukraine is not dead yet.