On a Thursday morning in late February I awoke at dawn expecting war. A quick click on Twitter confirmed my worst fears. The time to act is now. Why didn't I leave sooner? As an Irish citizen, I'm privileged in having that option. I moved to Lviv two and a half years ago while trying to finish a novel. An affordable, picturesque city that sits on the crossroads between Europe and the Russian-speaking world, it seemed like the perfect destination.
In that time, the city has become my home. Once an important regional outpost of the Habsburg empire, Lviv has always been culturally closer to Vienna than Moscow. But since the Maidan Revolution, it has become visibly pro-European as Ukraine attempts to move away from its Soviet past. The use of the Ukrainian language in the public cultural and civic life of the city has been a particularly important part of that process. I don't claim to be an expert on these matters. To my shame, I have little knowledge of the Ukrainian language.
Yet I've also made good friends here — with Lviv locals, with people in Kyiv, and with Europeans and Americans in Lviv with similar literary and cultural interests. When the drums of war started beating, I didn't know if I should stay or go. In mid-February the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs in Dublin told all Irish citizens it was no longer safe to stay in the country.
I ignored the advice. Leaving in a panic seemed drastic. Also, the close bonds I had built in Lviv had become important to me, especially as a war seemed increasingly likely. Our friendships had strengthened during the few months leading up to February. Finally, however, I booked a flight to leave Ukraine.
I was checking Twitter every minute or so. My bags were packed, but I wondered if I would be too late. Just after 8am on Thursday 24 February, with three bags and my passport packed, I decided it was best to get out sooner rather than later. As I opened the door of my flat I saw my neighbour across the hallway.
