Nuke or not, the jam isn't going to make itself
If I was asked to describe how I feel right now, I'd draw a picture of a person in the lotus pose sitting on a barrel of gunpowder. This is how I have experienced the reality of the last few days.
"Russian forces are beginning to flee the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant," Ukrainian intelligence says. "Ukraine is preparing a terrorist attack on the Nuclear Power Plant," says the Russian propaganda machine. My mum lives 50 kilometres away from the plant as the crow flies, I calculate.
"Do you have a water supply? Both potable and non-potable? It takes six litres to flush the toilet. And food? Is it hermetically sealed? Did you buy adhesive tape? Don't forget to turn off the ventilation. Do you have a radio that works? Where are the potassium iodide pills? Don't forget to turn off the air conditioning. Collect your documents, money and essentials together." I write something like this every hour.
More often, I just write: "Please come here, wait it out with me. Bring Granny and your dog, and come."
"Granny doesn’t want to and neither does the dog. Everything will be fine. I bought a bottle of red wine," Mum replies.
"Why wine?" I wonder, although I’ve bought some too.
"I read on the internet that your pills don’t help at my age. You need to drink wine," Mum says calmly.
Next morning she goes to the market to buy raspberries because, nuke or not, the jam isn't going to make itself.
In my thoughts, she’s the one sitting in the lotus pose, having reached an understanding of Zen and the flow of being. I have no other explanation.
None of my friends who have stayed at home in Zaporizhzhia share Defence Intelligence’s and my panic either; they share my mother's scepticism. I understand: the closer you are to the epicentre of events, the more you've seen and the less you care. Explosions ring out every night over there. And they won't even hear this one.
Today I even had a dream about this explosion. I woke up in the dream, checked the news, saw that the Russians had blown up the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant, and went back to sleep. It wasn't scary in the dream.
When I woke up again, in reality this time, I was surprised at my nonchalance in the dream, but I also appreciated the idea of not waking up until the news got better.
Suppose Shakespeare was right and life is really theatre. In that case, the life of the average Ukrainian is an absurdist drama in which the main character, instead of waiting for Godot, awaits a nuclear explosion and checks the news even while taking a shower because if the explosion has already happened, you can’t use conditioner (it makes your hair retain the radiation, apparently).
Sometimes you really want to be able to wake up. But this is not a dream. So, if this is at least theatre, we must hope for a happy ending, and that the Prima Donna won't end up bald.
