A few thoughts on death

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about death.

Not only because Russia sends hundreds of threats to my life across the sky every night but mostly because of that.

Yesterday, I saw photos of a missile strike on a building exactly like mine. Exactly. And I realised that if I had been hiding in the bathroom, the way I usually do, I wouldn't have survived. How are you supposed not to think about death after that?

I've stopped scheduling messages for Monday mornings, because Russia might kill me on the night between Saturday and Sunday. Admit it, getting "hi" from someone who's already gone would be creepy.

I'm no longer entirely sure why I bother myself with a seven-step skincare routine. The wrinkles may never get a chance to appear. These days, wrinkles are a privilege.

Or when a doctor prescribes medication to improve the quality and length of my life, but tells me to give up life's small pleasures – sweets, coffee, alcohol – I start wondering whether a long life is really guaranteed anyway. Living well, though? That still seems possible.

Recently, while dozens of ballistic missiles and hundreds of Shaheds were flying toward Kyiv yet again, I sat in my bathroom googling basement rentals. Then parking spaces. Then cheap cars. So despite all these thoughts about death, there is still an undeniable hunger for life.

I found myself thinking about what I've managed to do with mine. What people would say at my funeral. How many would post a black-and-white photo of me to their Instagram stories with a caption along the lines of: "Knew her. She was a fun one."

One day I wandered into the accounting department and learned that making a will costs 3,000 UAH. And lately I've been thinking about writing one all the time. Because at the very least, someone has to love my cat if I die and he survives.

And I finally signed the paperwork for posthumous organ donation. A kind of will in its own way. Maybe even after my death I'll still manage to be useful.

I spent most of my last birthday in tears, because I was thinking about death then, too. It's hard not to when people give you a tourniquet that matches your eye colour.

However, it's comforting, in a strange way, to have people who, when you ask them to write your obituary, say yes without hesitation. Who are willing to be included in your will and take care of your cat. People who know exactly where to find your funeral playlist. By the way, the headline track is Last Flowers by Radiohead, though Exit Music would work too.

And another air raid alert began while I was writing this.