Anna: Return to Kherson

I never imagined, not once in my life, that my hometown could fall under occupation. I remember the numb shock, the impossible weight of despair. I couldn’t be certain if I’d ever see home again. So when Ukrainian forces liberated Kherson on November 11, relief and gratitude flooded every part of me. In that moment, I knew I had to go back—back to see my grandfather, who wasn’t really living there but merely surviving under relentless attacks and terror.

When I finally arrived, the sight of my beloved Kherson shattered my heart. It didn’t look like home anymore, its streets battered, its buildings scarred, and the remains of Russian propaganda still plastered on billboards and posters. It made me feel sick to my core. But then I saw my neighbors, overjoyed to see a familiar face. We stood together, recalling everything that had happened. They spoke, but the pain in their eyes was overwhelming—a silent testament to what they had endured. And even as we talked, it hit me: this ordeal was far from over. My hometown still faced daily attacks, each one aimed at crushing the spirit of the place I loved.