Vlad on the rooftop. On his tattoo are Cossacks.
I first saw Vlad at a techno rave. He seemed clumsy and awkward. His mixture of insecurity and arrogance was eye-catching. We are similar in this way. And even though we didn’t become friends, we understood each other without words, united by a common life experience. We were both from the sticks.
While I was making his portrait on the rooftop, it was a quiet and empty day in Kyiv. Vlad shared he also took photographs at the front lines of his fellow soldiers at war.
I replied: “If you have enough photos, you can try to enroll in the ICP. I’ll help you to write a motivation letter, but you need to speak English good.”
He smiled: “Darina, do you really think if I volunteered for the war at 19, I speak English good?”
We laughed.
Ever since I get angry if there are photos of young guys on billboards advertising conscription, when the conscription age starts at 27. Somehow, a military career is the most effective and fastest social ladder for young Ukrainian men. If his parents had had the savings to pay for his education, would he have gone to war so young?
