So there we were, picking up the scattered pieces, stitching life back together. Pops kicked off a new venture, and I set out on a journey of my own, making a flick and dabbling in all sorts of stuff. Somewhere between pissed off and inspired by my Russian roots, I decided to make a film about a cat who lit a fire in me. And so began this wild trip through art and production.

As I found my footing in the world of storytelling, it struck me that I'd never really spilled my own beans. Sure, my buddies knew the lowdown, and we'd made the press, so it wasn't exactly hush-hush. But never had I wielded my newfound gift to shine a light on the twisted saga of me and my kin.

No script, no goddamn blog post. It was like I had blinders on, not even realizing I'd skirted around the issue. Fed up with London, I hightailed it to Ukraine and found myself smitten with Kiev. Five years back, I dug my heels in – buying property, launching a company, and wrapping up the film that had kept me busy. I immersed myself in a community, and for the first time in eons, it felt like I'd stumbled upon home.

Travel used to be my thing, but I found myself planted in Ukraine, soaking up the land and the folks. I got Ukrainian blood in me – part of the clan hails from Crimea, and part from the region where I set up shop. So here I was, delving into those roots and getting lost in a culture with a history as deep as the sea.

And then... Bam. Just a year back, everything flipped on its head. I was in London a mere fortnight before the shitstorm hit, and all my pals there were gabbing about a war on the horizon. I scoffed, "You lot are just buying into the media circus. Everything's peachy back home in Kiev. I should know – I live there!" Property prices were on the up and up, and I figured we'd have a heads up if trouble was brewing. On February 20th, I touched down in Kiev, and my folks were all, "Have you lost your marbles?"

I was hell-bent on insisting we were safe, but come the 24th, I was jolted awake by rockets exploding too damn close for comfort. It was a surreal sensation. There I was, in the apartment I'd spent a year renovating and beaming with pride over, now shaking like a leaf. My safe haven had turned into a house of horrors overnight. That cozy nest I'd built for myself was now a nerve-wracking cage, and the comforting walls that once embraced me now felt like they could crumble at any moment.

So there we were, picking up the scattered pieces, stitching life back together. Pops kicked off a new venture, and I set out on a journey of my own, making a flick and dabbling in all sorts of stuff. Somewhere between pissed off and inspired by my Russian roots, I decided to make a film about a cat who lit a fire in me. And so began this wild trip through art and production.

As I found my footing in the world of storytelling, it struck me that I'd never really spilled my own beans. Sure, my buddies knew the lowdown, and we'd made the press, so it wasn't exactly hush-hush. But never had I wielded my newfound gift to shine a light on the twisted saga of me and my kin.

No script, no goddamn blog post. It was like I had blinders on, not even realizing I'd skirted around the issue. Fed up with London, I hightailed it to Ukraine and found myself smitten with Kiev. Five years back, I dug my heels in – buying property, launching a company, and wrapping up the film that had kept me busy. I immersed myself in a community, and for the first time in eons, it felt like I'd stumbled upon home.

Travel used to be my thing, but I found myself planted in Ukraine, soaking up the land and the folks. I got Ukrainian blood in me – part of the clan hails from Crimea, and part from the region where I set up shop. So here I was, delving into those roots and getting lost in a culture with a history as deep as the sea.

And then... Bam. Just a year back, everything flipped on its head. I was in London a mere fortnight before the shitstorm hit, and all my pals there were gabbing about a war on the horizon. I scoffed, "You lot are just buying into the media circus. Everything's peachy back home in Kiev. I should know – I live there!" Property prices were on the up and up, and I figured we'd have a heads up if trouble was brewing. On February 20th, I touched down in Kiev, and my folks were all, "Have you lost your marbles?"

I was hell-bent on insisting we were safe, but come the 24th, I was jolted awake by rockets exploding too damn close for comfort. It was a surreal sensation. There I was, in the apartment I'd spent a year renovating and beaming with pride over, now shaking like a leaf. My safe haven had turned into a house of horrors overnight. That cozy nest I'd built for myself was now a nerve-wracking cage, and the comforting walls that once embraced me now felt like they could crumble at any moment.