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UZHOROD, Ukraine (AP) — This week marks the start of the school year in Ukraine, a pivotal time for any student, especially teenagers in their final year of high school. Ukrainian teens aren't just thinking about grades and college choices, they're also dealing with the realities of war.
A student, still haunted by memories of his hometown in the Luhansk region, which was almost entirely under Russian control, struggles to adjust to life in the Kyiv region after surviving the Russian occupation. Homesickness haunts him, reminding him constantly of what he left behind. Two other teenagers struggle with choosing their future careers: they plan for the future while facing the daily threat of Russian bombs and guided missiles in their front-line cities.
Just before the start of the school year, the three found some peace and recovery at a summer camp on the other side of the country. The camp for children affected by war was set up and organized by the Voices of Children charity and sponsored by the Olena Zelenska Foundation, a charity founded by the wife of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky.
For the three teenagers, it was a rare opportunity to connect with other young people from across Ukraine who had faced the traumas of war and to get a much-needed break to gain more strength.
“I am confident that I will have a future.”
What 16-year-old Oleksandr Hryshchenko liked most about the summer camp in Uzhhorod, near the western border with Slovakia, was “not focusing on the war.”
“You relax and talk about what’s weighing you down during the day,” he says. His village of Vorozhba is at the other end of the country, less than 10 kilometres (6 miles) from the Russian border, in the northern Sumy region.
For him, the camp was a rare opportunity to escape the explosions and constant danger, especially as the Ukrainian army advanced into Russia's Kursk region, about 50 kilometers (30 miles) away.
“People who are further away from the border are still enjoying and celebrating the capture of new villages, but they do not understand, do not feel and do not know what is happening in the border area. The Russians have begun to strike cities more aggressively,” he said.
The intensity of the bombing has fluctuated throughout the war, but this summer has been particularly challenging. Whereas the Russians previously relied on artillery, they are now targeting Vorozhba with more terrifying glide bombs, which he describes as “much worse.”
Although Oleksandr has had the opportunity to work with psychologists in the camp and interact with other children there, he remains in constant contact with his family. During one recent strike, his home was shaken by the shockwaves of a bomb blast, causing a chandelier to fall from the ceiling.
Oleksandr will spend his final year at the school he grew up in largely online. Many people left the village this summer, but Oleksandr said his family has no plans to leave yet.
“We know that if we leave now, there may be nothing left to go back to,” he said. His entire family, including his grandparents, still live there, while his father has been serving on the front lines since the early days of the full-scale Russian invasion in February 2022.
“For me, my father is the bravest person in my life,” said Oleksandr. The war changed him. He used to be a softer person, but now he is more reserved.
The impact of the war is a constant worry, he said. “You think about it every night before you go to sleep. You ponder it all day, wondering what’s going to happen next.”
Despite the turmoil, Oleksandr feels in control of his destiny, and is focusing on his final year of school, preparing for entrance exams and choosing a university.
“I am confident that Ukraine will have a future, and I will have a future, and I know that everything will be fine, but we need to get through these times,” he said.
A community of witnesses to war
16-year-old Valery Soldatenko still has visions of his hometown in the Luhansk region, which he fled on August 29, 2022, after living under Russian occupation for nearly six months.
“There are moments when I can almost see what is happening before my eyes. I see familiar faces, I see those beautiful white hills,” said Valery. His native village of Belokurakina, in the northern part of the Luhansk region, is occupied by Russian forces.
For him, education was a crucial factor in his decision to leave. In August 2022, just before the start of the new school year, he fled because of the imposition of the Russian curriculum.
“I didn’t really want to commit to the Russian education system, so it was clear that I was at great risk and could put my family at risk,” he said.
His family has settled near Kiev, but Valery is still struggling to fit in. He misses his friends, the familiar landscape of Lugansk, and his old home—a building made of mud, straw, and chalk with a blue facade and white columns.
Among the few things he brought with him was a walnut shell given to him by a friend, a cherished reminder as time and distance make it difficult to stay in touch.
“Before we left, we hoped to be back home by November or December, to celebrate Christmas and New Year with the family,” Valery said. “But as you can see, I am sitting here, not in my home village.”
He came to the camp to connect with other “war witnesses,” seeking reflection and insight into how his peers in front-line areas were coping.
As he prepares to begin his senior year of high school, he is finalizing his college selection, though he is still unsure whether to pursue a career as a journalist or a history teacher.
“I would like to say that (the war) deprived me of my childhood, especially after we fled it,” he added.
“Being a teenager in wartime is hard.”
Ksenia Kucher, 16, dreams of her graduation day, imagining a party or a trip with her classmates. But with school in the northeastern city of Kharkiv mostly online due to routine Russian strikes, that may not be possible.
Her family has packed their “emergency bags” with essential items and documents, but currently has no plans to leave.
“It’s really hard, especially when it happens at night. You literally wake up in bed shocked by the explosions,” she says. “However, it’s easier because you’re still at home. You’re with your loved ones and not in a strange environment.”
In the camp, hundreds of kilometers from Kharkov, Ksenia found a rare opportunity to relax. “I even started having some dreams here,” she said.
She especially loved the late-night conversations with her peers, where they would share their experiences and connect personally.
“I don’t have many friends in general in life. And now they’ve all dispersed,” she thought. When she’s at home, she tries not to think about her life before the war but instead focuses on the present.
“I live in the moment and don't make big plans for the future, because, given my understanding of the current situation… I don't know what will happen in a year,” she said.
She lives with her mother and younger brother, while her father is serving on the front lines. Ksenia sees him once every few months.
As she spoke, the sounds of distant thunderstorms kept distracting her because of their resemblance to explosions.
“Being a teenager during war is difficult,” she says. “You don’t fully understand your feelings, and everything affects you – from a hurtful word to a hail of missiles. It’s hard to live with.”
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