4.02.21
I was browsing through master’s programs, looking for something new — I knew for sure I wanted a different major than my bachelor’s. That morning, I got a message from a friend:
— Hey Viko. So, I know you’re interested in education and stuff. One of my acquaintances, who just graduated from Oxford this fall, became the head of “Teach for Ukraine.”
— Sounds awesome.
— They have a two-year mentorship program…
— And even the chance to complete your master’s part-time!
— I think it’s an amazing opportunity.
— The only thing is… there are only two schools in Lviv oblast — that kind of bummed me out.
— I think they’ll expand the network in two years.
— Hmm… true! I think I’m hooked.
— I’m so glad you’re interested.
That day felt special. Not a weekend or a holiday — just a regular Thursday, and yet something sparked.
End of February 2021
— Which region would you like to work in?
— I saw Kyiv, Lviv, and Odesa on the site. I’m not sure why, but maybe Odesa. It’s a challenge — different mentality, out of my comfort zone.
— We’ve just added Dnipropetrovsk and Ivano-Frankivsk to the list too.
— Ohhh, Ivano-Frankivsk is pure paradise. The cradle of Ukrainian traditions and songs. I want it!
— But… there’s only one school there.
I crossed my fingers and waited for a letter like an owl from Hogwarts. I was certain: I didn’t want Lviv — too close to home. Nor Kyiv or Dnipro. Ivano-Frankivsk and Odesa became my top choices.
Early July 2021
When nearly everyone else had already received their assignments, I was still waiting, nervous. Then came a Telegram notification:
“We know you’ve been waiting, but hang in there — just a bit longer! For now, know this: your group of five is heading to Odesa! :)”
And that’s when the real adventure began — thoughts of a city totally unlike Lviv. Different language, culture, mindset, food. But there was something intriguing in the unknown. A few days later I learned I was assigned to two schools. Two! And I had to choose one. I asked for some time to think and… that’s how I ended up in the village of Kamyanka.
And the rain — it doesn’t fall here as often as in Lviv, but every time it does, its scent carries me home.
17.09.21
I had so many questions — for myself, and about the situation. Moving to a region where Russian is commonly spoken? And me, someone who never used it in daily life? Quite the combo. Though, thanks to TV, I understood it well and could read it. One day, the kids asked:
— Do you really not speak Russian?
— Well, I could, but it would be very slow.
I started speaking a little
— Oh, Ms. Viktoriia, better stick to English and Ukrainian — those sound better on you!
At the end of class, I asked the students to watch YouTube videos in English. I explained how I picked up Russian passively just by listening — and they could do the same with English.
Then they asked me something I didn’t expect:
— Ms. Viktoriia, if we’re born Ukrainian, why do we speak Russian?
— That’s how history played out.
— Yeah, but why?
— Have you heard of the Holodomor?
— Yes.
— And about forced resettlements, the executed renaissance, and the persecuted kobzars?
Silence
— It’s so great that you speak Ukrainian!
10.10.21
— Do you have your own class?
— Yes, on the first floor — the English room.
— Nooo, we mean, like, your class… with students.
— Oh! No, I’m not a homeroom teacher.
— Oh… Can you be ours?
23.10.2021
— “Well, you’re a teacher now,” I told myself confidently that morning. But I didn’t have the energy for a fancy hairstyle, so I tied my hair into a messy ponytail and headed to school.
Let’s say I wasn’t dressed for Paris Fashion Week, but I totally nailed the teacher dress code.
Last period. My energy was fading fast, but there were still a few minutes before the bell. Smile, hang in there — just five more minutes.
Outside, the wind was howling. Inside, dozens of eyes wanted to share their whole worlds.
Then a shy voice:
— Ms. Viktoriia… you look really beautiful today.
29.10.2021
Я домовилася з класами, що листуватися можемо до 19:00.
Сьогодні, сповіщення прийшло майже о 21, і починалося так:
I made a rule: we can message each other only until 7 p.m.
That night, I got a text after 9:
— I have sad news…
I panicked a bit.
— What is it?
— We’re on break from November 1 to 7.
— Yeah, I know…
— We won’t see each other for a whole week 🙁
— Don’t be sad.
— I’ll miss you so much! 🙁
Bittersweet joy…
I never thought a student would see vacation as bad news — but wow, that warmed my heart.
8.11.2021
First day back after an unscheduled break. I was genuinely worried they’d forgotten everything (yes, I know it’s “students,” not “kids,” but still).
For two months, I’d been trying to teach them that saying “I don’t know” is better than staying silent.
Remote learning? Forget it — cameras off, mics off, staring at your own reflection while silently counting down to the end.
My sixth graders were stone silent — it was suffocating.
— Guys, you know Ms. Viktoriia is a very strict teacher, right?
No reaction
— And she gets mad when you make mistakes, and writes nasty comments in your diaries…
Suddenly, three mics turned on:
— Ms. Viktoriia, I don’t know…
— That’s okay, I replied, now smiling.
— How do you say “I don’t know” in English?
— “I don’t know.”
— Okay then, Ms. Viktoriia, I don’t know!
— And that’s normal!
Didn’t we all do that in university? Of course, we did — sitting there blank-faced, clueless about what the heck was going on. I want these kids to know it’s okay to ask. That they should ask.
There’s still a long way to go before I hear them say, “I know it.” But I believe that day will come.
