Traumatized and retraumatized endlessly—both individually and collectively—we desperately try to share our pain with others, hoping it will lighten the load. And, for a fleeting moment, it does. But then comes the realization: it was just the illusion of control.

In 2022, I watched, along with the rest of the world, as Mariupol was obliterated by Russian shells, missiles, and tanks. Now, the city I grew up in is occupied and being repopulated by new inhabitants. Many of the locals I remember—were either killed, forcibly russified, or displaced. I see my parents trying to build a new life in an unfamiliar place. I see my mom, afraid to touch this wound with words.

So let’s scream.