World on the Brink: Why Focus on My Tech Career?
In March, I spent most of my free time watching a Vue.js course on Udemy. It was a comprehensive 32-hour-long learning program designed by Maximilian Schwarzmüller. I enjoyed it. Despite having worked with Vue.js for almost three years, this course, ‘Vue — The Complete Guide,’ shed new light on aspects of the framework for me, particularly the concept of reactivity. Schwarzmüller doesn’t just tell you how to do things; he also explains why, which I found incredibly beneficial for developers at any stage of their career.
The course was needed for my work’s Personal Development Plan, especially since my promotion was on the line. But after finishing it, I started questioning everything. Do I still want to keep being a frontend developer? Am I willing to spend another 5 years getting better at programming? What if it’s all for nothing? Without electricity or the internet, I couldn’t do my job, and my work would mean nothing. This isn’t just some story from a disaster movie. I’ve lived through this in Kyiv. And there’s no way to be sure it won’t happen again in Warsaw. The less help Ukraine gets, the more likely it is that the war could spread across Europe.
I wish I had spent more time at my grandma’s village in Ukraine. There, I could have learned to grow food, make clothes, and look after myself. In the city, I spend too much on things I don’t need, like a new smartwatch or extra shoes. It seems silly and wasteful now. I could use that money for something useful, like solar panels to provide my home with electricity. Yet, the stark reality hits: I don’t have a home to return to. I left Ukraine because it wasn’t safe. But now, I’m starting to wonder if there’s such a thing as a safe place anywhere in the world.
A couple of days ago, I met T., my friend from Syria. The stories he shared about the war in his country were shocking; I found myself struggling to breathe and fighting back tears. For a long time, my understanding of wars came from historical and fictional books, and later, television. Yet, it never felt entirely real to me. This changed dramatically two years after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The daily news reports of casualties are no longer abstract numbers; they represent lives that are crippled, mutilated, or taken away by Russian military forces. But for what? Merely for being Ukrainian.
I left my country, which is now besieged by drones and rockets from Russia in every region. Tragically, Ukraine lacks the weapons to repel all these attacks, and civilians are perishing — whether sleeping in their homes, walking their dogs, or simply grocery shopping. I moved to Poland seeking safety, to continue working, and to support my family. Here I’ve learned another thing about war: you can’t escape from it, no matter how hard you try. This isn’t because I stay updated with news from Ukraine and donate to the Ukrainian Armed Forces. It’s because I am now a refugee. Have you ever really considered what that word means?
After six months in Warsaw, I’ve learned that the refugee experience is far from being a long vacation in the EU or simply relocating to another country. The homesickness is acute, a deep and all-consuming pain. Regardless of how comfortable or happy a refugee’s life might seem on social media, it’s crucial to remember that their homes could be in ruins, their hometowns obliterated. Refugees find themselves unmoored, their past erased, and their future uncertain. It feels as though the war has excised a part of my essence; I am cut off, vulnerable.
It’s incredibly hard to explain my feelings and fears to someone who lacks this experience, to someone who never knew how to wake up in the middle of the night from their mom’s call saying the war has started. You have no time to cry and panic, trying to accumulate all your resources to survive, all while knowing life will never revert to its previous state. The horrors witnessed — people tortured, raped, and killed, the discovery of bodies days, weeks, months later, the tears of rescuers, and the sight of crippled, frightened pets — are etched into memory, an indelible mark beneath the skin.
“A constant balancing between ordinary life, in which you have to do ordinary things, make decisions, feel and show all possible emotions; and hidden somewhere in the back of the head the vile existential horror of what we are experiencing and can potentially experience…”
This quote from a Bluesky profile vividly captures the new Ukrainian reality, a life lived on the edge yet striving for normalcy. One can be surprised or even get angry with the fact Ukrainians do not give up. Facing job loss, they pivot to learning new skills and seeking new opportunities. Starting anew, particularly under such dire circumstances, is daunting. Therefore, I joined the БУДЬ mentoring program as a volunteer to assist Ukrainian women in launching IT careers. Though my future in frontend development remains uncertain, sharing my skills and aiding others has become my purpose, the one thing that now makes sense to me.
Do you also have the feeling the world is going to collapse? How do you cope with it? Is there something that motivates you and gives you the strength to move on? Please, share your thoughts in the comments below and #StandWithUkraine. If you want to support my work, here is the link to my Buy Me a Coffee page. Thanks for reading.
