Where they wait for me

Long term project about my family in Ukraine featured in:

The Washington Post

Marie Claire Korea online and in print

A landscape photograph featuring a river with grassy banks, trees, and houses in the background, under a clear sky.

My grandma's town Izium, Ukraine (2010)

Growing up in Moscow, Russia in the 1980s and early '90s, I spent several summers at my relatives’ home in Izium, a small city in eastern Ukraine about 60 miles from the border with Russia. I was of school age then, between seven and eleven years old. I remember taking a week to pack my clothes, laying all the items out on my bed and folding them into my little red school backpack. My grandparents and my half-brother would pick me up and we’d take the train from Moscow to Izium. In the sleeper car, we’d play cards and eat food that my grandparents brought along. I’d sleep on the top bunk and marvel at the twinkling lights of villages flashing by in the night skies.

Just a couple of hours from Izium, the train always made an extended stop in Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second largest city. There, an aunt would bring us unforgettably fragrant homemade cinnamon buns right to the train. Once in Izium, the month-long visits were filled with time exploring and helping out in the garden, hours eating and sipping on tea around the outdoor dining table, talking with relatives and neighbors who visited. Especially in their younger days, my great-aunt and great-uncle were skilled gardeners, growing a bounty of summer produce and stocking the root cellar with jars of preserves to last through winter. I’ll never forget the flavors and scents of homegrown produce and my great-aunt’s elaborate cooking. 

An old black and white photograph of two children picking fruit from a tree outdoors, with sunlight filtering through the leaves.

A photograph my grandpa made of my half-brother and me (late 1980s).

In 1994, at the age of thirteen, I immigrated to the United States with my family. I didn’t want to leave my friends behind, but at that age, you don’t get to choose.

A young woman standing on a city sidewalk near a subway entrance, with tall buildings and a digital billboard advertising a concert, in New York City.

A photo of me taken shortly after arriving in the United States (New York City, 1994).

Shortly thereafter, my grandfather passed away. My grandma Nina moved back to the house where she was born in Izium to live out her days with her younger sister Lara and brother-in-law Vova. 

In 2010, I had the chance to visit my grandma for the first time in 18 years. That year in my life was an emotionally charged and fertile time. My maternal grandma who raised me had just passed away three years prior. My mom had just sold our apartment in Moscow, my childhood home. Visiting Izium that year, I began to get to know this part of my family better, building on bonds made in those long-ago summer visits.

A documentary photograph of an elderly woman with gray hair and a blue patterned shirt standing outdoors in front of lush green foliage, smiling with her hands clasped.

My grandma Nina in Izium, Ukraine (2010).

My trip to Izium, Ukraine in 2010 to visit my relatives there was my first visit to Ukraine in 18 years after emigrating to the United States in 1994. It was also the first time my grandmother and I saw each other in as many years.

Handwritten Russian letter on white paper, starting with a greeting and birthday wishes, signed by Grandma Nina, dated December 2010.
A greeting card featuring a bouquet of three multicolored roses with green leaves, accompanied by a golden ribbon, on a blue background with floral and swirl patterns. The card has Ukrainian text that translates to "Happy birthday!" and "Happiness, success, and prosperity!".

Birthday card from my relatives (2010)

Dear Stella,

Our grown-up girl, Happy Birthday!

Even though there’s such a great distance between us, you are very, very close to us, our dear human. May you always be healthy, safe, prosperous, and successful. May fate gift you only sunny days. “Grow up to a 100 without old age.”

Hugs, kisses,

Grandma Nina, aunt Lara, uncle Vova.

Izium, December 2010.

A photograph of windows with lace curtains, a pink potted flower, blue wooden siding, and brick wall of a house, with a towel hanging on a clothesline.

Izium (2018)

Over the course of four visits during the next decade, the house in Izium where I had spent summers growing up started to feel like the closest thing to a childhood home that I had left. It’s where they waited for me. 

A close-up documentary photograph of an elderly person's hand gripping a wooden handrail on a staircase, with a patterned long-sleeve shirt.

My grandma visiting a family member (2018).

I set out to photograph present day manifestations of my childhood memories. Every sight, sound, smell, and taste had the potential to stir up memories and emotions.

A detail photograph of a table outdoors with a large pile of fresh red berries, three upside-down glasses, a light blue bowl, and a white colander, set against a green garden background.

Cherry harvest (2018).

A detail documentary photograph of three jars with cloth covers contain a cloudy liquid, set on a table with potted plants and flowers in the background.

Birch tree juice (2018).

I still have vivid memories of helping pick Colorado beetles out of rows of potato plants as a child.

A wide documentary photography of elderly man working shirtless in a lush green garden, surrounded by trees and various plants.

My great-uncle working in the garden behind our family home (2010).

A landscape detail photograph of tree branches with green leaves and small red berries against a blue sky.

Cherry tree (2018).

Person wearing a red, white, and black patterned skirt and white shoes, standing on cracked asphalt ground, casting a shadow.

My great-aunt heads to the cemetery to visit family and friends who have passed on (2018).

A detail photograph of a black and white photograph of two men in suits standing outdoors among trees and plants. The photo is placed on a colorful floral background with pink, yellow, and white flowers.

A picture of my great-grandfather from the family archive (2018).

A documentary detail photograph of cracked concrete flower planter with white daisies on soil, surrounded by damaged beige tile pavement with grass and weeds growing between tiles.

At the cemetery (2018).

A documentary photograph elderly woman in a patterned dress stands in a grassy graveyard, looking at a tombstone.

My great-aunt at the cemetery in Izium (2018).

A visit to the town cemetery is a multi-hour affair: we visited family members, friends, and paid our respects.

A documentary photograph of two elderly women sitting at a table outdoors in a cemetery, having a conversation. One woman wears a striped shirt with a red collar and glasses, and the other wears a purple patterned shirt, resting her chin on her hand.

My great-aunt and grandma rest during a visit to the town cemetery (2018).

A documentary close-up photograph of a brick wall with a window ledge and three plants inside the window.

A window in my grandma's school (2018).

An overhead lifestyle photograph of a table set for a meal with bowls of salad topped with green onions, a bowl of rice with black olives, a basket of bread, and a glass of white wine on a floral tablecloth.

A family meal served in the garden in the summer (2013). From left to right: holodets or aspic, pickled mushrooms, sauerkraut, olives (a more recent import), bread, and “Vinaigrette” salad.

A elderly man with gray hair, wearing glasses and a plaid shirt, is drinking from a floral teacup while holding a biscuit in his other hand. He is seated at a table with a colorful floral tablecloth, in a setting with green foliage in the background.

My great-uncle Vova enjoying black tea in the garden, a favorite pastime (2018).

My great-uncle Vova had worked as a writer for the town’s newspaper for many years. He seemed the most comfortable in front of the camera, as if he understood and supported my project.

A documentary photograph of an elderly woman with a cane walking down a garden path next to a house with open shutters, surrounded by greenery.

My grandma at the gate of our family home (2018).

A documentary detail photograph of a round wall clock with a wooden frame on a beige wall with a textured pattern and leaf motifs, showing the time as 4:00.

An old clock in the living room in my family's home (2018).

A documentary photograph of two women are washing dishes in a kitchen with sunlight streaming through the window.

My great-aunt and grandma perform what feels like a well rehearsed dance in the kitchen (2020).

Some of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had were made by my great-aunt in this tiny kitchen. My grandma, the older of the two sisters, was proud to not be much of a cook. We never got to unpack this.

A documentary still life photograph of chocolate cake on a plate sits on a marble countertop in front of a foggy window.

Birthday cake that my aunt and cousin made for my grandma's 90th birthday (2020).

A still life photograph of a teal coat and a colorful scarf draped over a white pillow on a bed with a patterned blanket. A turquoise desk lamp is mounted on the wall above, with a decorative yellow and black patterned wallpaper in the background.

My grandma lays out her dress as she gets ready for her 90th birthday family celebration (2020).

A documentary still life photography of a bowl of egg salad with chopped celery and a sliced hard-boiled egg on top, placed on a floral tablecloth.

Salad "Olivier" prepared and beautifully decorated by my great-aunt (2018).

A dining room with a table set with various dishes, glasses, and utensils. The table has a floral tablecloth. There are multiple potted plants and decorative items on a sideboard and on the windowsill. The room is sunny with sheer curtains allowing natural light.

My family prepared a feast for my grandma's 90th birthday (2020).

A documentary photograph of three elderly people sitting on a sofa in a living room, with one person appearing to be asleep. A window is visible in the background.

My elders rest and prepare to say goodbye on the last day of my visit to Izium, Ukraine (2020).

I feared that each visit could be the last time I would see my grandma. Little did we know that the pandemic would soon reinforce the national borders that already separated our family.

A detail documentary still life photograph of patterned decorative pillow and a wooden walking cane on a plaid fabric and a carpeted surface.

My great-aunt's cane set against familiar textures (2020).

A documentary photograph of a senior woman and an elderly man share a close, affectionate moment indoors, with the woman smiling and the man gently leaning towards her, surrounded by home furnishings and a bright window in the background.

My great-uncle congratulates my grandma on her 90th birthday (2020).

A documentary photograph of a family gathered around a table filled with various dishes, including salads, meats, potatoes, bread, and wine, enjoying a meal together.

A small feast to celebrate my grandma's 90th birthday (2020).

Two elderly women sitting on a sofa in a cozy living room, smiling at the camera. One woman has white hair and wears a patterned dress, while the other has dark hair, glasses, and wears a floral dress with an apron. A decorative patterned rug hangs on the wall behind them.

My great-aunts share a moment (2013).

A documentary portrait of an elderly woman with a golden crown on her head, smiling gently and relaxing on a chair with a patterned cloth and shadowed sunlight on her face.

My grandma on her 90th birthday (2020).

A photograph of a rural landscape with a river, grassy banks, trees, and a small village with houses under a partly cloudy sky.

Izium (2020).

The presence of my grandpa looms large in my relatives’ lives. They tell me he was a jovial man who loved to sing. By the time I came around, I’m not sure he sang any longer.

A black and white photo of a man in a uniform and a woman sitting together on the grass outside a house, smiling.

An undated photograph of my grandparents, place unknown.

A documentary photograph of a framed picture of an elderly man with white hair hangs on a wall next to a large, ornate, brown and gold patterned carpet with fringe on the edge. The wall has visible cracks.

A framed photograph of my grandpa Vasya in my grandma’s room (2020).

A documentary photograph of a person holding a black-and-white photograph of two women sitting outdoors on a wooden bench, with a tree and a fence in the background.

My grandma shows me an archival photograph of herself with my grandpa when they were dating in Kharkiv, Ukraine (2018, archival photo 1952).

After my grandfather passed away, my grandma lost her joy in life and sank into depression.

An environmental documentary photograph of a cozy kitchen illuminated by sunlight through a large window, with shelves holding kitchen utensils, a potted plant, bowls, and an old rotary phone on the windowsill.

A winter morning in the kitchen (2020).

A landscape photograph with an old, beige car parked on a dirt pathway amidst leafless trees and a staircase leading up a hill, with sunlight filtering through the branches.

First days of spring in Izium, Ukraine (2020).

A documentary photograph of an elderly woman with glasses sitting at a table with a cake and tea cups, in a cozy room with patterned furniture.

My grandma inspects her birthday cakes on her 90th birthday (2020).

A documentary photograph of a person wearing a leopard print skirt and polka dot slippers standing in front of a mirror, with a hardwood floor visible.

My grandma during my last visit to Ukraine in winter of 2020.

A documentary photograph of a person sitting at a table watching television in a room with sunlight coming through the windows.

My grandma watches TV in winter of 2020, in the early days of the pandemic and two years before the Russian invasion.

A documentary photograph of an elderly person sleeping in a bed in a dimly lit room with a window, a vase of flowers, and a lamp.

My grandma during my last visit to Ukraine (2020).

This was the last time I visited Ukraine. My grandma passed away in August 2021.

Russia invaded Ukraine in February of 2022 and attacked Izium around March 1, the day my grandma would have turned 92.

Screenshot of a Russian text message from Tетя Лара (Aunt Lara) expressing concern about a military situation in the city.

Thursday, February 24, 2022

10:07 am local time / 12:07 am Los Angeles time

Message from my Aunt Lara

Hi all. It’s quiet and calm here for now. But the city is under martial law. I can’t make sense of any of this.

Text message in Russian from Тётя Лара, sent at 2:03 AM, describing being hidden in the basement ate age of two and now going through a similar situation at the age of 82.

Saturday, February 26, 2022

12:03 pm local time / 2:03 am Los Angeles time

Message from my Aunt Lara

Hi. Everything is quiet and calm here. But we don’t know what will happen. When I was two years old, they [my parents] hid me in the basement [during World War II]. Now when I’m 82 years old, the same thing happening.

Text message in Russian discussing daily life activities and emotions.

Saturday, March 5, 2022

8:58 am local time / 10:58 pm Los Angeles time

Message from my Uncle Vova

Two hours of hell. Izium has been erased from the face of the Earth. Rockets, bombs, and more. Carpet cleaning of the population. Our house was jumping. We are alive and in one piece.

My great-aunt and great-uncle spent the first six weeks of the war under Russian shelling and without heat, electricity, or water. Much of the town has been destroyed. They were lucky to survive.

Old blacksmith forge setup with an anvil, a round circular saw blade, and a partially rusted large disk in an outdoor workshop.

Makeshift camp stove that my great-aunt and uncle, both in their 80s, used to cook outside their home that had no heat, electricity, or gas during Russian attacks and occupation of Izium. (Winter 2022, photo by my great-uncle.)

Broken bread slices scattered on a table with a floral pattern.

My relatives were lucky to have purchased a fresh loaf of bread right before Russia attacked. They dried bread slices, which helped sustain them, along with meals that younger neighbors brought to them. (Winter 2022, photo by my great-uncle.)

My great-aunt said that the dawn of the day of their escape from Izium in April of 2022, she saw as many units of military equipment as there are stars in the night sky. Looking at this photograph I made in 2020, I imagine what Izium must have looked like that spring morning they fled their hometown for their lives.

A documentary photograph of a rural street scene with muddy, wet road and puddles, lined with wooden and metal fences, residential houses, and tall pine trees, under a cloudy sky in late afternoon.

Road out of Izium (2020).

The photographs I made between 2010 and 2020 during my visits to Izium now serve as a historical record of peaceful life stolen by a senseless and cruel war. Russian troops attacked Izium the first few days of the war at the beginning of March of 2022 and seized control of the city in April. Though Ukraine liberated the town that September, much of the town had been destroyed by then. My loved ones became refugees. 

A photograph of a group of five women and one man gathered around a table outdoors, with one woman standing and holding a Ukrainian flag, celebrating together amid a garden setting.

Spring 2013, photo by David Beltran-del-Rio.

My husband took this photo of me holding a Ukrainian flag at a gathering with family, friends, neighbors. How I wish to gather here once again with my relatives in sovereign Ukraine.

Read the full story:

The Washington Post

Next:

Ukrainians and Russians in Los Angeles Reflect on the War

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