That'll do.

I'm Kateryna. I'm from Ukraine.
And tomorrow, I'll be heading home.

A war has begun in my country.

And ever since, I've been covering the invasion from Japan.

I'm a director at NHK.

I've been constantly talking to my family and friends back home.

My mission is to make sure their voices travel as far as possible.

But something has been bothering me inside.

Here I am, someone yet to spend even one minute
in my country since the war.

I haven't witnessed the horror.

But I talk about the invasion and the people.

They live under attack, and I want
to think and feel the way they do.

And so, I have decided to visit Ukraine for the first time in five years.

To see the people I hold dearest.

And to better communicate their thoughts about this war.

Right. Let's go.

Bye bye, Nippon. See you.

Air routes over Ukraine are suspended,
so I travel by land.

And for the first time in my life,
I cross the border on foot.

We're moving!

I eventually board a night train for Kyiv.
The Ukrainian capital is home to my parents.

It's been 65 hours since I left Japan.

Kyiv. It says Kyiv!
We've arrived!

There they are!
Mom's here!

I've missed you so much.

See that? The other side is all black.

Destruction. The glass fell because of an airstrike.

Look at the scars on the wall.

That's right. There was an explosion.

The next building was also damaged.

Things appear calm in Kyiv at first glance.

But in reality, the Russians continue their missile and drone attacks here too.

For the first time in five years, I get to say "home sweet home."

The walls are bare. No mirrors, no pictures.

This hallway is our shelter, so we removed
anything that could cause injuries in a strike.

I still can't believe you're actually here.

No air-raid sirens lately?

Not around here. But you get them
in the neighboring regions.

The calm before the storm.

You know, you're not scared until the first explosion.
But after that, you change.

I wasn't scared before.

But some missile debris once fell close
to a nearby hospital, and this building shook.

I thought our home had been hit.
And with every attack since, I panic.

Days later, an air-raid siren goes off.
It's just after 10 PM.

An alert is in effect now.

I'm with my mother in the hallway.

It's only been 15 minutes, but my body aches already.

This can last four or five hours in large attacks.

Awful.

Can I take a bath?

Kateryna!

Just stay here.

I'm sleepy, too.

Dad, why aren't you in the hallway?

I'm leaving things to fate.
Because fate cannot be avoided.

Oh. So you're a fatalist. Clearly Mom isn't.

Ah. All clear?

All clear. After 48 minutes.

Is that long or short?

Quite short.

Quick, take a bath. The next siren
could start any minute.

You may need to run back over here.

OK.

Out on the streets, every corner is imbued with a sense of war.

Heroically saving lives.

Ukrainian military posters are everywhere.

Time to win back what's ours!

It's like my hometown has changed into military uniform.

Authorities use the site to show off
destroyed Russian military vehicles.

Funny. He's saying it's so dirty.

I think this place reflects what lies
in the hearts of we Ukrainians.

This is a beautiful spot.
Somewhere we should be happy.

But instead, we have these nasty,
filthy things right here in the middle.

Hey, come here!

You can get inside.

I watch these two boys play among the twisted remains of Russia's war machine.

And I feel compelled to ask how they feel.

- Do you know there's a war on now?
- Yes.

How can you tell?

Because missiles are flying.

And because of the air-raid sirens.

You hear them?

Wooh...

So, what is your dream?

To have lots of toys.

And for this war to end.

Thank you. And what is your dream?

For the war to end.

Sorry, I want the boys to take the knee.

We become fewer and fewer.

These people have all died since 2022.

Fathers, mothers, loved ones,
brothers and sisters.

To somebody, they were everything.

Do you come here often?

A few times a week.

Can I ask you a few questions?
What brings you here today?

I came to change the flowers.
My husband is here on the wall.

What do war and peace mean to you?

To me, peace is a family being together.
And war is suffering for us all.

Finally, do you have a dream?

I can't bring myself to dream.
Not right now. Sorry.

She said she can't dream.
I've never heard anyone say something like that.

This is the meaning of war.

Not being able to dream.

Some parts of Kyiv are like parts of me.

And I'm curious to see how they've changed.

Olya, my best friend at university.
We majored in Japanese together.

You're really here!

This is my university. I used to study
in the classrooms around here.

Look. So much damage.
Of course, it wasn't always like this.

The area was struck by a missile
in October 2022.

It hit there, right?

That's right.

Here at this very crossing in rush hour.
The road was busy. It happened so fast.

People couldn't get out of their cars.
They burned alive.

Terrifying.

Coming through the city center
when the air-raid siren rings out is scary.

Because you can't evacuate quickly.

Ever since that day, I've been scared
of driving here. Sometimes I've had a panic attack.

I really loved this park.

Yes, we used to drink coffee and chat
when lectures were cancelled.

But the park was also hit by a missile.

You could really relax here.
This place used to bring back memories of my student years.

But that's all been replaced.
This place reminds me of war now.

Every single good memory, ousted
by fear and hopelessness.

Let's find somewhere beautiful.

Oct. 19
My birthday.

Kateryna has made it to 28.
This is such a special birthday.

And here's the table! Sushi this year.

I'm happy to celebrate with you,
despite things being so tough.

Thank you, too, for being with us.

You're right. My stress levels have
dropped quite a bit.

Really? You're happy now?

I desperately want to cry. But for
two years now, I haven't been able to.

How so?

Don't know. Crying would give me
some relief. But I can't.

Our sense of values has changed.

Totally.

I notice little things I didn't before.
Like flowers blooming and birds chirping.

I dig out something that fills me with nostalgia.

My school yearbook from a decade ago.

This is me.

My grades were really good.
But I was a chatterbox. Always told off.

I loved Japan, and anime. I dreamed
of the chance to visit.

I had 23 classmates.

Students in Ukraine stay in the same class for 11 years.

So they're like family to me.

Class of 2013 graduation.

The last generation to graduate in peace.

The following year, Russia unilaterally
annexed Crimea. The fighting hasn't stopped.

We kids had no idea a terrible war was coming.
We believed the future was bright.

My classmates and I decide it's time for a reunion.

And where better than the classroom we shared?

But I worry there may not be much joy now.

I used to walk to school, kicking
the leaves like this.

Homeroom teacher Mrs. Lypetska.

Today's class is about life.

How have you been doing?

Polina, what do you do now?

I develop an app.
The company has grown a lot.

Polina hasn't changed one bit.

Everyone's the same even after 10 years.

I know, no one has changed.

Andrii and Yaroslav are now
fighting to protect us.

Are there any others?

I only know about Andrii and Yaroslav.

These are the two boys who could not
attend the reunion.

Andrii, always sunny.
And Yaroslav, the quiet type.

Both volunteered to join the military
and fight Russia.

We classmates left something behind
here 10 years ago.

Here it is! "Class of 2013."

A time capsule carrying our
hopes and dreams.

Shall we break it open?

Katya wanted to become a journalist.

Mother of two?! That's what it says.

I also said I wanted to become a mother.

This is Kateryna's writing.

This is more embarrassing than I thought.

It says, "I will become a cool babe."

I wrote, "I want to become a mother."
And it came true.

But I don't know whether I'm a good mom.

Can you imagine yourself 10 years from now?

Most of all, I want to imagine myself
living without war.

I'm raising a young son.
Eventually, he'll go to school.

I don't want to think the day will come
when he must defend our country.

I'm reluctant to even think about the future.
I feel scared about how it may turn out.

So I try not to think about it.
And I've stopped making plans.

Because of the war?

Yes.

I'm close to tears.

Thank you for answering.

This is Andrii's.
It says "musician or counselor."

But Andrii is on the battlefield.

We sat next to each other in class aged
around seven. And we've been friends ever since.

We also played musical instruments together.

Andrii dreamt of becoming a musician.

But he's a soldier now.

I want to try getting in touch.

Hi, Andrii.

Hi.

It's been 100 years.

Since high school? We haven't seen each other since graduation.

Andrii has been deployed to eastern Ukraine,
where some of the bloodiest battles rage on.

Can you see this?

It's the message you put
in our time capsule.

It says, "I want to become a musician
or a counselor."

I still play the guitar.

Now I'm a squad leader.

And part of my job is to support the mental
wellbeing of my fellow soldiers.

So your dream has come true in a sense?

Actually, I'm in rehab now.

What sort of injury?

Concussion.

There was a blast, and the force
threw me off my military vehicle.

I'm still pretty shaken.

Andrii, what are you fighting for?

Firstly, for freedom.

To me, that's everything.

Yes, I'm talking to you now.
But talking in person is freedom.

Driving wherever I want is freedom.

To me, freedom is a pair of wings.

What do you think you will be doing
10 years from now?

Ten years? I don't even know
if I'll wake up tomorrow.

What's your dream?

I want to wake up and know
that a war like this never happened.

Let's catch up again in a normal setting,
and talk about old times.

Andrii, thanks so much.

How should I put it?

It hurts to talk to someone, worrying what
I say may be the last words they hear from me.

And it's even harder because he's my friend.

No one should have to go through this.

But yes, this is the reality of war.

I will wait.
I will wait day and night.
I will wait forever for you to come back.

Andrii has a wife.

Good evening!

Hi.

Come this way first.

We've recently been taking lots of pictures.

Because we want to cherish each moment.

Waiting for him is tough,
but I have to be strong.

I must be there for him.

Even if I have problems,
I don't talk about them when we chat.

There's so much to worry about on the battlefield.
I don't want him to feel concerned.

I want to be there for him.

I'm starting to tremble.

Shall we take a breather?

Yes.

Let's take a break. She's shaking.

Svitlana has been living under
huge emotional strain.

She gets comfort from a stuffed bear
Andrii gifted her.

I opened the door one day, and found
this bear with a fruit basket and a bouquet.

There was a letter too.

"This bear is a substitute for your warrior.
I'll come home safe soon.

I love you more than anything."

But nothing can replace you.

Maybe it's my imagination, but I think
Andrii stays close to me through this little one.

He'll be home soon. And I'll have him
to hold, instead of this bear.

Do you ever ask yourself why you
must sacrifice your own happiness?

Of course.

I think the wives of all soldiers do.
But I know the war won't end soon.

Many women are waiting for their loved ones.
And there will be even more of us in the future.

I can let people know about this war
thanks to people like you.

Thank you so much.

I receive a message as we ride
through the streets.

One of my classmates has died on the battlefield.

It was Yaroslav.

We don't know what will happen with the funeral.
His body is being moved to Kyiv.

We had been keeping in touch.

I asked him whether he could come to the reunion.

He said he might, but still doesn't know
for sure. And that was his last message.

It's like a bad dream.
I'm not sure about anything.

What's going on? Why am I...

Ah, I give up. Because I can't find the words.

I just can't.

Yaroslav and I didn't talk much.

But he was always nice and gentle.

Yaroslav's funeral is held three days later.

He's laid to rest with other fallen soldiers.

Yaroslav and I had the same birthday.

He died five days after turning 28.

I ask Yaroslav's mother if she wants to talk.

I want to know more about him, if only a little.

Thank you for your time today.

When did he decide to go to the frontlines?

He volunteered without even telling me.

One day, I saw him near a military facility and asked,
"What are you doing here?"

He had already completed the preparations
and all other formalities.

And he left that very night.

I couldn't get in touch on his birthday.

I sent him a message, saying
I bought a cake and ate it myself.

He called me the next day
to ask how it tasted.

This is hard. I still can't
come to terms with his death.

Even when I visit his grave,
I don't think it's my son's.

People praised him. He is a hero.

I have lived for him, but I don't know
the meaning of living anymore.

People have flocked to this square
in Kyiv during the invasion.

They bring flags to mourn those who have died.

Flags that bear the names
of people killed by Russia.

I want to remember Yaroslav as I used to.
But that's impossible now.

War means feeling scared to contact
the people you grew up with.

War leaves a dark stain in the places
I have always cherished.

And war scrubs away happy memories.

If I were to visit my classroom again...

I would surely realize that the boy
who sat at the back is dead now.

I didn't think that way at the reunion.
But things have been altered now forever.

This is the meaning of war.

Everything gets overwritten.