I grab my phone to turn off the alarm, then, still lying in bed, I start reading the news. 𝒜 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒫𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹; 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. I wake my boyfriend up and take a quick shower. 𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹. I make coffee for myself, tea for him and cook some porridge. 𝒜 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒶 𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇𝓈; 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻. I kiss him goodbye before he leaves for work, then sit in front of my computer. 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒽𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹; 𝒻𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝑒, 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃. I finish my translation and make pasta for lunch while listening to an e-book. 𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓌𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉𝑒𝒹, 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓉. I take a 15-minute power nap, then make coffee and teach Slovenian for an hour. 𝒜 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝓎𝒾𝓋 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎; 𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝒽𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓋𝑒. I start working on an article about how expensive renting a flat is. 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒𝒹. My boyfriend plays a new song he wrote on the guitar, and then we go for a run. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓅 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔. I call my mom, and we discuss the war but also our dog’s new haircut. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓌𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝑔𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓉𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓈. We have Spanish omelette for dinner. 𝐵𝑜𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓈. I brush my teeth, humming a song by Rosalia.  𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒; 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. I laugh at a meme on Instagram.  𝒜 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓃. I read an exciting thriller. 𝒜 𝓈𝒾𝓍-𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇-𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒰𝓀𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇; 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. My boyfriend kisses me goodnight. 𝒜 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝑒. I’m comfortable, and I fall asleep.  𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓍𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 – 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒹𝑜.

Since people who don’t live in war zones and people who do live completely different lives, here are the sentences divided into two separate texts:

I grab my phone to turn off the alarm, then, still lying in bed, I start reading the news. I wake my boyfriend up and take a quick shower. I make coffee for myself, tea for him and cook porridge. I kiss him goodbye before he leaves for work, then sit in front of my computer. I finish my translation and make pasta for lunch while listening to an e-book. I take a 15-minute power nap, then make coffee and teach Slovenian for an hour. I start working on an article about how expensive renting a flat is. My boyfriend plays a new song he wrote on the guitar, and then we go for a run. I call my mom, and we discuss the war but also our dog’s new haircut. We have a Spanish omelette for dinner. I brush my teeth, humming a song by Rosalia. I laugh at a meme on Instagram. I read an exciting thriller. My boyfriend kisses me goodnight. I’m comfortable, and I fall asleep.

𝒜 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒫𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹; 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹. 𝒜 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒶 𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇𝓈; 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻. 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒽𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹; 𝒻𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝑒, 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃. 𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓌𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉𝑒𝒹, 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓉. 𝒜 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝓎𝒾𝓋 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎; 𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝒽𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓋𝑒. 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓅 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓌𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝑔𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓉𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓈. 𝐵𝑜𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓈. 𝒜 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒; 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒜 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓃. 𝒜 𝓈𝒾𝓍-𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇-𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒰𝓀𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇; 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒜 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝑒. 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓍𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 – 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒹𝑜.

Some info:

• The title is the number of kilometres you’d have to drive to get from Valencia, where I am right now, to Kyiv (if you took the first route Google Maps offers).
• Disclaimer one: I realize that this isn’t the first war that is happening in the world in my lifetime. I also realize it’s not fair that the media and the rest of us are giving it more attention than we gave other wars that happened in recent years or are happening right now. There are several reasons for this, which this article describes better than I could. I’m also adding a Wikipedia page with a list of ongoing armed conflicts, just because we should all try to be aware of the fact that they exist.
• Disclaimer 2: I know this is not a real short story, but I put it in this category because I don’t feel like a have a better one. Also, I intend on posting actual short stories here in the future.
• Disclaimer 3: The events described are a mix of news that I heard and read in the past few weeks, not something that actually happened on one particular day. Some of them are what I imagine could be happening to someone due to the info I’ve been exposed to (the woman on the train, the tuna can, the soldier, etc.).