Boris went to Saint-Petersburg to figure out a way to get his money (The answer – no way, except for taking cash within the allowed limits and bringing it to Finland).
When the Allegro train stopped operating again on March 28, we felt it like “The Last Flight from Casablanca.” But the buses are still running, and with no competition, they even added a couple of extra runs per day.
Like everything else, it’s hard to tell how long it will last, so I asked him to buy a return ticket even when he is unsure when he is coming back. I know it does not guarantee anything, but still.
Although the bus itself is more comfortable than it used to be, the joy of passing the Russian border control and customs on the highway remained the same – the worst possible way of crossing the border.
For the first time since I moved to the city, I felt a sort of resentment: I can’t take in a refugee family. It would be possible in my old house, and it can’t work in the new one. I hate myself when I see that people worse off than me take refugees, and I don’t. And when I see people dropping everything and going to Poland to help while I only entertained the thought: I should drop everything and go to Poland to help. Yes, I know very well that it would be the dumbest thing to do. I know that I won’t be able to help efficiently without knowing any of the local specifics. I know that sending money to Warsaw is the best thing I can do. I know all of the above.
Still, not being able to do things fills me with frustration, the worst of them not being able to do anything to bring this war to an end.
And enough of that. I often resent people worrying about the wrong things, and I don’t want to be one of them.