It’s not easy to put all these reasons down in words, but I will try my best.

I have now been to Ukraine three times, in April, May and August-September.

I started missing Ukraine the very moment I stepped inside that train at Kyiv station on 20 September on my way back, not because I don’t love my country, but because Ukraine has taught me so much, on both a personal and professional level.

I have grown to love Ukraine and consider it as my second home.

It was there that I truly learned to appreciate life, the small things, all that we take for granted.

Things like staying out after 11pm, having hot water in the shower, sleeping a full night without being woken up by the sound of explosions, walking on the streets without fearing that a missile could land on my head at any given time or leaving the house without a tourniquet on my belt (or leaving it on my bedside table during the night).

To state the obvious, one has to live through a war to know what it feels like.

I have spent close to three months in Ukraine, visiting several frontline cities, and by now I have a good understanding of what life is like for the millions of Ukrainians who are affected by this bloody war. Not that I can compare my situation to their own. At least, I can come home when I want to.

As the phrase goes: war is hell.

It’s hell not only for the soldiers fighting and dying on the frontline, but also for ordinary residents whose lives have been changed in so many ways.

Just imagine having to stay inside between 11pm and 5am due to a curfew (in some cities, it’s between 10pm and 6am).

Imagine spending weeks without water in your taps, and when it comes, the only choice is to shower with freezing water or heating it up in a bucket and rinsing yourself with a cup.

Imagine having water so salty in your pipes that it would destroy your water boiler and washing machine, so you have to do everything by hand.

Imagine having to carry several litres of water from the shop to your home every day.

Imagine waking up four to five times a night to the sound of explosions, the entire building rattling by the shockwave. Then come the air raid sirens, loud and annoying, and constant.

Imagine spending months living in dusty, mouldy basements, as I have seen entire communities in Kharkiv doing.

Imagine if your children missed school for months on end, or got killed or injured in class.

Imagine waking up one morning and finding that your neighbour’s house has been destroyed by a Russian missile, your friends blown to pieces.

Imagine hearing, every day, that someone you knew has been killed at the front.

This is the daily reality for the Ukrainian people.

Yet, despite having endured this hell for over six months, the Ukrainian people remain defiant, confident that victory will come, sooner or later.

It is this spirit of strength, courage and unity that has drawn me to Ukraine again and again.

I remember the first time I travelled to the country with my colleague Giuseppe Attard in April of this year. From day one, I admired the Ukrainian nation, and that admiration has only grown over time.

I was amazed by the patriotism and selflessness I witnessed. Many people either joined the armed forces or became volunteers. Everyone wanted to do their part. We were told that, at one point, there were more men volunteering to fight than the army had rifles.

As a foreign journalist, I have always felt welcome and appreciated in Ukraine, a feeling I cannot say I have always felt in my home country.

Everyone greeted us with a smile and a “welcome to Ukraine”. They asked us to show the world what was happening to their country and that is what we strived to do since.

Unfortunately, public interest in the Ukraine invasion has dwindled over time, despite the fact that this war is far from over.

This is why I decided to go to Ukraine for a third time, because, despite my small audience and reach, I want to do my bit for the country.

The last time round, I spent almost two months there, during which I worked mostly on helping Ukrainian NGOs with their media content.

Together with Liza Kozlenko I travelled to Mykolaiv and Kharkiv and spent time with groups of volunteers, documenting their work and publishing it so that others could appreciate what they do and donate some money to their organisations, which are always in need.

During these trips, I learned more about life during the war. Our trips to Mykolaiv and Kharkiv were two weeks of non-stop artillery, rocket and missile attacks.

The shelling took place night and day, and it was totally indiscriminate.

Houses, kindergardens, universities and power stations were among the sites attacked by the Kremlin’s forces. Nowhere in Ukraine is really safe.

In Mykolaiv, we went to a nondescript bus stop where eight people were torn to shreds in an attack that took place in June. The victims, some of the “lucky” ones who still had jobs, were waiting to catch the bus to work. It should have been a “normal” day, but it ended in tragedy.

In a village close to the Russian border in Kharkiv Oblast (region), we documented the murder of an elderly Ukrainian woman and an ambulance driver. The Russians were using drones to spot for their artillery. There is no doubt in my mind that they knew they were targeting civilians. And they did this in order to draw in paramedics, so that they could kill them too.

The Russians are very good at this game.

In Kharkiv city, I saw that the destruction of civilian buildings had at least tripled since the first time I visited in May. The city centre, with its parks and restaurants, is the Russians’ favourite target.

The attacks were so loud and so frequent, that after a few weeks I already had a mild case of PTSD (self-diagnosed, I admit).

Suddenly, every noise sounded like an explosion or a siren. The first time I heard fireworks after my return to Malta, I almost ran for cover.

Keep in mind that this happened to me after only a few weeks in the warzone. Imagine how much worse it must be for the people who have lived through this for six months.

War sucks, but it can also be addicting, especially for a journalist. It is addicting not in the sense that I want to get blown up. Far from it.

I have no wish to die in Ukraine, or in any other warzone, for that matter.

But, as a journalist, I feel this need to be there, to live through it with these people, so that I can tell my audience what it’s really like, in the hopes that, together with the work of fellow journalists covering the war, we can make a difference.

I believe that people around the world need to see the reality of war, the suffering it brings to our fellow human beings, if there is any chance of pressuring our global leaders to put an end to this conflict.

While most Maltese people were enjoying the summer, and our major complaint was the heat or some power cut, Ukrainians were dying in droves.

TV news does not give you the full picture. It is too censored, watered down. It does not convey the true devastation, despair and death that war brings about.

It does not show you the broken bodies lying on the streets. It does not show the long-lasting effects of losing a loved one. It certainly does not show the effects on the mental health of the people living in war-torn countries.

Together with my colleagues, I have witnessed all this, and more.

War teaches you about the cruelty that mankind can inflict on itself … the murder, torture, rape and pillaging.

It teaches you about the brainwashing that some people have gone through and why they need to be stopped.

It teaches you that there is no glory in fighting, and no honour in dying. There is only death.

The war in Ukraine is far from over. In fact, it will probably get worse before it gets better.

Experts predict that, after a stalemate during the cold winter months, Russia will launch another big offensive in the spring of next year. Many more people will die.

The world cannot forget Ukraine and its struggle for freedom. I believe that it is up to people like me to keep reminding it that Ukraine is still fighting, and still needs our help.

I am often asked why I risk my life covering a war in some faraway country that has few connections to Malta. I have also been called “crazy” by some people.

Unbelievably, some of them were “journalists”.

To me, the answer is simple. This is what I feel I am meant to be doing, it is my calling, so to speak. It is our duty, as journalists, to tell the world about the atrocities happening in Ukraine and in many other countries around the world.

My intention in writing this is not to portray myself as some macho war journalist. I get scared too, terrified, even. There were times when I honestly thought I was not coming back.

But doing this kind of work makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger. It gives me a kind of satisfaction and inner peace that I have never felt before.

And I have no intention of giving it up anytime soon.

Slava Ukraini!

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