From Warsaw to kyiv, the impossible lightness of being

The first is brown, rather small in size. The other is tall and blonde. Anna and Ania are both 34 years old. They are best friends, neighbors, they have two children each. Both, a girl then a boy. They are part of these 45 million souls upset by a war that does not belong to them, the one that has been raging in their country since this February 24 that they curse. In the Warsaw Chopin Airport parking lot, I jump into their white Ukrainian-registered van. Anna apologizes for the delay: crossing the border took longer than expected. In times of war, time no longer has any meaning. “The world either,” she slips.