My name is Mariia. Before you say anything, my name isn’t misspelled. That’s what it is on my birth certificate, as it is for thousands of women in my native land. Right now, I’m in my godparents’ home on a beautiful Greek island overlooking the sea, far away from the love triangle I was forced to escape. When tourist after tourist asks me where I’m from, I am afraid to answer because I don’t want their crocodile tears. What I want is to remember it as the beautiful country of my youth, not what my lover and his jealous cousin, Vladimir Peter did to burn it down in order to get my undivided love and attention. In the picture above is Mykhailo, my ex who, although well-meaning, couldn’t respect my independent nature or how I wanted to be close to him yet build my own identity. He wanted to control me because of his power-hungry father, Petro. Petro, you see, had a powerful friend; her name was Angela, a woman so sweet yet tough on the outside that no one could see the evil that resided within her soul. She wanted to control Petro and our entire family to expand her business empire. Alas, Angela’s virus spread to Mykhailo, to whom, as a gift, I gave a black rose before I left him for good. As I gaze into the sea, I am now dreaming, as the waves crash along the shore, not of Mykhailo, but of Mariupol, the town I want to tell you about how it was before the current madness.
Above is the church I go to now in my newfound home; lovely, isn’t it? I actually climb up the mountain every Sunday just to relish its tranquillity and breathtaking views. I’m not going to spend too much time talking about my new home, because countless stories are written about it. However, since they’ve been so nice to me here, I figure I’d throw them a bone. My godparents, with whom I currently live in Greece, gifted the design of the church above to my grandfather, Vladimir, a long time ago. Vladimir though turned that design into something else. And it’s Vladimir’s designs I will be talking about next.
"Drinking is the joy of the Rus'! We cannot exist without that pleasure."
Vladimir was a brilliant man, though; not content with just following my godparents’ orders and designs, he recreated his gift and made it much better, much more beautiful than anyone could imagine. He called one of his creations the Cathedral of Saint Michael the Archangel. Most people chide me about all the onions on every rooftop, but aren’t they beautiful? Just as onions make me cry when I chop them up, they make me cry when I see them crowning every steeple—so beautiful! No one knows what was going through my grandfather’s head when he decided on the onion as the crown of every church, but I have a hunch. I don’t think it’s an onion; I think it’s a symbol of aspiration towards heaven, reflecting God’s spiritual journey. Isn’t that a romantic idea? Mykhailo has a different interpretation. He thinks it symbolizes a flame, the flame of the Holy Spirit seen as the light of divine presence and enlightenment. That’s pretty cool as well, but today Mykhailo only sees the fire and not the light. Now, I’m going to talk to you about Mykhailo’s first cousin, Peter. When he looks at churches, he sees a fire that engulfs everything in its path! His name is actually Vladimir, but I don’t want him using my grandfather’s name because, you see, my grandfather united my lovers’ families. Peter did the opposite as he swept in when I left Mykhailo to ‘sweep’ me off my feet and save me. When he tried to save me, Peter made a mess of my grandfather’s church and everything else. Even if I wanted to, I can’t go back to it. More on that later, but as much as I think Peter can be an a**hole, he created the most beautiful onion-domed church anywhere on this planet, just across from his home in Moscow. I’ll show you that one later because it’s too beautiful to believe.
"In America, you can always find a party. In Soviet Russia, the Party always finds you!"
Now that I’m dreaming of churches, I remember my brother Sergiy in Odesa. He and Peter were once best friends, and they competed with each other in everything. Sergiy created the Spaso-Preobrazhensky Cathedral (well, actually, he paid some guy to do it, but people with money often get the credit for things they pay for), which, to him at least, is more beautiful than the rainbow-colored St. Basil’s Cathedral that Peter built. To Sergiy, St. Basil’s Cathedral is just a boring Christmas tree with no style (I disagree, but please don’t tell him that). How I miss visiting Sergiy and spending time in his house of worship. Many people have modified this cathedral to no avail as Peter has partly blown that up as well. Hopefully there’s some decency left in him, after he went to the dark side. He is, after all, the cousin of my ex, Mykhailo, who was also deceived by that other dark side of the force. You think the inside of this relatively modern church is beautiful? Wait until you see the outside, which combines every style imaginable, including those ‘borrowed’ a little from Peter’s side. Remember, my lovers’ families were once united by my grandfather and not split into factions as they are today.
"Today we see how right we were to do so ... We would like, however, that the Russian state and church do not show us so much animosity, to me and to the patriarchy, and that they accept this decision."
Once upon a time, actually very recently, Peter and I were close. Along with Mykhailo, we had fun together. So let me show you his creation, St. Basil’s Cathedral. This cathedral is the symbol of my grandfather’s legacy in every shape and form. There is no greater accolade that can be bestowed on any structure anywhere, much like the Statue of Liberty, the ultimate symbol of Peter’s arch-nemesis, Cherry Tree. My grandfather bestowed upon my godparents the role of caretakers of our churches; alas, my godparents had to separate us into unique entities because the church on Peter’s side went a little mad with power, mostly out of fear of Peter. Peter’s country has a long, long history of keeping the church in line and under his thumb. One day, I’m going to go up to Peter, walk into his church, and give him a light slap in the face for being mean!
Funny how now, I make a living off of TripAdvisor and the like, but I’ve never dared to look and see what TripAdvisor recommends in Mariupol, as I fear it will show nothing when just a short time ago it was filled with beautiful attractions. So I took a chance and found that Port City Mall was still there, as an attraction, albeit with only two brave souls that went there during wartime and reviewed it. Going to the mall’s site, it says that it’s temporarily closed. Now my thoughts are veering towards carrying many shopping bags around, just spending on myself just as I did when it was open. I know that for most people, a mall is boring, but when you live in a small town, even with all of its lovely shops, there’s nothing more exciting than hopping on a boat or plane at the end of tourist season and seeing the frenzied chaos for a few days, long enough to get tired of it and return to tranquility.
No references are necessary; all characters and stories are designed for entertainment and not for accuracy, copying how Hollywood creates historical dramas, and how both trusted, and untrusted news sources sometimes cover current events. The names of the people have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent, and the storyline is a fabrication influenced from the multiple people originating from these lands who have interacted with the author, along with current news and history books.
All images are AI-generated using Fotor and are meant to describe the subject they portray figuratively, not factually.
