It’s been beyond heartbreaking to watch political fabric unraveling across the eastern ends of European geographies, the so-called post-Soviet states, including places I used to consider home. What once was home has been blatantly stolen along with vast masses of land, freedoms and futures of many. Exhausted by the pandemic, we watched this escalating horror show of power, idiocracy, brutality, grief, paranoia, revelation of long-standing insidious plans, dishonour, incompetence, condolence & despair. These events shocked, devastated, humbled, silenced and turned into apathy many, including myself. I often find my mind pierced by the very idea that this war is still on, and the horrific memories of seeing what had been revealed — glimpses, shreds of evidence and testimonies. Instinctively attempting to keep my sanity, my mind was going down the rabbit holes of thinking, making things and writing texts. This helped, it kept me occupied around the clock over these past couple of years. I felt muted by this horror show and couldn’t force myself to reveal anything of what kept me busy. In the light of ongoing events, all seemed futile. In fact, I barely could make myself see anyone but family for months. A few sporadic conversations within my circles made me realise that many others felt the same way too. I then started noticing how networks and communities began dismantling, how borders became pronounced again, and how geographies became more limiting than used to be. Communities built through passions and curiosities I always considered to be incredibly precious entanglements of value. And I can’t stress enough how important I believe it is to preserve these networks — and to do so in contempt of someone’s efforts to burn the bridges that we built. And after all, it’s good that we still have the holy World Wide Web,…
