A grey sky clung to Lviv on February 24, the anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Despite fears that Russia would launch another mass attack to mark the occasion, I felt a wave of relief when my alarm woke me up as opposed to an air-raid siren and the sound of the hotel intercom warning guests to head to the shelter.

Heading down to the dining room for breakfast, I grabbed my emergency bag packed with electronics, water and snacks. “Just in case,” I thought to myself. Nevertheless, I got through my scrambled eggs and toast in peace, watching as the room slowly filled up with couples and families who had also enjoyed the lie-in. 

I texted a friend in Kyiv saying I was pleased the night and morning had so far been quiet. “The day’s not over yet!” she replied. Fortunately, another massive push from Russia didn’t take place, but others remain cautious that the next few days are more precious than normal, with speculations that Russia will launch a major attack over the weekend or next week.

Walking down the streets carrying umbrellas to protect from the rain, Lviv’s residents didn’t let the threats hold them back from their daily routine. Although companies had warned people to stay at home, everyone I spoke to the day before said they were not planning anything different. Cars and pedestrians went to and from work, but Ukrainians remain prepared for anything, as they have been for the past year.

Although people expected an attack, few were genuinely worried. Ukrainians are well versed in surviving the onslaught of missiles and have learned crucial tips such as the bathroom being the safest place to shelter during an airstrike. These are the lessons of war that Russia has forced upon them.

During the afternoon, I caught an Uber to a food bank in south Lviv. On the ride, the driver blasted Ukrainian-folk-techno through the speakers; a rising genre in Ukraine that amalgamates traditional Ukrainian harmonies with the country's love of techno. Unsurprisingly, it has gained significant popularity since the start of the invasion. 

In fact, Ukrainian culture and its language have flourished since Russian President Vladimir Putin denied the existence of the Ukrainian people. This extends to the Russian speaking populace, many of whom are now opting to speak in Ukrainian. At the food bank, two volunteers from the Russian-speaking towns of Bucha and Kharkiv told me they now choose to speak in Ukrainian.

The Kharkiv volunteer said she had switched at home even before the war began, sensing that something was going to happen. Fortunately, this has made it easier for her young son to adapt to Lviv, when the family had to flee to Western Ukraine once Russian missiles began pummelling their city.

By the early evening, a queue of elderly people had formed outside the food bank, with one woman arriving 90 minutes before the 6pm opening time. Although the rain had disappeared, the threat of a missile strike certainly hadn’t; yet that didn’t deter them from waiting outside.

Ukrainians don’t have fear, or at least they don’t let it get to them. Back at the hotel I told the bartender that I had been feeling anxious about today but was glad nothing had happened.

“Oh, good,” she nonchalantly said, before turning back to the till.

Nonetheless, my bag is once again packed and ready to go. As my stomach perniciously gurgles, my only regret is scoffing a giant plate of Ukrainian pig fat, called salo, and a spicy soup for dinner. I just hope indigestion will be my only concern in the morning...