A small group of friends and I gathered on a Sunday evening to celebrate that strange space between freedom and unemployment. As we ordered another round of wine and complained about final exams and stressful interviews, one friend suddenly named the elephant in the room we had all been avoiding. ‘How disappointing would it be,’ she said, ‘if just after I graduate and before I even find my first job, a third world war breaks out?’
I was flabbergasted, yet I did not deny the thought. Neither did the rest of the table. Almost everyone I talk to screams internally in fear as a response to the ‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’ interview question. I’ve even overheard casual world war mentions on the trains, terraces, and public restroom lines.
These days, checking out summer holiday destinations comes back-to-back with checking who bombed whom this morning. It’s unsettling how casually we now talk about war, dressed in memes and sarcasm like it’s part of the daily forecast. Despite the long-awaited summer, there’s a tension we can’t quite shake.
When I asked about summer plans, another concerned friend answered with a simple wish: for this summer to be ‘more like Barbie and less like Oppenheimer.’ I couldn’t agree more. But as awful as it might sound, I’ve realized that in the face of everything circulating in the news, I might be more prepared for this (as much as anyone can be) than some of my European friends.
It’s unsettling how casually we now talk about war, dressed in memes and sarcasm like it’s part of the daily forecast
The full-scale war reached my country, Ukraine, more than three years ago. Since then, every day has been a balancing act of staying informed and worrying about loved ones while also trying to live a little and celebrate life. Of course, that comes with a certain degree of privilege, physically being far away from the ‘storms’.
A friend from Palestine shared the same sentiment, explaining that losing that balance, even for one day, could lead to weeks of anxiety or guilt. The upside is that both of us now carry a kind of experience we can pass on, the advice we offer to anyone who finds themselves spinning in fear.
One of my favorite pieces of advice came from the grandmother of a Persian friend. She once said, ‘On a good day, you must eat well, drink good wine, laugh loudly, and show love and kindness to feel life’s textures fully.’ My own grandma nodded in agreement but added that you should try to do the same on a bad day, too, because those are the days when you might need it the most.
So, I’m manifesting a trouble-free summer for all of us. One where the exams, re-sits, reports, and theses are behind us. Where the five-year life plan starts to feel a little less blurry. Where the eating, drinking, loving, and laughing happen because the sun is out and we are here.
And on the days when anxiety sneaks in, we should gather with the people we care about most and, through shared meals, excellent wine, and loud laughter, remind ourselves what it feels like to enjoy and celebrate life. Because sometimes, that’s the only thing that will carry us into the next good summer day.
LIZA KOLOMIIETS