Sunflower Seeds Scholarship

I’m sixteen. I’m studying art and design in technical college in Lviv, the cultural capital of Ukraine. As a high school sophomore, moving alone to study in another city is challenging but totally worth the effort. Everything and everyone that surrounds me gives me joy, inspiration and happiness. I'm excited for the next day to come because with my classmates we planned to do a photoshoot, and after classes I want to visit a new art gallery. Now I’m eighteen, and 5408 miles away from Lviv. We never did that photoshoot, and I didn't visit that gallery. On February 24th we didn't wake up to our regular alarms, but to an air raid alarm and full-scale invasion of our country. I couldn’t believe it was real. Leaving almost all my things behind, I packed only warm clothes, my sketchbook and important documents. I believed that it’s just for a couple days and I will come back into my cozy room in the dorm. I never did. My mom, my baby sister and I moved to Ireland. Same as almost all my friends who scattered all over Europe. Eventually, some of them came back home. Some, like me, did not. In-person classes at my Ukrainian college were transformed into online lectures, everyone's time zones were different, and communication was only through our phones and computers. Eight months in Ireland went by quickly; “just for a couple days” was still in my head. We ended up moving to the United States, and I began to realize that now it is not just for a couple days. It was hard for me to leave my college, because it was one of the things that connected me with home. But ten-hour time difference between the United States and Ukraine wasn't making it easy to continue college. While still attending online classes in college, I went to American high school because I was still seventeen. Unfortunately, it was not possible to maintain both, so I lost one more connection with home. Despite my English proficiency being hardly enough to catch up with everything, I recognized the struggle of a new Ukrainian student who arrived with an even greater language barrier than mine. It was one of those moments of shared struggle to understand and to be understood. Without a second thought, I welcomed him and helped him to get started. Little did I know that this small act of support would result in student recognition for service- an unexpected award that underscored the significance of even little acts of kindness. In my senior year along with beginning Running Start at Bellevue College, I found my first job at a Ukrainian language school as a teacher’s assistant and administrator. Before I started to work there, I didn’t realize how valuable a native language can be. It gives me a grateful insight that I didn't leave Ukraine only with some clothes, my sketchbook and important documents, I brought along language, knowledge of traditions and an open heart to share all of it. Just a couple days transformed into weeks, months, now even years. Now I’m taking art and design classes again in my new college, and I have met great people that are from all over the world. A lot of things have changed but I’m still excited for the next day to come, for new things to learn, new people to meet, and hope that life will feel like it is real again.

Ever since I was little, I was told, "You don't want to end up like Tonya." My aunt Tonya had always been a subject of disappointment for my mother and grandmother. Her lifestyle choices, her husband, her career – all of them were a fiasco in my mother’s mind. The number of times I’ve heard a story start with "She was so talented; I am not sure what happened to her" after yet another phone call with Tonya is countless. Another thing I was told since the diaper age is that we are alike, both physically and personality-wise. A moment that caused me to challenge a belief I had adopted from the commentaries about my aunt throughout my childhood was when I assisted her with the invitation of ADRA, a charity organization, to become a permanent aid base for Ukrainian refugees in Slovakia. Tonya had ended up there with my grandparents and her family shortly after the Russo-Ukrainian war began in our home country, Ukraine. It was my aunt and me who ended up breaking the prophecy of “ending up like Tonya.” It all started with research, reaching out to organizations, seeking financial grants, and setting up a place. While Tonya was in charge of the physical aspects, I was in charge of communications and research. Before ADRA, we had the fortunate sponsorship of Charitos. Nearly 500 Ukrainians were settled in Kezmarok, Slovakia, seeking refuge from the war. And we were the ones who made it happen – me and Tonya, alike like two droplets of water, while the rest of our family were paralyzed with fear and confusion. The war affected all aspects of our lives: we lost our home, our business, and close ones. But in the midst of that chaos, Tonya and I found purpose and resilience. Together, we defied expectations and demonstrated that being alike was not a curse but a blessing. My journey to applying for higher education in Slavic Studies has been shaped by a deep connection to my Ukrainian heritage and aiding my Ukranian people, the challenges of navigating cultural misunderstandings, and a commitment to preserving and promoting the rich diversity of Slavic cultures. I believe that through my studies and future career, I can contribute to a more accurate and respectful understanding of Eastern Europe, while also advocating for the unique identities and experiences of its people. This is not just a career path for me; it’s a lifelong mission to honor my roots and make a positive impact on the world.