Crimean Bohdan Ziza: Writing letters to political prisoners is vital!
Source: Radio Liberty
Just as the loss of one sense sharpens the perception of the others, so too does the loss of freedom cause you to experience life differently, because freedom is one of its most important senses, and if it is torn away—if the feeling of freedom is taken away—it will inevitably change one’s perception of life.
To be honest, I’ve become very sentimental in recent years. I try to make sense of everything I see and feel. All of this evokes strong emotions. The letters I receive here are also very moving. Each one has its own atmosphere, its own little world, inviting you to escape from a reality that isn’t particularly pleasant. You dive into this world with great interest, forgetting everything else.
A letter is definitely a teleport to other places, other cities, and other countries. And sometimes—a time machine that can carry you into the past, filling you with memories, or even into the future, where you can fantasize about something or even boldly make plans.
Sometimes the content isn’t important at all—it’s the attention itself
that’s valuable However, sometimes the content doesn’t matter at all—it’s the attention itself that’s valuable. The person cared, didn’t remain indifferent, found the strength and time to write, to offer a kind word of support. It’s all very touching and truly beautiful. And even more than that—it helps preserve the right sense of life, that it continues and you, as before, are a part of it. You haven’t been cast out of it; people know about you and haven’t forgotten you; they’re waiting for you. It’s simply priceless!
I love replying to letters, writing a lot, sometimes including little sketches or photos, but often the letters don’t reach their destination, which is hard not to be upset about. But I’m learning. In general, much of what happens tries to teach me something. First and foremost, patience and tolerance—toward everything and everyone. And also, getting used to various limitations. If you accept them, living in this reality turns out not to be so hard after all. After all, we don’t need much to be happy. You realize this when you escape the noise of hectic daily life. I often escaped to the mountains or retreated to the rooftops of my hometown—it’s peaceful there.
I firmly believe in love—it’s within each of us, and its source is inexhaustible.
You come to understand this truth by losing what is most precious and most important. Today, each of us has lost something. The lives of many have been so twisted that it is sometimes difficult to discern their essence and purpose. But in this, it seems to me, lies its great deception. Someone once said that only through pain can a person achieve greatness, and that those who have not known suffering are merely sleeping. We were all fast asleep and didn’t want to wake up, no matter how much we were held back. And happiness—true, genuine happiness—is right here. It is in the smile and embrace of a loved one, in their kind words and deeds. And if it so happens that there is no such person nearby, then we ourselves can become that person for those who need it just as much.
I firmly believe in love—it is within each of us, and its source is inexhaustible. And love returns to us in even greater abundance; we need only express it. I am certain that this is the very essence of it all—to love, despite everything. To love one another. To love life. I am infinitely grateful to everyone for the love you share in your letters. It is a tremendous, invaluable support that gives me one of the most important feelings—confidence. Confidence in oneself, in one’s actions, in the people around us and in humanity as a whole, and, ultimately, in life itself. And even though I am still without freedom, I am nevertheless confident that life goes on.
That is what letters are. Write to prisoners—it is vitally important. I apologize to those to whom I have not yet had time to reply personally, and I hope this letter finds you. Know that I read and keep all letters in the hope that one day I will be able to reply to each one, as you deserve.
Until then, sincerely yours, Bohdan Ziza.
Bogdan Ziza, artist and photographer, Crimean political activist, prisoner of the Kremlin
The opinions expressed in the “Blogs” section reflect the views of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position.
Just as the loss of one sense sharpens the perception of the others, so too does the loss of freedom cause you to experience life differently, because freedom is one of its most important senses, and if it is torn away—if the feeling of freedom is taken away—it will inevitably change one’s perception of life.
To be honest, I’ve become very sentimental in recent years. I try to make sense of everything I see and feel. All of this evokes strong emotions. The letters I receive here are also very moving. Each one has its own atmosphere, its own little world, inviting you to escape from a reality that isn’t particularly pleasant. You dive into this world with great interest, forgetting everything else.
A letter is definitely a teleport to other places, other cities, and other countries. And sometimes—a time machine that can carry you into the past, filling you with memories, or even into the future, where you can fantasize about something or even boldly make plans.
Sometimes the content isn’t important at all—it’s the attention itself
that’s valuable However, sometimes the content doesn’t matter at all—it’s the attention itself that’s valuable. The person cared, didn’t remain indifferent, found the strength and time to write, to offer a kind word of support. It’s all very touching and truly beautiful. And even more than that—it helps preserve the right sense of life, that it continues and you, as before, are a part of it. You haven’t been cast out of it; people know about you and haven’t forgotten you; they’re waiting for you. It’s simply priceless!
I love replying to letters, writing a lot, sometimes including little sketches or photos, but often the letters don’t reach their destination, which is hard not to be upset about. But I’m learning. In general, much of what happens tries to teach me something. First and foremost, patience and tolerance—toward everything and everyone. And also, getting used to various limitations. If you accept them, living in this reality turns out not to be so hard after all. After all, we don’t need much to be happy. You realize this when you escape the noise of hectic daily life. I often escaped to the mountains or retreated to the rooftops of my hometown—it’s peaceful there.
I firmly believe in love—it’s within each of us, and its source is inexhaustible.
You come to understand this truth by losing what is most precious and most important. Today, each of us has lost something. The lives of many have been so twisted that it is sometimes difficult to discern their essence and purpose. But in this, it seems to me, lies its great deception. Someone once said that only through pain can a person achieve greatness, and that those who have not known suffering are merely sleeping. We were all fast asleep and didn’t want to wake up, no matter how much we were held back. And happiness—true, genuine happiness—is right here. It is in the smile and embrace of a loved one, in their kind words and deeds. And if it so happens that there is no such person nearby, then we ourselves can become that person for those who need it just as much.
I firmly believe in love—it is within each of us, and its source is inexhaustible. And love returns to us in even greater abundance; we need only express it. I am certain that this is the very essence of it all—to love, despite everything. To love one another. To love life. I am infinitely grateful to everyone for the love you share in your letters. It is a tremendous, invaluable support that gives me one of the most important feelings—confidence. Confidence in oneself, in one’s actions, in the people around us and in humanity as a whole, and, ultimately, in life itself. And even though I am still without freedom, I am nevertheless confident that life goes on.
That is what letters are. Write to prisoners—it is vitally important. I apologize to those to whom I have not yet had time to reply personally, and I hope this letter finds you. Know that I read and keep all letters in the hope that one day I will be able to reply to each one, as you deserve.
Until then, sincerely yours, Bohdan Ziza.
Bogdan Ziza, artist and photographer, Crimean political activist, prisoner of the Kremlin
The opinions expressed in the “Blogs” section reflect the views of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.