A shot, a rocket whistle, and sudden silence marked the moment that fractured our world. In the aftermath, the roof of our home was torn away, revealing a sliver of sky. The world fell into a deafening quiet.

Since even before the war, I’ve known what it’s like to live in silence. I am Maria, a 20-year-old from Chernihiv, Ukraine, and I was born with HIV. I’ve only recently started talking openly about my status, and a few years ago I couldn’t imagine sharing my story.

I’ve known about my status since the age of eight. My mom and dad divorced when I was just a year old. My mom’s HIV status, as well as mine, was not the reason why they separated. No one else in my family knows about mom and me. It was like our little secret, that didn't seem like a secret, given all the medicines I had to take and the many visits to doctors.

Sustaining a sense of hope has been more challenging since the morning of February 24, 2022. I was near my school when the sound of a siren began at 7 a.m. We were told to return home only to find the streets that were empty a moment ago now plagued with chaotic traffic. The city had turned into a frenetic anthill.

I arrived home and rushed to tell my grandmother, "The war has started." She didn't believe me at first, but after checking her phone, she started crying and saying, "What's going to happen?" The next few days were difficult and we did our best to remain safe in our home. Then, on March 15, three shells hit our house.

We escaped with our lives, and a few days later we managed to find our cats and dog. However, that doesn’t mean we are unharmed. We are all struggling with anxiety. My grandmother’s health has worsened, my uncle is shell-shocked, and our house is completely burned down. Now we are doing our best to rebuild our lives.

My plans for the future are to buy or build our own house, so we can welcome all my relatives and friends as we sit down once again at the table in a peaceful country.

I believe there will be a day when HIV stigma is banished and this war is over.