I used to imagine myself confined within a cage, hiding my truth, but now I have revealed it to the world and feel like a bird flying in the sky.
One evening, a year ago, I shared my childhood and entire HIV story on social media. The responses were overwhelming, so many words of support. This moment affirmed for me the freedom and sense of peace I can feel by sharing my story.
I am Stefa, I am twenty-two years old, and I am from Dnipro, Ukraine. My early years were spent in an orphanage, where I eventually learned about my HIV status. My doctor there told me that I was prescribed medications for life because I am HIV-positive. She told me, "You probably got this virus from your biological mother." I didn't fully understand what HIV meant so I began reading and learning about it more online.
I was adopted at the age of eleven and a half. My father accepted my reality and supported me, my mother on the contrary, downplayed it and stigmatized me. She often told me, "You need to eat from different plates, not ours, and you should wash the dishes separately from everyone else's so that no one gets infected." I would tell her that this was not the right attitude, but she never changed her mind about it.
The stigma followed me throughout all my school years. Several times, I was expelled and told that "people like me don't belong there, that we should have different places for education." Although I had to change thirteen schools and six cities, I eventually graduated from high school and entered college. Throughout this time, I struggled with medication adherence and hospital visits. During one medical examination, the doctor kicked me out of the office and shouted, "People with AIDS don't belong here, go to your own hospitals!"
Amidst all this chaos, my life changed in 2019, at the "Future" camp, where I met teens with similar experiences. When I arrived, I was shocked by the number of teenagers who shared similar stories. I was not alone anymore! I felt like part of a community and began to understand what true support and trust mean.
Two years after that, on February 24, 2022, the war began. I was in Dnipro, and it was difficult to accept change. Eventually, I left for Berlin. The way was very difficult: I spent a week on the road, sleeping in train stations and refugee camps. I kept telling myself that I would very soon return home, but I'm still not back. In Berlin, I earned a bachelor's degree in "Ecology" and I am considering a future in the field of photography.
In many ways, photography has become a form of self-expression and a way to cope with difficult situations, allowing me to escape from stress. Through the lens of my camera and the power of my words, I strive to remain free from any cage and to continue spreading my wings.