Hi! My name is Polina. I am 8 years old and I spent my whole life in that same Mariupol that the whole world has been talking about for the last few months…I grew up in a once happy city on the coast where I eventually died. On the 13th of March I convinced my mom Nadia to let me go outside for just a little into the yard where our neighbours were cooking food on the fire. I saw a girl I knew among the people in the window. As soon as we took a step outside we came under mortar fire. My dear mommy was killed on the spot as were my friend and her father and other people there while I ended up in the hospital where they tried to save me for three days. It didn`t work.

I didn't like school much, I lacked the patience for it. My favourite classes were Nature and Art but Math made me want to run away. 

I struggled to learn the Multiplication Table and only managed to do it thanks to my parents' persistence. 

Dancing and performing were a completely different thing. I felt like I belonged on stage. I loved performing in pretty dresses and doing my hair. When everyone was looking at me I imagined myself as a future star. I knew what I was going to do when I grow up — I would become a fashion blogger and make videos about myself and my life. I had even started blogging little by little and I was sure I would be successful. Because, as my mom used to say, I had my parents` temper — feisty and goal-oriendted. 

Before the full-scale invasion my family was preparing to move to Kharkiv. My dad had already started working in the new city while my mom, my big brother, and our dog were still in Mariupol. We liked to go on walks together. I had friends that I liked to spend time with — I was the bravest and the most decisive among them. Even when giant bombs exploded near our house in Mariupol it couldn`t bring me down and I used to tell everyone that I was brave just like my dad. 

On the day we came under fire my brother German stayed at home while my dad was ready to head out toward Mariupol. But when he arrived in a couple of days he didn't find me alive…

The occupation authorities didn't let him bury me, my loved ones had to look for my body among hundreds of dead people. Thanks to their efforts a cross and a plaque with my name appeared on my grave. 

My dad often says that the worst thing even is to lose a child. He also lost his wife — my kind mommy Nadia. As did my brother German. Now they have to be brave for all of us.