35 on 35 – Independent Ukraine Through the Eyes of a Ukrainian Woman

Yana Oller was born in a small village in Ukraine’s Vinnytsia region on May 4, 1991. Three months and 20 days later, Ukraine’s Verkhovna Rada adopted the country’s Act of Declaration of Independence. “I still have a birth certificate that says in Russian, in a Soviet Union paper, that I was born this and this, in the Russian language,” she tells Kyiv Post.JOIN US ON TELEGRAMFollow our coverage of the war on the @Kyivpost_official. As the country slowly built its identity over the past 35 years, Ukrainians such as Oller, like their nation, have also been forging a path of their own. A small village in Vinnytsia region Oller was born into a Ukrainian-speaking family from the village of Dzhulynka, in central Ukraine’s Vinnytsia region. It was the 1990s, and the whole family lived in a house built by her grandfather – not particularly Soviet, she says, but not exactly modern either. Like most former Soviet Republics in the 1990s, the newfound freedom also came with a crippled economy inherited from the fallen Soviet empire – between 1991-96, the Ukrainian economy contracted between 9.7 and 22.7 percent annually, compounded by hyperinflation, according to a 2012 study by think tank Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Life, according to Oller, was far from abundant. “My family was extremely poor, like so poor that we couldn’t afford to buy meat, or to bake something,” she explains. “I remember that we always ate soup. It was just potatoes, carrots, and nothing else.” Other Topics of Interest US Asked Ukraine Not to Strike Moscow, St. Petersburg During CIA Chief’s Visit Ukrainian officials confirmed Washington requested a temporary strike pause as John Ratcliffe made his first visit to Russia since January. The Ukrainian revival of the 1990s Childhood at Dzhulynka is a vague memory for Oller, but the visible changes, or rather, audible ones, came in the form of music. “I guess what changed was mostly what we watched… or what we listened to. Like the culture was changing. The music, the movies, the shows,” she continues. And long before the Ukrainian language law was passed in the Verkhovna Rada in 2019, the 1990s already saw a small revival of the Ukrainian language in media. “Probably everything was in Russian… and then in 1998, and later, we began watching Ukrainian channels,” she says. And for young Oller, the surge in Ukrainian language in media wasn’t just a sense of familiarity – it represented something exciting. “I don’t know why but I always wanted to watch something in Ukrainian… all the Western movies that started coming, they were all translated into Ukrainian. I loved Western stuff and it was so nice to hear,” she says. At some point, young Oller would come to the TV just to wait for the end credits to play from one particular show because the song was sung by Okean Elzy, one of the most famous Ukrainian bands. “I was always waiting for the titles just to hear that song,” Oller recalls. 2000s and the Orange Revolution After nine years in Dzhulynka, Oller moved to a nearby town because her father, a Protestant church pastor, started a new church. “I don’t know how, [but] we bought an apartment in town on the third floor. It was my first apartment… I really loved it because I always wanted to live in the big city,” she says. The highlight for young Oller? The cinema in town. “We had one movie theater. A movie theater! You don’t have such things in a village,” she says. The revolution remained a topic spoken of between adults, now more of a distant memory for Oller. But just a few years later, the Orange Revolution would begin – the first test of democracy in independent Ukraine, where electoral fraud claims against presidential candidate Viktor Yanukovych (who later became president in 2010 and was ousted in 2014) led to a popular revolution, which brought reformist leader Viktor Yushchenko to victory.But for Oller and her family, far from Kyiv, the revolution remained a topic spoken of between adults, now more of a distant memory for Oller.“It was discussed by parents. It was discussed by adults… You don’t really watch news because you’re a kid,” she says.“One thing I always remember… during the Orange Revolution, my dad would always complain about it,” she recalls. “He would say everybody’s bad, politicians are bad, everything is horrible, and everybody will go to hell. That’s all I remember.”She did remember wearing orange – but that doesn’t mean she understood what any of it meant.“I think we were wearing something orange just because everybody was doing it. Did I understand what it meant? No,” she says.Moving to the big cityOller moved to Kyiv in 2008 to study philology at university – and moving to the capital was both an exciting and difficult ordeal.At the time, the exchange rate to the US dollar had fallen to around 1 to 5, partly in the wake of the US financial crisis, and with little prospect of improvement, according to then-National Bank supervisory board chairman Petro Poroshenko – the same man who would become Ukraine’s president in 2014 in the wake of Euromaidan.But while the world dealt with the fallout of the crisis, that was the last thing on young Oller’s mind.“When I came to Kyiv, the news was the last thing I wanted to hear about. I was not aware of anything going on then,” she says.Ordinary students from outside Kyiv would typically stay in a dormitory, which cost Hr. 600 (around $120) per semester – but since it was overcrowded, Oller had to pay Hr.700 (around $140) for a private room per month, bunking with her flat mate in the same room, on the same bed. “In my university, they would fail your last exam on purpose, just to avoid paying you.” Oller’s memory of university years was mostly of hours of strenuous study, as it also meant a Hr. 500 (about $100 at the time) scholarship to supplement her family’s meager income – but the system did not work in her favor.“I received a scholarship because I was a good student. But it only lasted, like, the first year or something. Then they failed you,” she says. “In my university, they would fail your last exam on purpose, just to avoid paying you.”While the issue might not necessarily be attributed to corruption, many Ukrainians have had a similar taste of Soviet-style bureaucracy in different aspects of life – a system that many are still fighting against to this day.“And even Hr. 500 seemed like, ‘Wow, I can actually buy food.’ Basic food, like pasta and grains,” she adds.Graduation and the EuromaidanOller graduated in 2012 and soon found herself a job teaching English in Kyiv – by then, the exchange rate to the US dollar had fallen to around 1 to 8.Her first full-time job was teaching at the American English Center in Kyiv, where she first worked as a tutor for around Hr. 20 ($2.5) per hour, or around Hr. 4,000 ($500) per month, before they made her a teacher with higher pay.“It was enough,” she says, adding that rent per month for a room was about Hr.1,000 ($125) per month at the time.It was also at work where she met her future husband Jeff, a US citizen who was teaching at the same center, though the two wouldn’t start dating until a few years later.Then came late 2013, when the Euromaidan – also known as the Revolution of Dignity – would erupt in Kyiv into early 2014, and bring about unprecedented changes for the country.At the time, protesters rallied against former President Yanukovych’s decision to backtrack on a trade deal with the EU he personally promised in 2010 after meetings with Russia. The protest later grew into a wider mandate against Russian influence and corruption. “When it was the revolution, I was scared.” Thousands gathered. Then shots were fired. When the smoke was clear, over a hundred were shot dead by Yanukovych’s government near the capital’s central Maidan square, and Yanukovych himself fled to Russia.But for Oller, while the protests raged on near the central square, the city was relatively calm on the left bank, where she worked – but not for her future husband Jeff, who had to go to work near Maidan.“I was already friends with Jeff, and he worked there… And he had to go through this, and there were blockposts. Every time, you had to show your documents, especially if you were a foreigner,” she recalls.“It was hard every day… It was really affecting people here, but I remember that all the time I just didn’t go to Maidan,” she continued. “I love spending my weekend here on Khreshatyk, you know, I love this place. But when it was the revolution, I was scared.”When Russia later annexed Crimea and started waging a war in eastern Ukraine’s Donbas region, the ripples also came to Oller as she began to notice a change in some people.A question of national identity“At the time, one of my best friends was from Sevastopol in Crimea,” Oller says.“We met at work, and we were had a great time. She was living with a boyfriend who was from Kyiv… and they often went to Crimea before 2014 to visit her mom,” she added.While Oller says she “was not very aware of what exactly [was] happening,” she began noticing strange comments from her friend as the events unfolded in Crimea.“I remember loving this friend, but at the same time, she said some weird things,” Oller continues. “I was listening to it, but I didn’t understand it, or I didn't want to understand it.” “It’s crazy what was happening in Crimea, but you know, they [Russians] were promising them a better life,” Oller recalls.Eventually, her friend moved to Moscow with her family, and they severed all contact.“She was not one of those people who would do propaganda or tell you that Russia is better,” she added. “She just moved to Russia because they were worried about her mom or something.”“I remember this – I was listening to it, but I didn’t understand it, or I didn’t want to understand it,” she says.Calm before the stormThe exchange rate plummeted to around Hr.2 2-27 per US dollar in the years that followed, as Russia’s 2014 invasion of Ukraine continued in the ensuing years and the country was still reeling from the revolution.That same year, Poroshenko became Ukraine’s first post-revolution president, and for Oller and many others, things were slowly getting better despite the turmoil.In 2014, she also moved to a new flat with a private room all to herself, and with a balcony as the cherry on top.“There were three rooms, three girls, and I chose the best room because it was with the balcony,” she says. “It wasn’t like a super fancy room. But I was so happy and everything seemed great to me.”She also took vacations from work for the first time to travel abroad.“This was the year when I first traveled abroad twice a year,” Oller recalls. “On the first trip I went to Egypt because Egypt was the one place that people could afford. It was with my roommate and her friend.”Then the next trip was to Paris.“We couldn’t afford flying, I think. Package tours were very popular around Europe as bus tours,” she says. “So we visited three countries, and it was really great.”She would also start dating her future husband, and life was going well despite small hiccups during COVID-19.“I didn’t want to teach online, but we had no choice,” she explains.But later came Feb. 24, 2022 – a day that Ukrainians would never forget.Russia’s full-scale invasionIn the early hours of Feb. 24, 2022, Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Tanks began marching across the border, and missiles began raining down across Ukraine as gunshots echoed through the streets.“We woke up at 9 a.m. without an alarm because it was a Thursday,” she says. “I remember this very well because work started at 12 that day.”Like many Ukrainians, while different countries warned of an impending Russian invasion, life went on as usual until it didn’t.“Of course, the war was in the air before that, and everybody was expecting something,” she says. “The first thing that we were thinking about is like run to the windowsSee what’s happening… And I just remember that the lessons were canceled.”That night, Oller and her husband – like many Ukrainians – spent the night at the shelter. “I never wanted to live in another country. I always liked living in Kyiv.” Eventually, Oller’s mother said she found them a driver, and after hours of driving through dark streets and avoiding the highway, they found their way to the village of Dzhulynka.There, they spent a week with her parents before deciding that it was best to leave the country.Moldova was their next destination, but they were also stuck for a week because the airport was closed. Then they went to Romania, and eventually to the US – home to around half a million displaced Ukrainians by 2026.But Oller says she never wanted to stay in the US.“I never wanted to live there. I never thought of doing the protection program there. It’s just temporary,” she says. “I never wanted to live in another country. I always liked living in Kyiv.”“This is the city where I want to live forever.” “It does not matter how bad this war is; the moment we arrived home, I wanted to kiss the asphalt.” According to Oller, she and her husband wanted to return to Ukraine, but the blackouts in Kyiv at the time stopped them in their tracks as they had to work online.Eventually, after their brief six-month stay in the US, they found themselves briefly in Sweden, then Slovakia – before they heard that a friend had returned in 2023, and the decision was made.“Somebody said, ‘Let’s do Shashlik in Rusanivka,’ and we’re like, that’s it,” she says, referring to their old district in Kyiv where they would do barbeques (shashlik) by the Dnipro river.“I texted the landlord and we decided in five minutes that we were going back to Ukraine,” she says.“It was the best decision I have made in my life,” she continues. “It doesn’t matter how bad this war is; the moment we arrived, I wanted to kiss the asphalt.”On Aug. 24, 2026, as Ukraine marks its 35th independence anniversary, Oller says she decided to make borscht – Ukraine’s national dish – for dinner after a long working day while listening to Okean Elzy, the same band little Oller was looking toward at the end of the TV show, back in the village of Dzhulynka.Asked about what she looks forward to should the war end soon, she has a simple and humble wish – to stay in the big city she always dreamed of living in, without the fear of war.“I want to continue living in this beautiful city and this beautiful country, without ever fearing any threat.”