If you had to pack your life into one suitcase, not knowing if you would ever return home -
what would you take?
To commemorate the third anniversary of Ukraine’s full-scale invasion, The Weight We Carried unveils the deeply personal stories of Ukrainians who were forced to leave everything behind.
This collection of artifacts, photographs, and seemingly everyday objects offers an intimate reflection on displacement, resilience, and the enduring strength of identity in the face of unimaginable loss.
On exhibition at Edinburgh Central Library (First Floor)
3rd - 26th Feb 2025
“Our house, though intact, stands empty, like a monument to the ruined plans for life”
Framed Photograph, 75g.
It was the fourth day of the war.
I drove into the city, leaving my mum and our cat in the apartment where they were hiding in the bathroom from missile strikes.
I had to go—my friend needed help. Her father urgently needed medicine, public transport wasn’t running, and I had a car and - importantly - a full tank of gas.
Pharmacies were shut, but friends told me that one was still open. While I waited in line, strikes on the city didn’t stop. The echoes spread with terrifying force, and columns of military vehicles moved toward the front. The front—that’s what we now called the outskirts of our city.
Just four days ago this road was the busiest artery of the city. Now there was only silence, tension in the air, and the faint smell of gasoline and tires.
Meeting my friend, I handed her the medicine. It was unbearably hard—I didn’t know when I would see her again. I didn’t know if we’d survive at all, or if this was our last embrace. A painful feeling intertwined with millions of others. Just five days ago, we were on duty at the hospital together, dreaming of the kind of brilliant doctors we would become. And now… now none of that mattered anymore.
I got a phone call from mum.
“Come home. Curfew starts in two hours. We’re leaving. Kharkiv is being surrounded. We need to make it in time.”
I didn’t understand what was happening at first but replied that I was coming. My friend and I hugged, thinking it might be for the last time. I keep returning to the feelings I had then—I remember them, but I can’t describe them. Too complex, too vast a range.
I arrived at my apartment. I didn’t know where I was going or what I needed. First, we gathered the essentials: cash, valuable electronics (hoping we could sell them if things got really bad), and documents. Then we went to my mum’s apartment and did the same.
It’s incredible how material things suddenly lose all meaning. For someone like me, a materialist, it was a completely new experience.
Everything happened so fast that the details are blurred in my memory. Only two moments stand out.
The first.
I closed the door to my brand-new apartment, where I hadn’t even had the chance to really live. Believe me, it’s so beautiful.
Before locking the door, I sent my mum downstairs and asked for a minute alone. I just stood in the hallway and looked. I knew I wouldn’t return for at least two years. Back then, everyone was saying it would be two weeks at most, but I knew—it was at least two years, if not forever.
I said goodbye to the apartment and locked the door.
The second.
We had packed everything at my mum’s apartment. We looked around, trying to figure out if we’d forgotten anything important. Mum was already heading out, but suddenly, I noticed a photo of my parents on the dresser. It had been there for at least twenty years, in the same spot. My parents never had warm feelings for each other, but for some reason, I realized I couldn’t leave without that frame. I quickly grabbed it and slipped it into my pocket.
I held it so tightly, as if my life depended on it. That frame was a symbol of a peaceful life that would never exist again.
We left, locked the door, called our neighbours, and left the keys with them. A pause hung in the air. We cried again, for the umpteenth time in four days. We hugged the neighbours we’d lived next to for twenty years. We left the keys and rushed away. Only thirty minutes remained before curfew.
It wasn’t a road—it was a black hole leading nowhere.
In both the literal and figurative sense.
Just me, my mum, and our cat Chavi. We were terrified. Physically trembling.
***
That photo now sits on a mantelpiece in Edinburgh. Every time I pass by, I smile. It feels like it speaks to me, reminding me how exposed and vulnerable I was.
I find those feelings both endearing—giving me strength—and frightening.
I wish I could end this story with the words: “And we survived it,” or “And peace came.”
But no. We continue to endure pain every day. This wound is still raw.
Yaroslava
Clay Bird, 27g.
I brought this little clay bird whistle with me when I fled Ukraine because it’s a small piece of home that holds happy memories and a sense of innocence. As a child I would play with it, filling it with water to create a sound that reminded me of the birds singing in spring.
In a time of chaos and loss this simple whistle became a source of comfort, a reminder of peaceful days and a connection to my childhood. It’s a symbol of resilience and hope, reminding me that even in the darkest times there is still beauty and music waiting to be heard.
Maryna Z.
Vyshyvanka, 295g.
When I fled Ukraine I took my embroidered blouse because it represents everything I hold dear. Each stitch, each flower is a reminder of my roots and my family's history, woven with care by my mother and grandmother. The bright colors and floral patterns aren't just decorative; they carry meanings of life, love, resilience, and the strength of my people.
In moments of uncertainty, this blouse is my anchor, connecting me to a heritage that gives me strength and a reminder of the beauty and warmth of my homeland.
In a foreign place, wearing this embroidery helps me feel grounded. It reminds me of who I am and where I come from, of a place filled with memories, culture, and traditions.
This blouse isn’t just a piece of clothing—it’s my story, a piece of Ukraine that I carry with me, giving me hope and courage to face whatever lies ahead.
Maryna Z.
Viburnum Necklace, 32g.
When I was forced to leave Ukraine I had to make quick decisions about what to bring with me. Each item I chose had to serve a purpose or hold meaning, as there was no room for anything frivolous. Among the few belongings I took, I chose my mother’s red beads, bought years ago in Khmelnik. They weren't just jewellery to me; they were a connection to my roots, to my family, and to a life that felt stable and certain.
As I traveled further from home, these beads became my comfort, a reminder of the love and resilience of my family. In the chaos and uncertainty, feeling the cool, familiar beads against my skin grounded me. They reminded me that no matter where I ended up or how far I was from my loved ones, I carried a piece of my home with me.
These beads became a symbol of my strength, my heritage, and a promise to return one day. They helped me remember who I am and where I come from, even when everything else was left behind.
Maryna Z.
Chess Set, 707g.
This chess set has been in my family since before I was born. It was manufactured in my hometown, Kyiv. My grandfather Volodymyr taught me to play chess with it when I was in primary school. He also taught my younger sister and we all used to play together. My grandfather died in 2020.
When war started I moved abroad and got married. At my wedding my sister and mum gave me a present - our family chessboard. I taught my husband to play chess using it and we played together in Scotland. It became our morning routine - we drank coffee and played chess.
Nadiia
Camo Shirt, 108g.
This t-shirt belonged to my godfather, who went to war in 2014. It didn’t fit him, so he gave it to my father. When it didn’t fit my father either, it came to me. I cut off the sleeves and wore it during travels or at dance rehearsals.
Over time, it carried more than sweat and effort - it carried the spirit of resilience my godfather embodies. He’s still fighting today. I saw him in December for the first time in three years. This t-shirt is a reminder of his strength, our connection, and everything we’ve endured.
Nadiia
Patches, 8-20g.
These patches belonged to Valeriy, a soldier of the 93rd Mechanized Brigade, fighting since 2017. Each patch tells a story - of battles fought, friendships forged, and moments of humanity in the chaos of war.
Some were exchanged with comrades or foreign allies he helped, showing them the way, sharing food, or saving their lives. Others were gifts from soldiers leaving the front lines.
I brought them because they are pieces of history, symbols of sacrifice, and reminders of the people who gave everything for our freedom.
Nadiia
Keys, 109g.
I have four children. For 17 years we lived in rented flats in a big city - well, we didn't have a house of our own. And then a miracle happened - my wife and my parents sponsored the construction of a house.
I spent two and a half years building this house with my own hands. I am a journalist by profession, I have never worked with my hands. But I learned a lot of construction skills. As there was not much money to hire builders, I did 90% of the work myself. And so I finished the house in the winter of 2022! And in January 2022, we finally moved into our own house!
And one month later the war started... And Russian missiles flew over our house.
I have kept these keys to the house, however I avoid finding them or looking at them. Because our house, though intact, stands empty like a monument to the ruined plans for life. And it is unknown if I will ever open my house with these keys with my own hands...
Oleksandr
Sweatshirt, 652g.
I left Kyiv in February 2022 wearing my blue sweatshirt, a present from my mum. Now I always wear it when I travel somewhere and when I relocated to Scotland I was wearing it too.
Maryna P.
Advanced Potion Making Book, 537g.
I was growing up during the time when the Harry Potter books, one by one, were published in Ukrainian - a daring idea by a Ukrainian publishing house in times when books translated into the Ukrainian language weren't that popular.
The magic universe was a place where totally different people came together and experienced the feeling of ‘finally belonging’.
Kateryna
Necklace, 358g.
I bought this necklace after the war started. At the time, the maker wasn’t well known, but now she has a huge queue of clients. People regularly ask me where it’s from and I get a lot of compliments from Scottish people on the street.
Nadiia
Instax Polaroids, less than 1g.
I love polaroids, although they do not last as long as a ‘traditional’ photograph. One of them shows my mum and the woman who is like a grandmother to me (and like a mother to my mum) in a typical rural Ukrainian kitchen where you instantly feel at home.
The second one was taken from the bell tower of the St Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv, Ukraine, one of the few places that feels like my place of strength.
I cherish these physical copies of two special moments and I feel deeply emotional when holding them in my hand or having them on my work table.
Kateryna
Knitted Bunny Toy, 368g.
My son Matvii (who was 8 years old at the time) and I left Ukraine on February 27, 2022. My child was very eager to bring along his favorite stuffed toy—a dog that I had given him when he was 4 years old.
I was the head of the regional branch of one of Ukraine’s largest women’s movements, where we carried out numerous social and charitable projects for women and children. I loved that job deeply and was very proud of our team. Shortly before the war began, my team of women gifted me and my son handmade toys as a token of gratitude. A knitted bunny was crafted in our corporate colors.
This bunny serves as a reminder to me that our world is shaped by people with kind hearts and that dreams can indeed come true. This toy also reminds me that, despite all the challenges, it is essential to support one another and never forget the most important human values.
Matvii carried the toys himself in a small children’s backpack. He still sleeps with the stuffed dog to this day.
Olha M.
Painted Box, 79g.
This box was made in Petrykivka, decorated with the local traditional painting style. I bought it at Andriyivskyi Uzviz on my last visit to my hometown of Kyiv.
It stands by my bed and holds the most precious things I own, including jewellery from my grandparents and coins from places that I’ve visited.
Veronika
Shawl, 100g.
When my son and I flew to Scotland we only took backpacks and 2 small suitcases. This square scarf is a reminder of home and family.
It belonged to my father’s mother, who died over 30 years ago. The village of Ternova is where my father was born and raised, and where I spent my summers as a child. It was occupied at the beginning of the war, then liberated, but after the attack on the Kharkiv region in May 2024, that area was badly damaged.
Now it is inaccessible and I’m not sure that this small village (population 900 before the war) will be inhabited again. The name of the village refers to ‘teren’, meaning a sloe or blackthorn.
For me, this ordinary scarf is a part of my family history and the history of my people that have been suffering from this brutal and lawbreaking invasion.
Olha L.
Chestnut from Kyiv, 6g.
Did you know that Kyiv is the 'city of chestnuts'? Every Ukrainian does. Being far away from my hometown - from the heart of my country - is difficult and makes me feel anxious. When I feel my anxiety growing, I take this chestnut out of my pocket and hold it, remembering that a part of my home is always with me.
To anyone else it’s just a piece of a tree, but for me there’s a whole life’s story attached to it.
Veronika
Chestnut Soft Toy, 96g.
When I first came to Scotland I lived in the city of Inverness. I arrived in the autumn and felt very homesick for Kyiv, as at this time the leaves and chestnuts were falling.
My family has a tradition of going to the park and picking chestnuts for the autumn mood. Of course, being far from my family, I really missed this year’s tradition. One day, my boyfriend came up to me with this little chestnut toy and said that there is always a place in my heart for Kyiv.
This chestnut is just a reminder that this tradition will be with me forever.
Veronika
Ring, 5g.
This is my grandmother's ring which she bought after she received her first salary. She always wanted to give it to me but I refused. Before my emigration I decided to take it with me as a memory of home and family.
I hope for it to become a family heirloom.
Maryna P
Sylyanka, 44g.
In the old days, every Ukrainian woman had a chest with clothes and objects that she would add to before and after marriage. During Soviet times, those chests were often taken away from the people. Thus, they could not be passed on from mother to daughter, and centuries of tradition and culture were lost, which was the intention behind destroying typically Ukrainian objects.
Nowadays, the tradition is being reborn, and I own a handmade traditional necklace called sylyanka. I wear it with pride, in memory of generations of Ukrainian women robbed of their identity.
This necklace is the first item of many that I will, at some point in the future, gladly pass on for our identity to remain as strong as it used to be.
Kateryna
Vyshyvanka, 204g.
Unfortunately, this vyshyvanka is not a handmade or antique one, but it is still very dear to me. My father bought it for me before my aunt's wedding and it travels with me as a symbol of my Ukrainian heritage and as a reminder of home.
Maryna P.
Clay Ram Necklace, 35g.
The ceramic ram used to be a decorative element of the traditional Ukrainian household. These ceramic pendants (by a Ukrainian artist from Dnipro) are pieces of our Ukrainian identity, made from Ukrainian clay, and I love the fact that I can carry it with me wherever I go.
The thought behind these objects is that you can look through the hole and see the sun, the same as in our childhood spent on the Crimean peninsula, peeking through holes in seashells that you pick up on the beach as you go, seeing the waves and the sunset (or sunrise).
These pendants give me hope that, one day, I will be able to return to the place of pure happiness, which for me is Crimea.
Kateryna
At the time I couldn't fit the red leather boots and the heavy necklace into that chaotic packing for a one-way trip. For this, I beat myself up endlessly for ten long months until I decided to return to my city in the dark December of 2022 and visit my grandmother's fresh grave.
The image of a stooped, sobbing old woman saying goodbye to us forever, in a chair in the corner of the room with her frail shoulders slumped, will forever remain in my memory.
The necklace and boots are charged hot with my grandmother’s energy, as well as the sense of belonging. They serve as a daily memory of my Ukrainianness, my indomitable spirit and my heartbreaking longing for my past life.
Vitaliia
Red Leather Boots and Necklace, 518g and 292g
The decision to leave the house was made in 15 minutes. There was no emergency suitcase prepared. We boiled 20 eggs and a three-litre pot of rice in case the bombs damaged the infrastructure and there was nothing to cook with. I know it sounds quite strange, but in that moment there was no room for rational thought, only survival.
Through the window I could see it was snowing outside. In the room, two small suitcases lay open on the floor filled with random things; a lot of socks, underwear, some canned food and my daughter's first singing trophy.
Ten days earlier she was awarded the title of ‘Exemplary Child Ukrainian Folk Song Ensemble’.
Privatbank T-Shirt, 125g.
I left the occupied city of Vovchaysk in it. I wore it when I first arrived in Scotland, trying to maintain a connection between my life before and after February 22.
Alona
Wands, 137g.
The wand maker comes from Ukraine and crafts her wands specifically for every client, hence it's very special to me. When I couldn't find my wand upon arrival in Scotland I was heartbroken, so I convinced her to make me a second one - a wand that she crafted in Canada where she fled to in 2022 from her own war-torn hometown in Ukraine. Now I own two wands and feel at peace looking at them every day.
Kateryna
Slytherin Badge, 23g.
The first things that I packed into my safety backpack were the following: my first magic wand (the smaller one), the book that I have re-read multiple times, and the badge - all made by Ukrainian artists drawing their inspiration from the Harry Potter lore.
I'm almost 2000 miles away from home and my ‘Harry Potter community’, but I still feel a deep connection to them and the years we've known each other since J.K. Rowling's work brought us together.
Kateryna
Ukrainian Coins & Bank Note, 164g.
I’ve been collecting coins for years, carefully curating a collection that tells the story of Ukraine's resilience and beauty.
Maryna Z.
Ukrainian Coins & Bank Note, 164g.
The commemorative coins, brand new and gleaming with the symbols of my homeland, hold a special place in my heart. They remind me of the pride I feel for our people, our culture, and our strength.
Ukrainian Coins & Bank Note, 164g.
The banknote, designed in the style of Ukraine’s currency from the early 20th century, is more than a collector’s item; it’s a connection to my ancestors, to those who lived and fought for the freedom we are still defending today.
We know there are countless other stories like these out there.
It is important to document and amplify the voices of displaced Ukrainian people to bring awareness to the human stories at the centre of the unprovoked brutality Ukraine has endured.
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