As the sound of an air ride siren peals through the air once again, I realize how normal that sound has become in the short time that I have been here. In many ways it has become background noise as we continue through our day. At the park where the children are playing, the ball never stops. In the summer kitchen from which the warm smells of garlic and borscht are drifting, the hands never stop chopping and stirring. The rhythmic sound of the hammer continues, as another board is pounded into place. No one misses a beat, as they continue about their day. In the distance, I hear a low rumble, similar to the sound of thunder. But no rain clouds are on the horizon. This is not the sound of a storm. It is the sound of destruction.
To stop living is not an option, so the people continue on, resolutely building their lives to the soundtrack of an air raid siren.

This is a country where war has become normal.