Koropenko Mariya

For me, the war in Ukraine did not begin in 2022. It began in 2014, with the occupation of Crimea. I was still a child then, too young to fully understand the political and historical weight of what was happening. Yet even as a child, I felt that something had been taken away. That sense of loss stayed with me, and over the years it became clearer, deeper, and more difficult to ignore.

I came to Japan when I was eleven years old. I already carried memories of Ukraine and Crimea, but a significant part of my life has unfolded in Japanese society. I continued my education at a Japanese school, later entered university, and gradually learned to live between two languages, two cultures, and two ways of seeing the world.

Japanese education gave me more than language skills or academic knowledge. It taught me how trust is built in society: not by words alone, but by habits, discipline, respect for rules, attention to detail, and responsibility toward others. I learned that a society is held together not only by laws and institutions, but also by the quiet moral effort of ordinary people in everyday life.

At the same time, Ukraine has always remained my root. The longer I lived in Japan, the more strongly I felt that my connection with my own country was not something I could simply inherit and leave untouched. It had to be protected, understood, and carried forward. After 2014, and especially after russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022, this feeling ceased to be only an inner emotion. It became a call to action.

Living in Japan, I began to think more seriously about how Ukraine is seen from afar. Many people first encounter our country through news of war, destruction, refugees, and humanitarian support. These realities are painful, and they cannot be separated from the present moment. But Ukraine is far more than a country at war. It is a country of culture, education, strength, humor, entrepreneurship, historical memory, and great human potential.

Through my work with Ukraine House Japan, cultural events, and media projects, I try to help create such spaces. I want to show Ukraine not only as a country that needs support, but as a country with which Japan can build the future — in culture, education, business, science, civic initiatives, and international cooperation.

One of the areas that has special importance for me now is educational exchange between Ukraine and Japan. I see the short-term visit of Ukrainian high school students to Japan as an investment in the future ties between our countries. These students will see another model of society, speak with Japanese students of their own generation, and feel that Ukraine matters to people beyond its borders. Perhaps one day, some of them will become the very people who build international connections for our state.

I believe that Ukraine’s future strength will depend not only on weapons, the economy, or political decisions. Those things are necessary, but they are not enough. A nation also needs people who can explain it to the world, build trust, find partners, and think beyond the needs of the present day. A country is defended not only on the battlefield. It is also defended in classrooms, in communities, in public life, in culture, and in every honest effort to make the world understand what that country stands for.

That is why I increasingly see my experience of living between Ukraine and Japan not simply as a personal story, but as a resource that should serve Ukraine. Japan has given me education, discipline, friendships, and a second home. Ukraine has given me my roots, my responsibility, and the direction of my future.

I want Japan to see Ukraine not only as a country to be helped, but as a country with which it can build something lasting. And I want to be one of the people who helps make that future possible.