When Maksym Demianiuk was 16, life in Ukraine was full of promise. He was looking forward to graduating from school, preparing to study political science in college, and dreaming about the future.

One quiet evening, in February 2022, at his grandmother’s home, over cookies and television, she shared a chilling premonition – she predicted a full-scale Russian invasion. “I tried to prove the opposite, to find rational arguments why war is impossible in our time, to calm my grandmother down,” says Maksym, now 19.

“In the first days of the war, I regretted those words.”

When Russian forces crossed into Ukraine on February 24, 2022, ordinary life shattered: Schools emptied, families dispersed, and futures blurred. Since then, millions have fled their homes – including another 188,000 people in 2025 alone. More than 14,000 civilians have been killed.

Even now, Russian attacks continue to cripple Ukraine’s energy system. In fact, strikes on energy infrastructure jumped by 15% in September 2025 alone. The result? With winter closing in, millions could be facing the cold without reliable heat, light, water, or even basic essentials. With conditions worsening, experts warn that another 300,000 to a million people may be forced to leave their homes.

For young people like Maksym, the upheaval hasn’t only been physical – it’s psychological. Between air raids and blackouts, the country’s young people wrestle with the question: How do you plan for tomorrow when today feels like survival?

The unseen impact of war

When his city in the Kyiv region came under attack, Maksym picked up his camera. “I was not sure about tomorrow,” he says. “I wanted to keep these memories.”

In the nearby city of Irpin, he saw children playing in burned-down playgrounds. He photographed buildings shredded by bullets and the visible wreckage of war. But he also turned his lens inward, choosing to document what can’t be seen: the emotional toll.

By participating in Plan International’s Invisible Wounds study, Maksym helped shed light on the mental health crisis facing boys and young men in conflict zones – an issue he says is too often ignored.

“There is always a need for support,” he says. “Even if people don’t recognize it. War is one of those things that leaves a mark on everyone.”

Here, in his own words (translated from Ukrainian), Maksym shows what war has done to Ukraine.

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WAR IN UKRAINE:

Maksym’s photo diary

1. The morning that changed everything

On February 24, 2022, a transport aircraft flew over my small Ukrainian town – a sight we had never seen before. That day is still hard for me to recall calmly.

Planes were the first thing I saw outside my window after my mother woke me up at dawn, frightened by the start of the war and the aircraft in the sky. It was a morning that turned my life upside down. A day after which my fate changed, and life became harsh and very demanding for all of us.

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2. A day in the life

It’s an ordinary photo from home, yet for me it’s very valuable and special. I took it after lunch at my grandmother’s house, after school, in mid-February 2022. My favourite biscuits and her TV are in the frame. The moment matters because it was taken a few days before the war started. My grandmother and I were talking about the escalating conflict and the possibility of a full-scale war. She seemed to sense what was coming, convinced that war was inevitable. I tried to reassure her, offering rational arguments about why war is impossible in our time. I wanted to calm her fears. In the first days of the war, I would regret those words.

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3. My beloved Kyiv

I took this photo on August 16, 2022, when I finally got to visit the capital, Kyiv. I haven't been there much, but that day I could really feel and see what my beloved Kyiv looks like during the war: anti-tank “hedgehogs” on the main streets, destroyed Russian equipment [brought in as exhibits] after the defence of Kyiv, half-empty streets, the silence of this once-noisy city, and the air-raid siren, which I experienced differently here, even more frightening and piercing. At the same time, I felt the power of this city, symbolizing Ukrainian resilience.

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4. Christmas blackout

Photos from Christmas Eve 2022. By then, I was used to blackouts, no internet, no phone, and no electricity. Silence and darkness on cold winter nights – hard to imagine unless you’ve lived it.

I wasn’t just surviving; I was trying to live. For me, life was about continuing my education. My mother often gave me chargers and flashlights, sitting in darkness so I could study by candlelight or a dim light. In 2022, I was starting my final year of Ukrainian school and preparing for exams. Despite intermittent communication, I started distance learning at a Polish school. I love history, but war changed how I see it. Imagine being cut off from the world because of the Russians and reading by candlelight about the previous centuries-old wars with them.

Studying in such difficult conditions is already an achievement – for Ukrainian children who keep learning despite everything.

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5. A city in ruins

I took these photos in Irpin in the summer of 2022. It was my first visit to the de-occupied territory of Kyiv region.

Like many others, this city suffered significant destruction and was one of the first to experience enemy occupation. It can be described very briefly: destroyed university, residential buildings, and churches. Irpin was another city that demonstrated our resilience and convinced us that life goes on. Proof of this was something that surprised me greatly at the time but was commonplace for the residents of such cities: children playing against the backdrop of burned-down houses and destroyed playgrounds. Mothers with prams and children in such places gave me hope for the best.

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6. Reconstruction in destruction

In December 2022, I was in Gostomel, another city that survived the terrible Russian occupation. The Gostomel airfield resisted [the attack], and its defence saved Kyiv and my region. Gostomel is also about children, about the possibility of reconstruction, and life despite the destruction – life in temporary settlements and shelters. You walk past destroyed houses, shot-up fences, and ruined streets, knowing that there are places (mined) that are best avoided. 

I will never forget children in Gostomel who showed me an abandoned Russian tank “parked” between houses on a small street during a demonstration of the destruction of the city. The children drew doves on it and hung the Ukrainian flag.

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7. A future that blurred

I graduated at the end of June 2022. I shook hands with my teacher and took a photo against the backdrop of my hometown – marking the end of school, successfully passing my exams, and thinking about university admission and my future. At that time, I didn’t know that meeting my teachers and classmates on that day would be my last with them. The photo with the city would be memorable for me for years to come, because it would also be the last. In less than a week, I would leave the country for Poland to study political science, and only after some time abroad would I realize that I will not be able to return. All the moments of that day would become a memorable moment when I last saw my family, friends, and hometown in person.

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8. Dear Kyiv, until we meet again

Early in July 2022, I took these three photos as I crossed the Ukraine border on my way to Poland. They are symbolic and very memorable. In my last hours in Ukraine, I saw a beautiful sunset, admired our fields, and, like every Ukrainian, saw our flag against the blue sky and wheat fields. The symbolism lies in a simple thing: borders. Borders that, as in my story, divided families, friends, ties to native land. Borders that split life “there” and “here,” into “before” and “after.” They changed my understanding of what home means and where it is now. Every Ukrainian refugee story is difficult. These stories become heavier when you realize that you cannot return. I dream and hope that one day I will be able to cross borders freely, visit my hometown, see the places of my childhood, embrace my family, and feel that peace and quiet life have come to my country.