Jury Karimov

The first time I saw my father in uniform, I thought he looked taller. Stronger. The kind of man who could protect us from anything. My mother smiled and kissed him goodbye at the door, holding back tears she didn’t want him to see. I was thirteen then. He ruffled my hair and said, "Take care of your mother and sister." Then he was gone.

A year later, here in Tver, Russia, he came back in a wooden box. The official letter said he had died bravely, defending our country. At the funeral, people spoke of honor and sacrifice. My mother cried so hard she couldn’t stand, and my little sister clung to me like I was the last solid thing in her world.

For months, I believed he had died for something important. That he had given his life for a noble cause. I repeated the words I heard on television, the same words my teachers used, the same words my classmates echoed. "A military special operation." "Protecting our people." "Fighting for our country."

But then my uncle sat me down one night when my mother was asleep. He poured himself a drink and spoke in a voice lower than usual. "You’re old enough to know the truth," he said. And so he told me. About the lies, the propaganda, the pointless destruction. About how thousands of men like my father were sent to die, not for some great patriotic mission, but for power. How the news we watched every evening was carefully crafted to make sure we only saw what they wanted us to see.

I didn’t believe him at first. I didn’t want to. It felt like betraying my father. But I started looking for the truth on my own, in places the government didn’t want me to look. And the more I read, the more I understood how senseless his death had been. How senseless all of it was.

Now, I am fourteen, and I know what kind of country I live in. A country where the truth is buried, where people are told what to think, where young men are sent to die for nothing. And I know that I have to leave one day. Not now. Not yet. But when I am old enough, I will find a place where I don’t have to pretend anymore. Where I don’t have to live in a world built on lies.