Reporter’s notebook: My deadly routine in Kyiv.

KYIV — In three years of war, I, like many other Ukrainians, got used to air raid sirens howling through the night.

Despite that, I used to feel safe in Kyiv, which was strongly protected by the best Western air defenses. Many people from other, less well-defended regions came to the capital to shelter under our Patriot systems.

That’s not the case since Donald Trump returned to the White House earlier this year and changed U.S. policy toward Ukraine. He first cut military assistance in March to force Kyiv into peace negotiations with Russia. Now he’s done it again while the U.S. reviews its ammunition stocks and the White House proclaims the decision was taken “to put America’s interests first.”

Trump talked to Vladimir Putin again on Thursday, and the U.S. president admitted: “I didn’t make any progress” on persuading the Russian leader to end the war. Hours later, the Kremlin unleashed the largest missile and drone barrage against Kyiv since the war began.

The scale of Russian attacks has been increasing: massive attacks now occur at least twice a week. That’s the new reality despite (or because of) Trump’s declarative peace efforts.

Nowadays, when an air raid siren starts howling, I sleep on the floor of my corridor. Other Kyivans sleep in parking lots, on the platforms of the Kyiv subway, or in their bathrooms — usually inside rooms that afford some protection from shards of glass from shattered windows.

Kyiv, a city of over 3 million, has yet to construct proper bomb shelters for all its residents. For those of us living away from subway lines and proper shelters, every night has become a lottery of terror.

“Air raid sirens across the country. It feels like everyone is brought out for execution. But only one person gets targeted. Usually, the one at the edge. This time, not you; all clear,” reads a poem by Ukrainian writer Victoria Amelina, who was killed by a missile in a café in the eastern city of Kramatorsk in 2023.

My corridor provides me with a strange feeling of safety, as if I am in a circle, drawn in chalk, that would scare away monsters.  

As the Russians started bombing us on Thursday evening, I checked my water bottle, my phone and documents and my first aid kit to see if they were near me. I was in my new pajamas: I would finally look decent if rescuers had to search for me under the rubble.

Then I slapped my head…I forgot to buy a whistle again. Only recently did I find out you shouldn’t scream while waiting for rescue as you waste your air and die before they find you.

Dark terror

Then came yet another night of sleep deprivation, acoustic terror and explosions, as well as constant messaging: “Are you guys OK?” to people you know and care about. Other people try to distract themselves by doing online shopping or booking hotels.

“The readiness to die at any moment makes some people turn into bare nerves and some people into wise men. Last night, I ate bread with lard, tomato and onion during the attack, hugged my cat and ordered some new flowers,” said psychologist Olga Solomka, who lives in the Kyiv region.

When you sleep on the floor, your body gets heavy and sometimes painfully crunches in places you would never expect.  That hour of sleep you usually get is usually enough just to get you into your villain mode, so we are all trying to be patient with each other.

In the morning, we still have to wake up and go to work, as life and resilience must continue. Especially now, when we feel our once-strongest ally is abandoning us and even helping Russia reach its long-term goal of wearing out the West and destroying us.

Ukraine still can’t produce its own analog of a missile that would be as effective a defense as the Patriot against ballistic and hypersonic missiles that Russia uses daily against civilian areas, in addition to waves of drones. Europe seems to be struggling to help us as well.

On Friday, U.S. Independence Day, Russia attacked with 550 drones and missiles, a new record. After the attack, we Ukrainians got up and went on with our daily routines. Businesses opened despite broken windows, and hospitals treated the wounded, but life went on until the next night.

“It’s interesting that during the day, no one asks how the night was, because everyone is in the same boat. And if you are still there by lunchtime, then you are fine,” said Vladyslav Faraponov, 27, the head of the Institute of American Studies, who lives in the center of the capital.

“Today at 8 a.m., I apologized to my dentist for being late. He was like: ‘What are you talking about? Everyone is barely standing, as if they all partied out somewhere until morning,'” Faraponov added.

 Disillusionment with our strongest ally, the United States, seems to fill all conversations. We still appeal for help, but it seems like screaming into the void. Our routine has become laced with death, but for many nations that used to support us, our suffering seems to have turned into somebody else’s problem.

Of course, we still believe, but with each new attack that is once again “condemned by the free world,” that is still not daring to impose really strong sanctions against Russia, to send up more air defense systems or to hand over the Kremlin’s frozen assets to Ukraine, our hope fades away a drop at a time.