People often ask me why. Why do you keep returning to Ukraine? You've been there so many times. Haven't you done enough?
Isn't it dangerous? Doesn't your family try to stop you? And yeah, they sometimes do. And I have seen danger.
I've heard Shahid drones explode right outside the windows of the apartment where I was sleeping.
Still, I keep returning. And I'll tell you why. But here's something strange.
Before 2022, I knew almost nothing about Ukraine. I couldn't have told you much about its culture or its people. I probably couldn't even confidently have pointed it out on a map. And yet today, Ukraine has become one of the most important parts of my life.
What began as curiosity became commitment.
So before the full-scale invasion, Ukraine barely existed in my mental landscape. I recall watching the movie Oceans. There's a funny scene where Deb Ocean is talking with her mouth full of food. I find that a bit gross, so that's why I noticed. And her friend Blue interrupts her and says, "I don't speak Ukrainian."
And that phrase became my way of telling my kids to chew and swallow before they speak. At the time, it was just a funny oneliner from a movie. I had no idea how ironic that would later feel.
When tensions began rising between Russia and Ukraine, I realized something. That scene was the only association I had with Ukraine.
I didn't know where it was located. I didn't know it was the largest country entirely in Europe. I certainly knew absolutely nothing of its culture and its language.
And it wasn't until months later that I realized, and this is a bit embarrassing, but I didn't know that Chernobyl, the site of the tragic 1986 nuclear disaster, is in fact located in Ukraine. Back then, I just knew it was somewhere in the USSR.
That's how little I knew about Ukraine. But very soon, I would no longer have the luxury of not knowing.
When I saw what looked like a giant Goliath backed by powerful allies preparing to strike a much smaller David who seemed to stand almost alone, I felt something in my gut. It was a strong urge to help.
And the more I learned how Ukraine resisted and even pushed back what was then called the second army of the world, the more I realized something. I'd found something I did not know I was missing.
And that something was purpose, something bigger than myself.
But I soon ran into a problem.
I began searching online and on social media for ways to help. But there was a lot of noise and the chatter was so loud, you know, I felt like I was hearing impaired inside a loud room where everyone was shouting to be heard.
Some acquaintances were driving to the Ukrainian border and picking up refugees. I wanted to join them but I couldn't get a clear picture of or advice about the real risk. So I hesitated for about six months.
And before I continue, unexpectedly the door opened.
Yes. Lynhold, the founder of a Danish nonprofit organization called Cars for Ukraine, Majinit Kurini, contacted me and said he heard I was looking for ways to contribute. He opened the door for me to get involved and I quickly became part of fundraising, marketing, and I helped with a lot of practical stuff.
And eventually that led to my first trip to Ukraine.
In December 2022, I finally crossed the border from Poland and stepped onto Ukrainian soil for the first time. People had told me that the experience would hit me pretty hard. So I thought I was kind of prepared, but something happened to me that I did not expect.
I fell in love with Ukraine.
Actually, you could say it had started months earlier when I started getting involved. But what happened during those first days of my trip? Well, it changed my life in every way.
When I returned home, my life would never be the same again.
I went through a formal divorce from a marriage that frankly probably should have ended much earlier. I started learning Ukrainian and slowly the significance of this new purpose began dawning on me.
Ukraine was not defining who I was, but it was helping me rediscover what is truly important in my life, being part of something that matters.
Because of work and other commitments, my next trip to Ukraine wouldn't be until August 23. And that trip was spectacular in many ways.
One of the cars we delivered had been donated by a 15-year-old boy. His mother is Ukrainian and he had spent all his gift money that he had received from his family at a Danish traditional celebration party, about €2,000, to buy a car for the front.
And that kind of generosity says something about the people who are helping Ukraine and how strongly they are inspired.
In December that same year, I made my third trip to Ukraine. And after that, life interrupted again. I was selling my house, going through a divorce, and starting a completely new life.
But in 2025, I came back strong. That year, I traveled to Ukraine seven times, most of them with convoys. A couple of those trips were different. I simply went there to experience the culture, meet friends, and spend money locally.
By then, something had changed. This land was no longer a place I just visited.
Every trip added new friends, new stories, and new reasons to come back. Ukraine had become my second home.
Even on my first trip, I made several friends in Ukraine, especially one taxi driver who saved me from being stranded during curfew.
One evening, I couldn't find a cab. It was very close to 10:00 p.m. when I finally found one. When the driver opened the window to talk to me, he told me something that spooked me a little bit.
He said, "If I drive you to your hotel, which is on the other side of the river, the soldiers at the military checkpoints might stop us and force us to stay in the car all night."
Okay, I said, "No problem. I'll pay you." I was desperate. And he looked at me and said, "Okay, let's do it."
Luckily, they let us through and Dmytro became my friend.
On the last morning of this trip, he took me 50 kilometers south of Kyiv to pick up some souvenirs that he wanted me to have. And I remember thinking, who does that?
He drove for two hours just to give me those gifts.
I also made friends with other drivers and with the people who received the cars in Ukraine. And last but certainly not least, I saw the genuine gratitude in the eyes of the soldiers who came to pick up the cars.
They knew that we had been driving 2,000 kilometers and spent a lot of our own money on food and gasoline and hotels and a lot of time for no other reason than to help them.
On my second trip in the summer of 2023, my new friend Dmytro asked me if he could take me on a road trip, and of course I accepted.
But before I got to him, something completely unexpected happened.
We were driving into Kyiv and we decided to try to make it before the curfew even though we were running a bit late. But we made it.
Then I realized I hadn't booked a hotel and it was too late to get a cab.
But again, I experienced what I now think of as the Ukrainian way of welcoming people.
I had been chatting with some friends about the situation and suddenly I got a message: "It's okay. My dad has a room for the night. He lives close to where you are now. Just drive there and knock on the door and he'll give you shelter."
And again, who does that?
It turned out he owns a factory producing sweets and popcorn. The next day he showed me his factory and took me out for dinner.
Then he did something I will never forget.
He took me to a military site.
Of course, it's secret where it was, but there I met real soldiers defending Kyiv. They dressed me up in a bulletproof vest and helmet and put an AK-47 in my hands and made a photo shoot.
I guess they got a cheap laugh out of me standing there looking like a tourist.
When we were about to leave, I turned around and said loudly, "Slava Ukraini."
And everyone turned and answered in unison, "Heroyam Slava."
The following days, Dmytro and I went on a road trip from Kyiv to Poltava, then to Zaporizhzhia via Dnipro. Later I took a night train to Lviv and then a bus back to Denmark.
It would be more than a year before I saw him again, but I already knew that a stressful evening in Kyiv had turned into a lasting friendship.
The train ride to Lviv was memorable.
There was no air conditioning and almost no ventilation on that hot summer night. I arrived with a severe headache and had to find a pharmacy and then a hotel to get a few hours of sleep before going home.
I have only told you a fraction of what happened on that trip.
But I can tell you this: my love for Ukraine had taken root in my soul.
Now every time I go to Ukraine, I return with new friendships and a deeper respect for the resilience and creativity of its people.
And that's why this channel exists.
It is not and never will be a political channel. It's not a news channel reporting on the war.
Instead, it's about people, everyday life, and courage.
And it's about what we can learn from the Ukrainian way of life.
It isn't perfect, but it is deeply aspirational.
I'm committed to helping Ukraine for the rest of my days.
Through this channel, I hope to share the life, spirit, and extraordinary strength of the people who make me keep coming back.
If this story meant something to you, I would appreciate it if you gave this video a like and subscribed to the channel.
And I am genuinely curious: tell me in the comments below what first made you interested in Ukraine.
Because the more time I spend there, the more I realize something simple.
Ukraine is no longer a place I just visit. It's a place that lives in my heart.
Slava Ukraini.
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