This is Eugene.
He runs a small souvenir shop in Kyiv. Even now, during the war, I met him in December 2025, standing outside in freezing temperatures.
His wife and kids live in Europe, and he only sees them about twice a year.
People are obviously tired. And it’s understandable.
Nobody wants to give their territory to an aggressor. That is not peace. That is capitulation.
But this isn’t really a story about war. It’s about what life looks like.
I’m a Danish volunteer, and I drive to Ukraine with donated cars. This was filmed in Kyiv in December 2025.
We are live in Kyiv with Eugene.
“Can you tell us a bit about what you do here?”
“I’m just running a small souvenir kiosk behind us,” he says. “I’ve been doing this for many years, and I continue even now, during winter and wartime.”
“How’s business during the winter? It must be tough.”
“It is,” he says. “It’s freezing when you stand still. But before Christmas, it’s okay. We have regular visitors, people who live and work here.”
“After Christmas, it slows down a bit. But in general, if you work hard, you can still make a living.”
“What do you sell?”
“Simple things,” he explains. “T-shirts, hoodies with war prints, Ukrainian designs, national symbols.”
“Lots of patches, hats, baseball caps. Everything that’s very pro-Ukrainian, with a bit of a war style.”
“We also sell alternative things like football shirts, sports items, wooden puzzles. Just simple souvenirs like anywhere else.”
“What’s the most popular?”
“Small things,” he says. “Items that don’t take up space in your luggage. Stickers, patches, custom flags.”
“Things you can hang in your office or room to remind you of this place.”
“And they’re different. They’re made here in Ukraine. Not in China. All production is local.”
“That’s very important,” he adds.
I tell him we’ll buy some items, bring them home, sell them at a higher price, and donate the money back to Ukraine.
He smiles.
“You’re not the first,” he says. “And thank you for being one of many who do this.”
“I meet people who raise funds like this all the time. It really helps.”
We talk about how we deliver cars to the Ukrainian armed forces.
And how we are always amazed by the gratitude we receive.
Because honestly, we feel like we should be thanking them.
By the blood of their people, our countries remain safe.
This isn’t a political channel. But the war affects everyday life.
And it matters. For them. For humanity. And for all of us.
“If Ukraine falls,” Eugene says, “no one in Europe will be safe.”
“We all have our own lives, our own goals. But this is reality.”
“Russia won’t stop. Not at Ukraine’s borders.”
“They will go as far as they are allowed.”
“So it’s better to stop this now. Here.”
“Better to fight economically than with bombs, injuries, and death.”
“I hope you never experience this in your own country.”
By the way, his name is Eugene.
In Ukrainian, it’s Yevhenii. There’s also a female version, Yevheniia.
Like many Ukrainian names, they have shorter versions. In this case, both become Zhenya.
I ask him about the mood in Ukraine.
“People are tired,” he says.
“And that’s understandable.”
“Some compare this war to Finland’s war in the late 1930s. But that lasted four months.”
“We’ve been living this for four years.”
“So yes, motivation is harder.”
“But nothing has changed in how we see this.”
“No one wants to give territory to the aggressor.”
“That’s not peace. That’s capitulation.”
This is important.
Because many people in the West think Ukrainians might just want it to end, no matter the cost.
“Of course we are tired,” he says.
“We hear drones at night. We don’t sleep properly.”
“We can’t relax. We can’t leave the country for a vacation.”
“But we are not talking about giving up.”
“Because they won’t stop.”
“If you step back once, they move forward three steps.”
“There is no solution that way.”
“Negotiation only works when they feel weak.”
“Then it becomes real negotiation.”
Right now, Eugene’s wife and children live in Europe.
He sees them only a couple of times a year.
I tell him we will keep supporting Ukraine.
And that we want people back home—and across the world—to understand that Ukrainians are willing to stand their ground.
He nods.
“Thank you.”
Eugene isn’t a soldier.
He’s just running a small shop.
This is him, on the day I met him.
The flag behind me—I bought it from him. Now it hangs in my home.
For him, this is everyday life.
Tell me in the comments:
What would you do in his place?
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