既然我们无法指望明天，那么少拥有些东西才是理性的选择。然而，我们却把家布置得更漂亮，只为将自己锚定在此时此刻。我站在我们街区一栋楼的地下室门前大笑，当时乌克兰防空系统就在我头顶正上方击落了无人机。我跑进了能找到的第一栋住宅楼，甚至拍下了那扇锁着的门——一个避难所，却被锁着——因为我想记住这一幕。我本是要去买窗帘的。
We can’t count on tomorrow so it would be rational to own less. Yet we make our homes nicer, just to anchor ourselves in the here and now I was standing in front of a locked basement door in a building in our neighbourhood, laughing, as Ukrainian air defence shot down drones directly above me. I had run into the first residential building I could reach, and I even took a photo of the locked door – a shelter, and the shelter locked – because I wanted to remember it. I was on my way to buy curtains.
出门前我并没有查看是否有警报。我只是步行出发，穿过我们的居民区，前往20分钟路程外的商店。但半路上，我头顶的天空开始爆炸——因为我决定窗户需要新窗帘，我竟突然置身于一个正在遭受攻击的城市中。我到底在笑什么？我应该感到恐惧，事实上我也很害怕。只是我仍然想要那些窗帘，而这一切的荒谬感令人发笑。
I hadn’t checked whether there was an alert before I left home. I had simply set out for the shop, 20 minutes away through our residential district, on foot. But somewhere along the way, things started exploding in the sky above me – and I was suddenly walking through a city under attack because I had decided that my windows needed new curtains. What the fuck was I laughing at? I should have been terrified, and I was. It was just that I still wanted the curtains, and the absurdity was hilarious.
戴安娜·伯格是来自马里乌波尔的乌克兰艺术家、作家和文化管理者，也是独立文化倡议组织“TU平台”的创始人，该组织在俄罗斯全面入侵后流亡海外运营。
Diana Berg is a Ukrainian artist, writer and cultural manager from Mariupol, and the founder of Platform TU, an independent cultural initiative now operating in exile after Russia’s full-scale invasion