To Ukraine, with love, from my Indonesian heart.

Ukraine is a country so disconnected from Indonesia, by both geography and culture. However, it happens to be very close to me.

My adoptive mother was born in Mildura, Victoria, Australia. Her parents were Ukrainian immigrants who moved to Australia to create a whole new life from scratch after surviving World War 2. They moved to Geelong not long after. She grew up in Geelong where there was an active Ukrainian community. Mum even went to a Ukrainian primary school.

My mother (middle), with her mother Alexandra (left) and older brother Victor (right)

My auntie Nina managed to interview my grandmother years before she passed away. She compiled her answers in a Word document and I learnt so many things about my grandmother in just one file. I've always known my grandmother as Alexandra, however when she was born, she was named Sania, but nicknamed Shura.

Growing up under the Soviet Union was hard to say the least. Her own father died of famine at the age of 22 during the Great Depression. She was also sent to a forced labour camp in Siberia.

Eventually, Germany invaded and forced many Ukrainians to hop into a train to become low-paid or even unpaid workers in Germany (at gunpoint). My grandmother here changed her name to Alexandra to make herself sound more acceptable to the Germans. She worked in an arms factory, manufacturing bullets in Bad-Tolz, Germany, and she was also a slave under a high-ranked Nazi officer, where she was also treated like utter crap (surprise, surprise). Being Ukrainian also meant you worthed less as a human being. Just like the Jews, they also had a special badge.

The war ended but my grandma and her siblings stayed in Germany. She worked in a farm, milking the cows. Until one day she was introduced to a Ukrainian man by the name of Mykola (Ukrainian for Nikolai). Not long after being introduced, they decided to marry and they chose to move to Australia (the other choice was Canada).

I couldn't imagine a life like that. She escaped bombs while crossing the Danube on foot. The grandmother who I've always remembered as this old woman who had a smile on her face, gardening, putting her laundry up on the line, with her pomeranian dog, Mishka... had such an awful life. I never knew any of that and I wish I could have asked her more things when she was alive.

Little is known about my grandfather, Mykola. But I've always remembered my mother saying "Grandpa made our house from scratch". But it was never clear if he was the architect of the house, or he actually built it.

My grandpa and I in my grandparents' dining room, Geelong, Victoria, Australia.

My grandpa spoke basic English, but it was enough for me to have a conversation with him. I could tell he adored me, even if he didn't say much. One of the most memorable thing he ever said to me was "One day I want to get a kitten with your skin colour, it's beautiful". Towards the end of his life, he had dementia and would wake up in the middle of the night and panic, thinking that "the Nazis are after us".

The trauma of World War 2 lasted for both my grandma and grandpa's entire lives. When grandma visited me in Jakarta, I took her to a local shopping mall, and as we walked pass a gaming centre, one game made a siren noise which reminded my grandma of the siren she used to hear when the Nazis were coming. She flipped out.

My grandma left her sister in Germany when she left for Australia. The next time they saw each other again was 30 odd years later. Her sister's name is Rosemarie. She lives in Germany. Actually, I am not even sure if she is still alive. My mother and her sister Nina had a fallout years ago, so now I will never know where Rosemarie is. I suspect her name is Rosemarie Krimko. There was one Rosemarie Krimko I found in the phonebook, located in Dresden, but I am not even sure if that is actually her. I wish I coulrd really find her. This is also parallel with searching my biological family. So far, my DNA test could only show my 4th cousins in the Netherlands, from my bioligical mother's side.

When Ukraine was invaded, a part of me crumbled. My grandparents' homeland was yet again attacked and assaulted. I am glad they didn't live to see this.

While Ukraine is so remote from my biological makeup, I still grew up eating varenyky, seeing pictures of my mum in the Ukrainian traditional clothing, hearing my grandparents speaking Ukrainian. Ukraine has been a part of me since I was a child, and I only wish I could reconnect with it.