JULY in Ukraine is absolutely brutal, making my current residence in cool and windy Scotland a privilege. One day earlier this month, the temperature in my hometown of Hola Prystan, in southern Ukraine, reached 38C.

When I was a child, this heat wasn’t a problem at all. Despite the scorching temperatures, I couldn’t resist playing football at our local stadium, one of the few sources of entertainment in our town before the widespread availability of the internet.

My childhood revolved around this place, where we gathered with friends on hot and idle summer days, enjoying our lives. However, time has brought significant changes. Now, my childhood stadium stands as a testament to a new phase of “development,” impacting not only my town but also European geopolitics.

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Euro 2024 was an exciting period for everyone who loves football. Every Scotland game turned the streets into a thunderstorm of activity. Pubs and bars in Dundee were filled with Scottish patriots.

Ukraine is more silent, even though Ukrainians love football no less than Scots. Pubs and bars remain open until curfew – but people are tired.

In the first game, Ukraine lost 3-0 to Romania, a disappointment for the Ukrainian national team, which we consider the most promising in our football history. However, the greatest disappointment wasn’t purely in the realm of football.

Every player in their interviews declared that they represented not just the Ukrainian national football team, but also our soldiers and their will to fight. As you probably saw, the first match did not reflect that will to fight. The disappointment stemmed more from the high expectations raised by the players and our managers.

What Ukraine was trying to do was remind everyone across Europe that, yes, we play football like everyone else, but simultaneously we are fighting an existential war.

Despite the fatigue of the Ukrainian people, they are still enjoying life! You appreciate life even more when you understand the possibility of losing it, or losing your loved ones. It is definitely a skill to enjoy life no matter the circumstances.

When I was 11 years old, our home-town stadium lacked a proper place to get water. The nearest place was approximately 1km away, and during breaks, we would send someone to fill a big bottle, from which all 15-20 of us would drink. Only this necessity made us stop playing and enjoying the game.

Today, I don’t think this necessity is present very often in Ukraine, but there are others. Air alarms are annoying due to their screaming sound and constant reminders of the threat to your life.

Today, kids playing football could be at grave risk regardless of whether they are outdoors or indoors. Russian missiles or Iranian drones can penetrate concrete to achieve their targets – children. Even sitting at home and watching Euro 2024 wouldn’t stop an air attack, whether you were near the frontline or in the centre of Ukraine, like Poltava, for example.

Ukrainians, like Scottish people and every European nation, love football, enjoy going to pubs and bars, and most importantly, value security for ourselves and our children.

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The big advantage of the stadium in my home town was that you always knew where to find your child. In Ukraine, there were no strict rules for securing your child, so my grandmother allowed me to go wherever I wanted, because she knew I would be at the stadium with other kids.

Today, I don’t understand the bravery of my granny in allowing me to be alone all day at such a young age. But it was a different era.

In an era of geopolitics, in which Russia has kidnapped 20,000 Ukrainian kids, a large part of them from my Kherson region, such freedom seems unimaginable. In this horrible era, many were kidnapped while playing football at the same stadium.

I feel a deep sense of nostalgia for the stadium, remembering it as a place of freedom, joy, and community during my childhood. However, this nostalgia is now tinged with sadness and loss, knowing that the same place where I once played carefree is now associated with fear and danger.

The stadium that was once a symbol of my carefree childhood has become a stark reminder of the harsh realities of our current times.

Approximately one year ago, my beloved stadium was destroyed by the floodwaters from the Kakhovka dam explosion. This place was obliterated, marking a new phase of “development” in this era of geopolitics on the European continent.

The destruction of this cherished spot is a poignant reminder of how drastically our lives and surroundings can change due to political conflicts. It’s heartbreaking to think that a place once filled with laughter and life is now a casualty of war.

Bohdan Tierokhin is studying International Relations at the University of Dundee