"There's no work in Ukraine," said my father, appearing in my life when I was 18. He invited me to join him in the Czech Republic. His letters (2003–2007) about solitary life abroad embody a desire not to forget the period of transformation in Ukraine. The voice-over belongs to a person who doesn’t exist in reality, the better to correspond to a voice of a person who doesn’t exist in my life, but whose voice I hear when reading the letters addressed to someone who perhaps didn’t exist either.
