Opinion | I Left Ukraine 20 Years Ago. But It Never Left M

I was born in Lviv in 1978. Then in the Soviet Union, the city had belonged to Poland for about 400 years and been a place where Poles, Ukrainians, Jews and Armenians lived side by side. In my youth, I was suffused with this borderland identity and thought of myself as existing at the intersection of cultures, never fully beholden to one. So when the Soviet Union fell, I wasn’t very interested in the new Ukrainian state. Instead, I longed to see Paris, Rome and Madrid, with their churches and museums, even if it meant half-starving, sleeping in parks and hitchhiking.

After my travels, I wanted to settle somewhere — and chose Poland, fulfilling my grandmother’s dream of living in the country. I didn’t even call it emigration: My hometown, after all, was only about 185 miles away. But after Poland joined the European Union in 2004, the border between the two countries, previously so easily passed, was garlanded with barbed wire. To get into the country, Ukrainians had to wait in a special line, much longer than E.U. citizens.

I began to dream about the abolition of the border. If Ukraine joined the European Union, say, I would be able to cherish once more my borderland identity — and things could look a bit like the Second Polish Republic, the interwar state where Poles, Ukrainians and other nationalities lived side by side. It was not, of course, an idyll: The Polish state dealt harshly with minorities, and Ukrainians who wanted to study in their own language or practice their religion faced oppression. Between Ukraine and Poland, there are still many “no-go areas.”

At the time, I didn’t really think of myself as Ukrainian. I was from Lviv, spoke Russian, Polish and Ukrainian, and lived in Poland: That seemed like enough. But as I was dreaming about the border falling between us, the Orange Revolution — a series of protests that expressed not only Ukrainians’ opposition to corruption but also, more profoundly perhaps, their European longings — broke out in Ukraine in 2004. At a solidarity demonstration in Krakow, I found myself, for the first time in my life, holding the blue-and-yellow flag. It was, my friend said, the conception of my Ukrainian identity.

For the next decade or so, it went no further. I have relatives and friends on both sides of the border, and I was regularly here and there. I followed events in Ukraine at a distance, as if wary of what could come from full immersion. I knew some educated, talented young Ukrainians who tried to build the new country. After a couple of years they were broken, burned out and bitterly disappointed by corruption that seemed to be unconquerable. In Poland, meanwhile, I continued to build a life for myself. I married, had children and worked away at my first novel, inspired in part by the colorful Ukrainian revolution.