Somewhere in an apartment building in Kyiv, Ukraine, sits an unwashed coffee cup on a desk next to a stack of schoolbooks for a high school sophomore with the world ahead of her. Every day for the past three years, that same student—now a first-year international affairs major at the George Washington University—has hoped and prayed that she will one day have the opportunity to put those objects away.
At this point, of course, the coffee mug and books are merely metaphors for home, and their preservation represents hope. And the world ahead of her now is so vastly different.
Because when Mariia Prishchak and her family left for their annual family vacation to the Hawaiian island of Oahu in February 2022—carrying just one suitcase for the entire family of five that included her parents and two younger sisters, the Russian military had not yet launched the largest full-scale attack on a European country since World War II. Its presence on Ukraine’s eastern border at the time the Prishchaks left for their tropical trip was chalked up by some as an intimidation tactic in an ongoing eight-year struggle that started when Russia first invaded and then annexed Crimea in 2014.
“Everyone knew something might happen, but no one really believed it,” Prishchak said.
Then at roughly 4 p.m. Hawaii time on Feb. 23—which was the early morning hours of Feb. 24 at home in Eastern Europe, the world as her family knew it changed forever. With a simultaneous air and ground attack, war had become a haunting reality.
As she was at the beach some 7,600 miles away from home, Prishchak received a text from her mother to come to the hotel immediately.
“When I got back, she was crying. My dad was on the phone, speaking with multiple people, and I turned on my phone to see messages from friends in Ukraine saying, ‘We hear sounds, we don’t know what’s happening. Is the war starting?’” Prishchak said. “It felt like a nightmare. One minute I was at the beach with my family, and the next I was hearing that my home, my family and my friends were in danger.”
Keeping their return tickets for two weeks later, the Prishchaks were hopeful peace would prevail. But that would prove to be just that—hopeful. The war still rages on nearly one million injuries and deaths—many of those civilian—later.
The Prishchaks have never left Hawaii, forced to build a new life on the island while constantly keeping tabs on their former one, where every day they check in on the safety of their loved ones, neighbors, teachers and friends. To Prishchak’s knowledge, her family’s apartment building in Kyiv, where her entrepreneurial parents owned and operated a cosmetic company they are still trying to run from afar today, is still standing.
The family is forever grateful to the Hawaiian communities who embraced and supported them.
In the years that have followed, Prishchak has found herself constantly explaining that her family didn’t just choose to leave their homeland in wartime. They were stuck abroad. It has felt wrong, Prishchak said, to be anchored in Hawaii when people she loved faced constant danger back home.
“It’s a tough conversation, but I’m trying to stay connected with the place I came from,” Prishchak said. “I follow my high school on social media, and I see how brave the kids are, like these first graders who draw pictures for soldiers on the front lines while hiding in basements. It’s so inspiring.”
What has happened the past three years has inspired Prishchak herself to go down a different route.
When she left for Hawaii in 2022, she was 16 and had ambitions of being an entrepreneur like her parents. She admittedly wasn’t interested in politics. But after the war broke out, Prishchak vividly remembered a conversation with her father about why powerful people and entities choose physical force over diplomacy. “Why can’t we just all talk it out and avoid war?” she asked him.
Her father suggested that if she wanted to dig deeper, perhaps she should study international affairs, political science or diplomacy.
“I realized this was much more interesting than sitting in an office with red lipstick every day,” Prishchak said, grateful for her parents’ support in this career path pivot. She soon began researching “best colleges for international affairs” using ChatGPT.
GW was near the top of that list. Scott Liedtke, the college counselor at Oahu’s Le Jardin High School, confirmed what AI had spit out to her.
“Once the reality hit that college in the U.S was going to be a viable option due to the ongoing situation in Ukraine, Mariia and I had lots of conversations about college and the college process in the United States,” Liedtke said. “She ended up applying to a handful of schools and ultimately made the best decision for herself, attending GW. She possesses change-making qualities with a genuine interest in those around her. GW made a great choice.”
Prishchak earned three diplomas while in Hawaii—the one from Le Jardin, its International Baccalaureate program and one from back home in Ukraine, where she finished her coursework online.
“I couldn't be more complimentary of Mariia's resilience, determination and pragmatic approach,” Liedtke added.
After the GW admissions office diligently worked to accommodate her extraordinary circumstances, Prishchak began her study of international affairs in fall 2024 with ambitions of using her education and the diplomatic skills she gains at the university to contribute to rebuilding her own country after the war.
“I dream of returning to Ukraine as a professional, as someone who can help rebuild, maybe as a diplomat or in foreign service,” said Prishchak, at GW on a student visa.
She has immersed herself in her studies and extracurriculars at GW. Outside the classroom, Prishchak is active in Delta Phi Epsilon, a dance team, and both the Ukrainian and Hawaiian student associations. She is invigorated with how driven people are around her.
Her first semester confirmed her confidence that she made the right decision to come to GW and D.C., and she’s constantly reminded of her “why.” She has drawings from her sisters above her desk in Thurston Hall, and a family friend recently mailed a brown winter coat she had in Ukraine, which she has been wearing around Foggy Bottom during this cold stretch of D.C. weather.
Above her bed is a Ukrainian flag signed by some of the country’s elite former rowers, including her godfather. “It's a really meaningful gift, knowing that they haven’t forgotten us and that they’re still waiting for us to return,” Prishchak said.
Many of the places she loved are either destroyed or under renovation. The metro station she used to take to school, for instance, is gone. It’s heartbreaking for her to think that one day she might wake up to the news that her home in the city center is no longer there, but she holds on to hope that it doesn’t happen.
“It’s incredible how, even in the face of such horrible things happening, Ukrainians keep fighting for each other and keep their spirits high,” Prishchak said.
“I pray that Ukraine stays strong and that the future is brighter for everyone.”
Prishchak knows that whenever she does go home, it won’t be the same. Nothing ever will be in Ukraine.
