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This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Aleksandra "Sasha" Skochilenko, a Russian artist who was sentenced to seven years in prison in March 2022 for replacing supermarket price tags with anti-war slogans.
She was released last week as part of the prisoner swap between the US, Russia, and other countries.
The following has been edited for length and clarity.
On Thursday, an FSB officer told us we were going to be freed as part of a prisoner swap — the miracle we had been waiting and hoping for.
At first I didn't believe it — for two and a half years, I'd been lied to every single day.
I thought that I would be serving the rest of my sentence — seven years. Russian political prisoners don't have the privilege of early release.
I didn't want to be fooled by my hope; the disappointment would be too hurtful.
On the morning of the exchange, as we were being moved around, I didn't know the prisoner swap was happening. I was scared. I felt like a hostage, and I feared we might die.
The release was an extremely complicated process.
Eventually, I got to Ankara, Turkey. There, we were allowed to call our relatives and loved ones.
I called Sonia, my girlfriend, and found out that she was in Istanbul. My girlfriend and I were in the same country.
It was a fantastic feeling. In the morning, I was staying in a dark, cold cell. By that evening, I was standing on a soft carpet with air conditioning.
It was like going from zero to hero.
Courtesy of Sonia Subbotina
I was moved from Turkey to a hospital not far from Frankfurt. There, I video-called Sonia. It was… wow.
She told me she was coming to Germany, and I told the guards to let her in when she came.
When I was eventually reunited with Sonia, it was as if she hadn't changed. She was the same as she was before I was imprisoned, and it was as if we had never been separated by the system.
When we kissed, I felt like the luckiest person in the world.
About an hour later, my mom and sister came. I didn't know they were coming to meet me that day — I was very surprised.
They all knew that the only thing I wanted to do was walk, walk, walk.
Use my legs, and not with my hands behind my back.
There was a small yard in the detention center where Russia held me. I would run around and around, but it wasn't enough to be a healthy person.
What I wanted was to walk along the streets, to see the sun and the sky. The first evening I arrived, I walked to the yard and touched the flowers, grass, and trees. I just wanted to feel them.
On a bus, I saw the streets through the windows — the sky was pretty.
Three years ago, I could look at the sky and see it as plain. Now, when I look at it, I notice how bright, blue, and sunny it is, and I see all the beauty in the world.
When I was detained, those people who imprisoned me wanted me to live badly. I said, screw this, I'm going to have a very good life.
I tried to focus on the simple, good things, like seeing the sun or having a coffee — the very small things you cling to in order to live.
In jail, I didn't want to cry. I like to cry, and I know it can be helpful, but in jail, I didn't want to because there were cameras, other cellmates, guards.
If they found out I was broken, they would break me more. But when they see a person is strong and stable, they begin to respect this person.
On the day we were exchanged, however, I cried for all those two and a half years, drowning in tears that I hadn't been able to shed before.
I am still severely traumatized. I can't sleep without the light on, and I'm afraid of loud noises. I think I will spend years dealing with this trauma.
It was, after all, a sequence of traumatic experiences — my arrest, starving in the detention center, and so on.
But after my release, although I was lacking sleep, had lost my appetite, and had gone through trauma, I still feel euphoric.
I'm still amazed that I can eat with a fork, open and close a door, and shower whenever I want. These are the real privileges of free people.
It's like air. When you're breathing, you don't notice it. But when you're deprived of it, you feel its absence. This is freedom — a freedom you can only appreciate when freed.
Courtesy of Sonia Skochilenko
The main message I want the world to hear is that I'm not some kind of a special person. The only reason I ended up on that plane with politicians and foreign citizens is because of the support and media campaign to save me.
This was thanks to my loved ones, friends, and those friends I have yet to meet.
That was the entire point of the performance that got me arrested: for the world to see a story of real love.
