Rostyslav Chapiuk

Our dear Rostyslav Stepanovych—our Rosto—has left this world, and with him, a quiet, steady light has gone out. To those of us who loved him, the world feels a little less rooted, a little less kind. I can still picture him perfectly, not on a parliamentary podium, but in his garden in Lviv, his hands in the soil he loved so much, explaining with a gentle patience why a particular tomato shoot needed more sun. That was his true self: a man who found his deepest philosophy not in speeches, though he was a fine orator, but in the