There’s a story on the news today, about an 18-year-old Syrian girl, a swimmer, who is competing in the Rio Olympics on the refugee team. A rough year ago, she and her sister jumped off a broken dinghy on its way from Turkey to Lesvos and swam for three-and-a-half hours in the choppy, cold Aegean waters, guiding it to shore, saving the lives of 20 people.
Two things in this story strike me to unexplainable joyous tears: there is a refugee team in the Olympics, comprised of displaced people from warzones of the Middle East. It’s the first thing that’s made me smile since this tragedy, that has hit so close to my home, began.
And a girl who has had her home destroyed by a bomb, survived, in fact, her whole family survived, made it to Germany, and within a tiny span of a year, is swimming for this incredible, pioneering team. They should all get medals, though all they are hoping for is a personal best. All the gold in the world belongs to them.
When I was a kid, there was this terrible, cheesy 80s show on TV. Those in my age group will remember, it was called “That’s Incredible.” Nothing half this incredible happened back then. Nothing this human. Though our definition of “incredible” today, defies the word of yesterday.
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