This is my Diamond Medal

The first day of the annual Palestine Championship has ended... but I still feel my breath suspended in the air of the pool, with the hearts of the people around me beating in my chest.

Winning in all my races was not the best thing that happened — the best part was discovering a new meaning to swimming here, in the homeland, among faces I know and who know me.
This time, victory was not what occupied my mind.
It was the feeling... the homeland... the small eyes following me... and the message I carry.

In this very place, when the call rises and everyone stands under the same flag, I feel that I am not swimming alone — I feel that the homeland swims with me.

In international competitions, I represent Palestine to raise the flag of my country, convey our cause to the world, and prove our existence.

But here... I swim for the faces that resemble mine, for the girls who take their first step on the pool tiles, for every small dream looking for someone to believe in it.

And to tell them, "You are capable... and the path that seems difficult can be crossed." And that I will carve my way until my last breath.

Every word "heroine" and "pride of us" and "may you have health" was not just support...

It held my hand without me seeing it to extinguish some fatigue, and ignite a new responsibility.

And to say: "Dream more... for we see you."

I have not seen this amount of love except here, on our land.

Little girls running toward me as if they are running toward a small Palestine inside my chest.

They ask me about speed and races, about the first time I saw an Olympic pool, and about the diving platform and whether it is high and scary, and about our team in the diaspora and how they train.

They say to me: "Lucky them... they have everything!"

So I answer them: "But they themselves want to come to Palestine, see you, and swim with you." But what they really ask is:

"Is our dream possible in this homeland?"
And I answer them:

"Possible... and more."

And about parents telling me their daughter wants to be the "next Maya."

And trainers and judges from all the clubs see in my steps a step for all of them.

And my mother comes... who doesn’t miss a moment to remind me what is more important than medals:

"Mama, there are girls who are scared... talk to them and encourage them."

"This little girl is upset because she didn’t get a medal... go talk to her."

She was picking up all the small details, as if she were showing me the meaning of being a role model before being a champion.

It pains me to see colleagues who stopped swimming due to the difficulty of mobility and lack of resources, and in contrast, this large number of swimmers participating this year gives me great hope that this sport continues to rise.

The hardest moments of the championship were reaching it, not participating in it.
Closed roads... time escaping... and trying to arrive before warm-up.
But we didn’t arrive.
And yet, we swam — as we are used to — without warming up, without platforms, without Olympic pools. But we swam with hearts of iron and in the name of Palestine and that is enough for us!

And despite everything... or perhaps because of everything... I feel here that I am not just a swimmer.

I am part of a large family called Palestine.

From this pool, my dreams grew, and from here, girls passed toward history, and from here I will continue my path... no matter how heavy the circumstances and the barriers become or how narrow the roads get.

And if my fate is to inspire just one swimmer,

to open a window of dream in the face of just one Palestinian girl...

Then this is the victory that is not made of gold, but from something more precious...

This is my diamond medal.