When you part from your friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. - kalil gibran

the mountain I just climbed is clear than ever. It all started with a video. I saw someone named Murtadha Al-Tameemi sharing his thoughts, not by giving answers, but by asking questions that guided us to our own. He became my role model. I participated in his community challenges, failing twice, haunted by the thought that I would never be successful. But the third time, I held on, driven by a goal deep inside my heart. I committed for 40 days. Then came the opportunity: a 10-day trip to Turkey. My first thought was, "They will never choose me." I saw others who were fabulous, doing great things. Why me? I had no money in my pocket and had to ask for a full scholarship, which only cemented my belief that I would be rejected. But I applied. And I got an interview. I met Murtadha, my model star, and I was so captivated I couldn't prepare. I just talked and smiled. Then, I waited.

One day, feeling sad about my life, I went to sleep in our courtyard. A notification lit up my phone:

“مبرووووك ليث 🎉🎉🎉 كلش سعيدين ان نقدم لك دعوة الى سفرة تركيا 🥳👯‍♀️”

I ran to my family, shouting, "I got accepted!" The mountain that seemed so distant was now at my feet.

I remember reading a line in the pre-trip agreements: "We will indeed laugh a lot, but we might also cry a lot" I laughed at the thought of crying. How could I cry on a dream trip with my role model? Now, from the plain, I see it clearly: the best thing that happened to me on that mountain was that I cried. I cried a lot. Not tears of exhaustion or victimhood, but tears of transformation.

Some were tears of pure joy. But most were tears of recognition, of seeing myself for who I truly am, of watching my past and my present finally shake hands. In a circle of 14 souls who had become a family, I shared things I thought I would never tell anyone. But this journey wasn't just about the deep currents of the soul. It was also about the wild waves of the body. The same vulnerability that allowed me to cry gave me the courage to stretch beyond my limits. For the first time in my life, I danced. In a sea I had never swum in before, I swam to "THE ROCK" all by myself. On a morning run, surrounded by my new family, I took off my T-shirt and let the sun hit my skin without shame.

Do you think it was only a trip of joy and tears? No. It was a school of life , teaching lessons you can't find in books.

I learned how the ocean breathes with life, taking and giving without judgment.

I learned how to find peace in the heart of chaos.

I learned how a single penny of presence is richer than a pocketful of gold.

I learned how to walk on a slackline when there was no earth under my feet, a lesson not about balance, but about trust.

I learned that I have two families: the one I was born into, and the one I chose on a mountain in Turkey.

And now, I live with a smile on my face. When I see a stranger on the street, I feel a genuine love for them. I don't know their story, but I know that somewhere inside them, there is a golden chest of goodness. I believe now, truly, that all of us are one.

If I had to distill this journey into three words, they would be:

Learn, Joy, Gratitude

Learn : I learned from every moment. I learned that leadership isn't about having answers, but about asking the right questions. I learned that our group was not made of "facilitators" and "participants," but of family.

Joy : We weren't just happy; we were joyful. Happiness is a fleeting visitor, but joy is a deep, quiet river. It was the joy of swimming to "THE ROCK," feeling the cold water and the warm sun at the same time. It's a feeling you can only know when you feel it yourself.

Gratitude : I felt gratitude in every breath. I feel it now, for my two families, for my life, and even for the tree in the courtyard that I used to sleep under—the same tree that witnessed my dreams long before they came true.

This journey left me with one question, a question that now echoes in my mind every day: