I was an active girl. I got second place in a running contest, and I went to another city and got first place. I challenged myself to run about one hour from my house to the cemetery to visit my father. Then the war started.
In one day everything changed, on September 13, 2012, when I was 18 years old. I was at home with my family when a series of bombs was dropped on my neighborhood. The room I was in was hit directly and sustained most of the damage. As a result of this attack, I was left with a very serious injury that caused me to lose the lower half of my left leg. On my way to the hospital, I did not care how much I was bleeding or about my pain. I just wanted to know if my family was alive.
When I woke up from the operation, my mum was crying, but when I saw her I felt comfortable. Then the doctor came and he talked to my mum near the door; I heard him ask if she could buy me an artificial leg, and he laughed and said it is so expensive. At that moment I felt the disappointment for me and from her. I asked my mum what he said. She told me I would be fine and everything was good. The doctor came back and told me, “I know you participated in the running Olympics, but now you know you cannot participate anymore.” He explained this to me in a way that I felt my pain and reality were much bigger than my dreams. Pity in the eyes of my family was killing that ambitious girl. I thought I would get a leg to help me to retrain my dream, stronger than before, but I actually feel much pain when I wear it. I prefer to not wear it, and I would like to get a better leg so I could complete my dream and start my completion again. I know the war took my leg and my dream from me, but it also gave the hope of making me stronger than before (nothing is impossible).