By Hana Al Dayyat
OCA Young Reporter
Sanya, China, April 30, 2026: Being here at the Asian Beach Games in Sanya is not something I will ever simply remember, it is something I will feel on my skin for the rest of my life.
I came here expecting to report on scores and medal counts. I did not expect to find a deeper, almost overwhelming sense of pride in being Jordanian.
But Sanya changed me. Before I even saw a single competition, I was stopped by the warmth of the people here. The locals are not just welcoming, they are genuinely generous, offering help, cold water, and smiles that need no translation.
And the volunteers? They are everywhere, running between venues before dawn, exhausted but never losing their radiant energy. They made a strange city feel like home. They made me forget I was thousands of miles away from my own country.
What I loved the most in Sanya was the light. Not just the tropical sun reflecting off the sea, but the light in the eyes of our champions. And the highlight? That is easy. It was not one moment, but a symphony of them. Watching Jordan win match after match felt like witnessing a miracle become routine. Every time our national anthem played, my throat tightened.
Pride, I realized, is not quiet. It is a roar that builds in your chest until you have no choice but to let it out. But even in those roaring moments, I never felt alone. Because Sanya had already wrapped itself around me like a second home, welcoming, generous, and full of heart
Each sport told a different story, yet all were connected by the same spirit of determination, discipline, and raw emotion.
In handball, I saw a storm. The team moved as one living creature, intense, unified, fighting for every point with a passion that never flickered, even under the crush of pressure.
In jiu jitsu, the world shifted to a whisper. Precision and mental strength ruled here; every movement was a chess piece, every match a war of patience and control.
Wrestling brought a different kind of fire, raw, primal, emotional. Every second on the mat reflected years of sacrifice. Finally, in aquathlon, I witnessed something close to poetry. Athletes pushed through exhaustion with quiet, unbreakable will, their bodies screaming to stop, their hearts refusing to listen.
Seeing Jordan represented across these sports made me realize the depth of talent and commitment within our athletes. No matter the discipline, they carried the same identity with pride.
But this journey was not mine alone. And I cannot tell this story without honoring the people who carried me through it.
There is Mr. Jeans Zhou Jian, the Director of Media and Broadcast. He was the calm eye of every storm. When deadlines crushed me and technology failed, he simply smiled and said, "We fix. We move." His professionalism taught me that broadcasting a Games is like conducting an orchestra.
Then there is Mr. Jeremy Walker, the Chief Editor. I did not expect to find a mentor in him. I certainly did not expect to find a friend. Mr. Jeremy has a quiet way of seeing right through you. He would take my drafts messy, rushed, full of doubt, and instead of simply correcting them, he would send me the comments and advice to do in the next articles. Mr. Jeremy taught me that editing is not about fixing errors. It is about rescuing the heart that got buried under the pressure. I will carry his kindness with me for the rest of my career.
And Cris Zhou Jiewen, Cris helped us in everything: logistics, management, the thousand small disasters that no one ever sees. She was the shadow that made the light possible. When my recorder died ten minutes before an interview, Cris appeared beside me with a fully charged one. When I felt lost in the chaos of the media center, she was always there calm, capable, and impossibly kind. She never wanted credit. She never asked for thanks. She just worked, quietly and tirelessly. And without her, this journey would have cracked into a hundred pieces.
Most of all, there is Mr. Hamzeh Dawaimeh, the Director of Media at the Jordan Olympic Committee. He did not just help me. He stood next to me through everything. When I doubted my words, he believed in them. When homesickness crept in, when the distance from Amman felt unbearable, he reminded me why we were here. He taught me that being a reporter is not about being a spectator. It is about being a witness with a heart wide open. He protected me, guided me, and never once let me feel alone. Mr. Hamzeh saw something in me that I did not yet see in myself, and he refused to let me forget it. Every victory I wrote about, he celebrated like it was his own.
This experience has strengthened my pride in my country in a way I will never forget. Watching my team across four different sports was not just about reporting, it was about feeling, understanding, and carrying that pride with me in every story I told. Sanya gave me medals and matches. But it also gave me a family: Mr. Jeans, Mr. Jeremy, Cris, and Mr. Hamzeh. And it gave me back my country, larger and more luminous than I ever knew.