Most spiritual guides and traditions tell us that giving is actually receiving, but until this summer I really could not understand or practically relate to this concept firsthand.

I’ve lived most, if not all, of my life in a competitive environment, be it academic or athletic. In the rat race to get ahead, I’ve always focused on myself and been a victim of tunnel vision, unconsciously. But I recently got a chance to see the “bigger picture”, to look beyond my own world, my own life and its problems, and truly understand that giving and receiving go hand in hand.

Being a national swimmer and a part of the Sindh Women’s Swimming team, I was invited to be a coach for the Special Olympics swimming training camp this summer. I had never anticipated just how much I would come to enjoy and love it.

I am an introvert by nature, so opening up to strangers is not easy. Dealing with children was virtually an unknown territory. I was someone who was more interested in spending time on my own either studying or swimming, focused on producing results. I found children to be somewhat irritating and high-maintenance. Perhaps this was an outcome of being an only child and having barely any family in Karachi.

All of this changed on June 13, 2016, my first day as a coach to a bunch of wonderful children.

I saw everyone looking at me, the parents expectantly and the children with teeming curiosity. In those few moments, I became worried that maybe I didn’t have it in me to take the first step, maybe they could meet me halfway on the bridge of trust so that we might continue this five-week journey together as teacher and students.

My friend Anushe took that step without thought, as I knew she would. I am always in awe of her natural spontaneity. I found myself following suit and without even realising it, I had taken a girl by the hand, who had easily obliged. In no time, I found myself willing to engage with the children, while also trying to be assertive, a fine line that was initially blurry.

We were a total of four coaches surrounded by an unorganised crowd of about 25 children. On the periphery, parents changed their children out of their clothes and into their costumes. They nudged them towards us, hoping to give them the confidence that they could not muster themselves.

It was then that I realised why I had so naturally assumed a role that seemed so out of character for me. These children were in unchartered territory as well. Here they were placing their trust in the hands of strangers, who would teach them a sport like swimming, which was equally strange and unheard of in this part of the world. They had more reason to be terrified than I was and it was my job to placate their fears and replace it with confidence in themselves.

After making them exercise, rather clumsily, we led them towards the kiddie pool. While I thought that the difficult part was over, little did I know that it was just beginning. Some of the daring ones went in with no trouble but others had to be coaxed and each responded in their own unique way to this challenge.

I can’t remember what I was like at their age, whether I embraced swimming from the start or learned to love it. What I do know is that now swimming is not a form of exercise to me, it’s a reflex action. When I jump in the pool, my arms and legs immediately start moving in freestyle, perfected by years of training. But the contrast I see everyday never fails to amaze me.

After the children were comfortable in the kiddie pool, we took them into the big pool. At first I couldn’t understand how something that requires no thought, like jumping in the pool, scared them enough to question the trust we’d built, some of them even went back to square one.

At the end of that first day, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I cherished each and every moment with these children. They probably taught me more than I was able to pass on to them. Their faces, their quirks were ingrained in my mind.

The troublemaker, Ishan who always spit water in a stream when he dips his head in the water, Fizzah’ beautiful and contagious smile always lit me up, Madisha who kept saying “nahi” while waving her hands frantically, every time we tried to make her leave the steps and come into the pool, Ali had tape on his ears to prevent an ear infection, Bismah who seemed so at ease in the water, Zuneira, who refused to listen to us and made a fuss when we come near her, Aamna was always bursting with energy, Anika always clung to me so tightly once she was in the pool, Saim who needed both me and Anushe to hold his hands as he screamed with excitement when moving into deeper waters, Rehan, who without fail, sat down every time we began to exercise and I had to pick him up and force him to stretch.

But it was not only the children who amazed me but their determined parents as well. They came from far and near, bringing their children at 8am sharp. The parent-child bond was so strong that it was almost palpable. I see the innocent, pure and unconditional love that can only be shared by a parent and their child. Growing up had dimmed that child like love in me but the pride I saw in a parent’s eyes when they saw their child swimming was irreplaceable.

Each parent came to the front to take a video of their child. By default we too were in the video, me and the child waving to a parent, grinning ear to ear. I found this to be the best part of my experience because I felt, for the first time in my life, that I was doing something meaningful and a part of something bigger than myself. I felt touched.

I came into this hoping to pass on my knowledge and experience to someone else, not anticipating that in the process I too would be enlightened along the way. In Pakistan, it is an unspoken but ubiquitous stigma that children with a disability may not be able to do everything we can. That somehow they are less than we are and hence sympathised with. That myth was shattered to pieces when I interacted with them. It was amazing how they were just the same as anyone else, with the same feelings of laughter, pain, joy, suffering, anger and, above all, love.

As for me, I still aim to study hard, swim competitively and achieve goals but something else has entered my life. In a way, these children helped me find a sense of pure joy and purpose beyond living for myself that I probably would have never had without my interaction with them.

Perhaps, this is what is meant when they say that giving is receiving.

Published in Dawn, Young World, September 10th, 2016