Her big brown eyes gazed at me as I entered. I wanted to look around, take it all in, but her gaze was compelling, and I couldn’t look away. Her name was Aya, and she was 11, and her eyes were fixated directly on me. Seeing our interaction, her mom started sharing Aya’s story. While Aya was walking home from school with her best friend, a bomb hit, killing her friend right in front of her. She had not spoken in a full year since the incident. As her mother spoke, I stared at Aya, and for the first time in my life, felt truly helpless.

Since 2011, I’d witnessed the aftermath of the Syrian Civil War on the streets of Istanbul, Turkey, through the constant trickle of besieged refugees begging in the streets. I was 15, and this trip visiting Aya made me realize that what I had been seeing in my hometown was only a small portion of a broader picture to which I was blind. Previously, I’d applied to various organizations asking for a chance to help, but they all gave me the same reply: “You’re too young.” After doing research, I learned that one of the greatest refugee populations in Turkey was in Gaziantep: a short two-hour flight from Istanbul. That’s how I found myself in Aya’s house during my winter break.

I don’t believe in miracles. As a realist, I trust anything can be achieved by hard work, but on that day, I found myself questioning these principles and wishing for a miracle. Throughout my life, I’ve always felt lucky, having an excellent education and stable home life to be grateful for. Even though my country is beset by political unrest and I experienced the beginning of a civil war this summer, I grew up surrounded by different cultures, religions, and languages, in a family that always gives me a chance to pursue amazing opportunities. Counting my own blessings, I wanted to help children like Aya, to give them their hopes and dreams back, and to raise awareness about Syrian refugees in my country. More importantly, I wanted to create the opportunity for others like me to help as well.

Upon my return to boarding school, I founded an NGO, the Give A Hand Organization, and enlisted the help of my friends and the local community. The next summer (2015), after receiving sponsorship from Hasan Kalyoncu University, a local university in Gaziantep, ten of my friends and I traveled to Gaziantep to help Aya and other refugee children for fifteen days. Such small gestures as delivering food, playing educational games and offering the children comfort they had so long been missing made a true difference.

“Are you coming again tomorrow?”

A voice I’d never heard. Aya. The first words in over a year.

I’d witnessed a true miracle. At that instant, I knew I wanted to expand Give A Hand. By pitching my goals and successes to local universities and major firms, I raised $120,000 for students around the world to come volunteer. By the end of summer 2016, we’d built a library, two child-friendly spaces, and a playground for Syrian refugee children. We’d grown to a community of forty-five student volunteers from five different high schools, with 27 Syrian refugee children registered under Give A Hand as our little siblings, whose education we would support until they attended college.

This summer, one of the organizations (ASAM) that had originally told me that I was too young collaborated with Give A Hand. I subsequently gave a presentation about Give A Hand to the Foreign Service and Cultural Affair officers of the American Consulate. Give A Hand opened my eyes to the idea that being “too young” or “too inexperienced” does not and should not outweigh following your passion.

Now I know that miracles are not only real but very possible...with the right inspiration.