I tell myself every time —
"This year, I won’t cry."
But I always do.
Something about the Olympic opening ceremony
undoes me in the most beautiful way.
Maybe it’s the music.
Maybe it’s the pageantry.
Maybe it’s the idea that, for once,
every country in the world is walking together.
When the athletes enter the stadium,
one nation at a time,
flags waving,
smiles wide —
it hits me:
This isn’t just about sport.
It’s about hope.
The camera pans across faces
from every continent,
every language,
every belief.
And yet, here they are —
walking side by side
in peace.
I always pause when they show the Refugee Olympic Team.
They remind me that the Games aren’t just for the privileged.
They’re for the brave.
The brave who run without countries.
Who carry stories instead of passports.
Who remind us what resilience looks like.
Sometimes I sit in awe,
not just of the performance,
but of the presence —
the fact that we’re all watching the same thing,
together.
Between the performances,
I’ll sneak a look at our group chat —
some friends cheering for Team Korea,
others placing small picks through 우리카지노,
keeping score in their own way.
But even that — the casual betting,
the predictions —
they’re all part of the ritual.
The modern version of celebrating together.
Later in the night,
I’ll open 카지노사이트,
check the early match lineups,
see who’s already been counted out
and who just might surprise the world.
And when the final firework explodes above the stadium,
I wipe my eyes,
just like every other time.
Because the Olympic opening ceremony isn’t just a show.
It’s a reminder that, despite everything,
we still know how to dream —
together.