Once I read about a wishing lamppost that answered wishes in a place where nobody believed in them. My wish for a first female president didn’t come true and I am still wishing the UK will take in Yazidi sex slave survivors, that Russia will stop bombing Aleppo and that all children can go to school. Ten years ago in a muddy field in Helmand surrounded by Taleban, I wished more than anything not to die. Somehow, miraculously, that wish was granted. But I have never wished anything more than when my son was born 11 weeks early weighing less than a bag of sugar and in a scary intensive care unit linked to an array of tubes and flashing lights. Now he is taller than me and applying for university. If I had a wishing lamppost I would thank it every day.
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