A reporter asked Lamine Yamal how he handles the pressure of carrying Spain at 18. His answer: my mother had me when she was 16, that's real pressure. My father picked things off the street to bring food home, that's pressure. All I have to do is play football.
That's the whole story of who he is, and most fans only know the surface of it.
Before he was born, his teenage parents fell behind on rent. Two neighbors named Lamine and Yamal covered them, and his father vowed his son would carry both names forever. His legal name is a permanent record of a debt his family couldn't repay in money. In Arabic, the names mean "the trustworthy" and "beauty."
His parents split when he was around 5. His mother raised him in Granollers on a fast food wage. And here's the detail almost nobody knows: that job is the reason he became a footballer. Through work she met the daughter of the youth coordinator at CF La Torreta, his first club. When she worried she couldn't cover the fees, he told her that if the boy wants to play, money will never be the reason he can't.
As a kid, Lamine told his parents: if you're counting on me getting a normal job, we're in trouble. But if I become a footballer, you'll never have to worry again.
He signed with Barcelona at 7. He was right by 15.
Every goal, he flashes 304 with his fingers. The end of 08304, the postal code of Rocafonda, the neighborhood where strangers paid his family's rent before he existed. It gets credited on every goal since.
Today, at 19, he plays for the World Cup. And if he scores tonight, somewhere in the biggest broadcast on Earth, two neighbors will hear their names, and a postal code will flash on 2 billion screens.
After this tweet, I have decided to stop posting permanently and bid farewell to everyone I had the honor of knowing here.
Writing has always been, and still is, my only escape from everything I feel. Amid this genocide, I decided to share what I wrote and expose the crimes of an occupation that can only be described as more horrific than any horror one could imagine—or fail to imagine.
Like any fool, I believed that my voice could make a difference. At first, I was eager, sharing everything my hands could write. But I do not know what you need to see or read to finally rise against all that is happening—not for our sake, but for your conscience, for your faith, so that you do not struggle with your conscience when you go to sleep, so that your free thoughts do not contradict your actions.
But it seems I am just another number, like the countless martyrs who have ascended to the sky. You will grow used to my absence, just as you have with the others. Perhaps I will be martyred, and you will never even know. I do not want to ask you to remember me—because that will not help me then. I will be in the hands of Allah, the Just, under whom no one is wronged.
I will not forgive.
april fools day is a terrible day for someone like me who is incredibly well-intentioned with a child-like spirit & wonder who likes to believe what the world whispers...
A man performing during the Kendrick Lamar halftime concert at #SuperBowl LIX unfurled a Palestinian flag and was chased off stage and finally tackled and removed by security. #SBLIX#Palestine