Segregation is the enemy of belonging.

São Paulo-Brasil, 2002.

I was fourteen years old. I have been practising Olympic gymnastics for over seven years now. I started fresh, without knowing how to do a black flip, and I turned out good, really good.

When I started to practice, I was in first grade. It was the first time the school included Olympic gymnastics in its curriculum. That year, they hired only one trainer, so they selected a few kids (based on their performance in physical education class). I remember feeling extremely happy seeing the invitation on my school agenda.

On the first day of practice, some girls stared, pointed fingers, and made fun of me. I went back home discouraged, unsure if I would be back to practice. I told my mother, who used that moment to teach me a valuable lesson. She said I could give up on something because of someone else's judgements or keep doing what I like despite that. That life-changing advice guided me to choose myself.

I loved gymnastics so much that I became the best in the school. I would be selected to have a solo moment in the group presentation. I could train in the boys class, the only girl allowed to be there. And I even got to inspire younger girls to become even better than me — Talita, eu sempre lembro de você com tanto amor e carinho por toda troca que tivemos nessa jornada.

I remember dreaming about being an athlete in the Olympic games and dedicating myself to it. Practising was challenging but an undeniable confidence builder. The trainer would give me a goal, and I would work hard to achieve it and only stop when I did. I even cried out of gratitude and happiness the first time I succeeded in doing a back mortal with no hands. I had been practising that for months, and the double flick flak was too easy by then.

I knew the minimum age to participate in an Olympic game was sixteen, and I had two years of training before I could qualify. The dream was not such a public thought, and I remember when I decided to share it.

You know, you won't be allowed into the Olympics, right?

It was like an ice-cold bucket was thrown over me. The idea I had been cultivating and working hard towards was not accessible to me.

But you can focus on the Paralympics.

I felt confused, betrayed and excluded. Why were there two Olympic games? Why segregate people based on their bodies? Once again, I was reinforced that inclusion exists throughout exclusion. I remember questioning the person, but nothing could justify that. It was impossible to shake out of my head the idea that an integrated Olympic could not exist.

The negative emotions that originated in that conversation were reason enough to discourage my dream, and that year, I stopped practising. It was not an easy decision, and neither was the first time I was externally limited by owning an unalike body. But I could not see a reason to keep going at that moment.

Recently, I met two Paralympic athletes, and I wondered what would have happened if I had kept pursuing my dream. I continue to find it really hard to understand how, in the 21st Century, we do not have an integrated Olympic game. I am well aware of accessibility needs and different implications that impact both events production, but once again, why segregate? As an experienced producer, I know for a fact that it is absolutely possible.

Segregation is the enemy of belonging. By allowing it to exist, we are once again including by excluding. It is time for things to change. It has been time for a while now.