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The Heroic and Mesmerizing Her(o)

The Heroic and Mesmerizing Her(o)

Hiba Zaidi

One city, three women, three situations, millions of emotions, billions of tears and trillions of pains. Pains, tears and emotions that the world turns a blind eye to. The heroes, we deny acknowledging.

The Pretty, Limping Woman

The Pretty, Limping Hero

On the corner of the street stands a peculiar little building. Even more odd is the girl that goes in every day. Her eyes are a hazel brown that light up like melted honey in the sun, her nails always painted a blush pink to match her rosy cheeks, her dresses always have odd red stains on them, and her face always seems like the texture of the cakes she so ardently adores baking at the café. 

No one notices her slight limp, no one notices the expensive car she comes out the passenger side of, no one notices the man watching her with hawk eyes, waiting for her to fumble. Still, she keeps her head up, ploughing through the day. 

The Professional Tears

The Professional Tears

On the other side of town, there is another woman, with a painted-on smile, and death traps on her feet. She has stopped wearing makeup, her feminity being too controversial for the office. They dig into her brain and run away, waving around ideas her mind conjures up. Credit is due but never given. 

She tries to construct towers of syllables and words, hoping to soothe the pain in her debris-filled mouth. She wishes she could spit those words out, like bombs on paper. She hopes someday these catastrophic attempts to be free will bear fruit but until then she writes. Her fingers can no longer emulate anything other than fractions. So she writes in fragments and rearranges them, and rearranges them, and rearranges them, hoping that one day they form something whole.

The Birthgiver

The Birthgiver
The Birthgiver

There is another woman. She has been alone since 15, left with nothing but a goodbye note and a tiny being growing inside of her. All alone, she works 3 jobs, trying to create a better life for her baby boy. Her mouth is a bombed-out building, her tonsils the twin towers. She speaks with an accent, the natural inflexions of her voice taking sharp turns at the subway terminal that is her mouth. The twang of her English speech feels like rubble between her lips, her native language locked away in the depths of her brain. And the girl speaks in fragments because when she speaks, she is never wholly home.

Pardon me, but when someone says their favourite hero is a man who wears his underwear over his pants, I laugh. I laugh because my hero is her. Every her who has had to endure the patronizing compliments and accidental touches on her thighs slurred words across the bar and judgmental stares at the park with her child.

So my hero is her because her heroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

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So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

See Also

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

So my hero is her because her eroism isn’t in her ability to control minds or fly. It is beautiful, deep down to her soul which holds other souls. And her beauty, her beauty is not for something as transient as her looks, but for her love, and courage, and audacity to exist loudly, despite the world telling her not to. She exists in iterations, layers upon layers that peel back to reveal sugar, spice, and everything nice, and snips and snails, and puppy dog tails and anything she wants to be and more.

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