In the Ilocano epic of Lam-ang, the hero grows at the same rate as the plant his mother tucked into the soil when he was born. Like other epic heroes, he travels to a distant town to win the heart of a fabled beauty, but on the way he stops to bathe in …  | By Luisa A. Igloria on July 30, 2024 | In the Ilocano epic of Lam-ang,
the hero grows at the same rate
as the plant his mother tucked
into the soil when he was born.
Like other epic heroes, he travels
to a distant town to win the heart
of a fabled beauty, but on the way
he stops to bathe in the river.
Even the grime on his body must
have been epic—all the fish die,
or at least are knocked senseless.
The thing about heroes is this
expectation that they are larger
than life, more suited to the epic
struggles the rest of us would not
be able to vanquish. I wonder
how many baskets of bitter-
melon he could polish off
in one sitting, how many
coronavirus strains bounce
off his super-immune system.
To my knowledge, every hero
has a mother who wants nothing
more than his safety (perhaps even
at the expense of happiness). Why
do all the books talk about the tragic
flaw of the hero, but never about
the tragic wound his mother has
to endure? It takes an epic amount
of resolve not to crumble in the face of
catastrophe, which is sometimes called
fate, and other times just life. | | | |
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