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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