Heroes

You’re not the guy who got shot twenty-something years ago at the airport. You’re not the widowed lady who made millions out of nothing—not yet, anyway. You’re not the fresh college graduate pulling 2:00 AM shifts just to afford a night out and an iPad.

You’re the little girl. The one I saw at 4:30 AM this morning.

You’re the one waiting for a jeepney in the fading shadows of dawn, hoping to catch an early ride to school. It’s nothing fancy. You wear a white blouse and a green checkered skirt that you probably pull on every single morning. You drag behind you a pink Barbie stroller bag, its plastic shell reflecting what little light there is at this hour of the day.

Did I mention you are only ten years old? And what’s brilliant is that you probably do this every single day.

You strive, admirably.

I do hope you become something big. In thirty years, I hope you change people's lives. You probably won't sit on a talk show and cry about your past; instead, your beautiful life will be shared quietly around a lunch table with coworkers, or whispered to your husband and grandkids. You aren't going to be one of those people bragging about owning a house by twenty-five, only to feel utterly devastated when it doesn't happen. You are realistic, and you are beautiful. Your goal is simply to work, expecting nothing more than what you earn. We don’t inherent all these windfalls. Who, apart from the people who don’t actually work at all, ever convinced us that we are entitled to a break?

You strive, admirably. Because at ten years old, you are a hero. An unknown among many.

— A fan