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I Want to Be Like Him

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I admire Zidane so much.

He's strong. Incredibly strong. He's fearless. He can charge into a battle and defend those he loves without question. Without any sort of thought of the consequences.

Some may call that recklessness, and maybe it is. But it doesn't matter to me what it is. What matters to me is the decisiveness. The confidence and trust he places in himself. He doesn't hesitate. He makes critical decisions in battle.

Reckless . . . he wears it with such confidence that you'd never know the difference between flying by the seat of his pants or a carefully concocted plan.

And he's not only strong when we fight monsters. He's strong when he tells all of us that we're strong. He's strong when he asks nothing from us but gives us all that he can. When he loses something dear to him, he commits his entire being to getting it back, no matter what he has to sacrifice in return. He gives us his strength and he gives us his jokes and his theatrics. And like the wisest of sages, when we're at our worst and we think we can't possibly go on, he gives us these little gems of wisdom. Little inspirations and the softest of affirmations that remind me so much of my grandpa before he stopped.

He's witty and coy. He's smart, and brave, and amorous, and theatrical, and . . . I admire him so much. I want to be like him. I want to be strong like him.

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Who could've ever guessed that a common thief could be so chivalrous?

What a juxtaposition. A chivalrous law-beaker. A dirty, peasant thug with a moral compass.

He bends and breaks the rules to get what he wants. He sometimes pretends the rules don't even exist. He doesn't have a care in the world for authority or rank. He laughs in the face of grave situations, like he can't be bothered by them despite their gravity.

He kidnapped my princess.

I made my initial dislike of him tangible. I tried hard to let him know how much I despised his kind. I tried hard to make him dislike me just as much as I disliked him. To my infuriation, it never seemed to bother him. My quips and jabs never got under his skin, and he delivered his own with such a bright and happy mood that I'm sure he was kidding more than half the time. He never once reciprocated my open disgust. I'm not sure he ever could say he 'hated' anyone. Even me, who deserved his scorn.

I overreacted at him. I yelled more than once. I let my personal convictions blind me to the goodness and grace of the small man in front of me.

He protects Princess Garnet - which is more than I could ever thank him for. He's saved her life and all of our lives on more than one occasion, rivaling the strength and chivalry of a real knight. He ignores the rules if they get in the way of the right thing to do. He follows his heart and is humble enough to apologize when he is wrong. At every turn he reminds me that my hatred was unwarranted. He's really a gentleman. He really does his absolute best to keep all of his friends safe - even me. Even me, who so openly hated him for so long. He reminds me of how gracious he is. How noble he can be and how brave he can be for a cause that is noble. He is incredible.

I owe him many debts, on my behalf and Her Highness'. But I hope that if ever anyone owes me, I can be as gracious in it as he is.

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He confuses the hell out of me.

In addition to being ridiculously strong in battle, he's a know-it-all. You can ask him any question and he knows the answer. Real deep stuff, too. Philosophical stuff that was always way beyond my realm of understanding.

That little black mage asked him, "What does it mean to live?" That little monkey gave him an answer so profound, he spent days contemplating it and coming back with more questions about death.

His girlfriend asked him, "What does it mean to live without regret?" He gives her examples. He gives her experiences and his own interpretations. And it sounds so damn true and sensical that even I have a hard time thinking he just pulled it from his ass.

What confuses the hell out of me is that there's only one question that can stump him.


Why didn't he kill me when I lost that battle with him? He stumbles and stutters. He kicks the ground. He skirts around it.

Why did this happen to us? He doesn't know, it just did. So let's move on, he tells us.

Why does he spend so much time thinking about others? Why does he know so much about the world? Why does he downplay himself so completely, but always is the one who rallies the group when they're down? Why is he so silly one minute, and completely serious the next?

"Why do I need a reason to help people?" Even he asks himself those questions and stumps himself. What the hell is wrong with this guy?

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He not frog.

He not in category of ‘Eatable Things.’

He get in way of Eatable Things. Says ‘not proper’ or ‘unhealthy’. Meaning of second word lost on me but sounds not good.

Still, he good friend. Not eat good, but feel good. He catch frogs with me and that great fun. He go with me to Shrine even though I leftovers. He always first to ask what I cook, and he pretend to think it good even when unsophisticated palate make him throw up. He get happy when I get happy that I find Eatable Things.

I left marsh to find good tasties. When I feel lonely or miss home, friend Zidane make me feel not sad just because he close. I hope my food make others feel same. It is friends and being together that at heart of cooking.