She was a combination of every stereotype one associated with women. She loved pink. She loved high heels. She drank a martini. And then, she was everything one would never attach to women without controversy. She was bold, fierce, short haired and outrageous. She varied from mouthy to non-judgmental. She could be sullen or vibrant. One could picture her saddled on a giant, bright pink pig flying from the extremes of self-aware individual to a fatally lost one. It was this magic of hers that enamored anyone who engaged with her. It was precisely this instability and unpredictability that kept her sane and mobile, too. She could have easily been trapped in either of the two images. But she chose to negotiate between the two contrasts creating a space that was her own. The same space that was free from other’s views of her or of her varied personalities. She inhabited and owned each of those oxymoron traits with equal comfort; the image of a large pig with wings would soon be her trademark. She embraced that as well.