Book- bliss #4: Zlatan, the unlikely feminist
I have a strong fascination with individuals often labelled as arrogant. To me, what many perceive as arrogance often boils down to the courage to openly express one's thoughts. I greatly admire those who have crafted lives where they can fearlessly speak their truth. It's intriguing how people readily rally to support you when you underestimate yourself, yet raise an eyebrow when you acknowledge your own worth. I'm also drawn to underdog stories. And when the underdog happens to be the most “arrogant” of all, I shout “Bingo”. Moreover, when this so-called arrogant underdog boasts a strong Balkan accent, it strikes a chord close to my heart.
I stumbled upon Zlatan Ibrahimovic's autobiography at an airport bookstore. I was in the mood for some light reading, so I decided to give it a try. It turned out to be a book that's both effortless to breeze through and surprisingly profound. What struck me immediately during my rides on trams and buses was the perplexed looks from men when they saw me engrossed in his book. They probably couldn't fathom why a conservatively dressed woman in her late twenties would be engrossed in the life of a football player. Perhaps they assumed I was reading it to impress a man, but I've outgrown that stage long ago. Furthermore, I've been there and done that; football was my sole means of connecting with my father until my brother was born. Ask me about Milan AC's formation in the early 2000s, and I can recite it by heart. It helped that half of the players looked like models to be honest.
Zlatan in his room as a teenager in the 90s.
If you skip the descriptions of passing, dribbling and goals, this is actually a perfect sociology and psychology book. It describes the difficulty of integration on a family and individual level. The alcoholism of a father who cannot cope with a war that is taking place km away, who suppresses his feelings and listens to Yugoslav songs in his living room in Sweden while his son is starving. But the fridge has only some beer cans. It is a book about trauma, one that makes you ask your wife to always make sure you have a full fridge, even now that you are a millionaire and it is unlikely you’ll go to bed hungry. The stress of a mother who is a cleaning lady and struggles to make end meets. The teachers labelling him as “special” to get rid of him in class just because he was more restless than other kids. The bond created between him and his sister is his anchor in such a precarious environment. Football was his biggest form of escapism and an obsession that literally saved him. It is also a close-up into the psyche of a champion.
What particularly piqued my interest is his relationship with Helena, a remarkably independent and self-made Swedish woman who is ten years his senior. When they first crossed paths, he was brimming with untapped potential, while she was someone who had already purchased her own house through hard work. The book is imbued with his deep pride in being the partner of such a "strong" woman. It's fascinating how movies often portray men as drawn to challenging women when reality often suggests the opposite. In this regard, Zlatan emerges as an unlikely feminist. They hailed from vastly different social backgrounds, and it's intriguing to read about the initial struggles they faced in bridging those differences. He learned about the practical uses of certain knives from her, and he gradually introduced her to the peculiarities of his own family. This book delves into the themes of discrimination, alienation, poverty, and social class.
What sets it apart from more "serious" books that explore these topics is Zlatan's remarkable ability to navigate these issues with both resilience and humor. His level of awareness, understanding, and compassion for his own pain and that of his loved ones is truly exceptional. It's a depth of emotional intelligence one might expect from individuals who meditate, practice daily yoga, and read self-help books, not from someone adorned in tattoos and sporting tracksuits. What truly distinguishes him is the complete absence of victimhood in his narrative. This book is refreshingly light, humorous, and serves as an engaging conversation starter for delving deeper into certain topics.
8/10 just because some might not like the football-related pages.
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