They were all famous, some more than others, but all who received recognition simply by being commended by another. Their fame was quiet, because it was foreign.
They were all foreigners; aliens who saw their lives on earth as a simple passing through and passing by, like visitors and wanderers trying to navigate their way through the night without stopping to lay their heads down and rest. They made their homes in a faraway place they’ve heard of but do not know, claimed no permanent beds for themselves, called nothing their own and never looked back.
They all died without knowing whether or not they’d arrive home. They believed it fiercely, for sure, but didn’t know it and couldn’t have known or predicted it until it was too late – at least in human terms.
Some were admired, respected, honoured, loved, revered and even worshiped. Others still were laughed at, others scorned, forgotten, tortured, imprisoned, stoned, persecuted or mistreated. But none were ever ignored because they stood for something worth too much to dismiss, and for that, they became famous.
Even in death, the famous still speak to those they left behind, and wait for the day when they’ll finally become hosts in the place they call “home”.