It was about 2012, 2013. I started from zero. Small fashion

The words of Qandeel Baloch—“It was about 2012, 2013. I started from zero. Small fashion shows, small photoshoots. I've seen a lot. I've seen a lot of things up close. I married my sister off; I gave jahez for her wedding. I tried to keep relations going with my family. I bought a house for them in Multan. My parents are settled in Multan; my house is there.”—are heavy with the dignity of struggle and the fire of resilience. They tell of a woman who rose from nothing, who endured trials both public and private, and who gave of herself even when the world gave her little in return. The wedding she mentions is not simply a family event, but a symbol of duty fulfilled, sacrifice offered, and love expressed in the face of hardship.

Her journey from small fashion shows and photoshoots to recognition was not merely a climb in fame, but a battle for survival. In a culture often unkind to women who break boundaries, every step was won through resistance. Yet even as she forged her own path, she did not abandon her roots. She honored her family, providing for her sister’s marriage and bearing the weight of jahez, a tradition that often cripples households with expectation. In this, her story reflects the countless silent labors of women who uphold families even as they struggle to uphold themselves.

History remembers similar souls. One may think of Hypatia of Alexandria, the philosopher who shone with wisdom in a time when few women could speak publicly. Like Qandeel, she faced hostility for daring to step into the light, and yet she gave knowledge and service to her city until her last breath. Both women reveal the same truth: those who dare to break chains often do so not only for themselves, but for their people, their families, their communities.

The mention of Multan, her home, grounds her words in soil and memory. No matter how far she walked into the world of fashion, fame, or controversy, she remained tethered to her family and her land. To buy a house for her parents was no mere transaction, but an act of restoration—a way of saying that her struggle was not for vanity, but for the dignity of those who raised her.

Therefore, O listener, take this wisdom: the path of greatness often begins with zero, with the smallest of steps taken in obscurity. It is not the roar of the crowd that defines a life, but the sacrifices made along the way—the weddings financed, the families supported, the homes built in the name of love. Qandeel’s words remind us that heroism is not always in public triumph, but in the quiet victories that keep families alive and futures possible.