As a women’s advocate, I have spent much — perhaps too much — of my young life fighting so that girls around the world may enjoy basic human rights: the right to education, equal treatment under the law, and the simple teenage pleasure of sucking face with a cute boy.
Because I spoke out for these rights, in 2012, while I was still a girl myself, I was viciously attacked by the Taliban while on a bus in Pakistan. People made a big deal about the fact that I was on my way home from a school exam when I was attacked, that I was “risking my life in pursuit of knowledge” and a bunch of stuff like that, but they never ask themselves, “What was Malala thinking about just moments before those armed barbarians boarded the bus?”
I’ll tell you this: I wasn’t daydreaming about my algebra and history lessons. No, I was neck-deep in hot fantasies about a certain bad-boy Canadian popstar jamming his tongue down my throat.
Since that vicious assault and outpouring of support that followed, I’ve been given numerous awards, including a Nobel Peace Prize and a bunch of others whose names I scarcely remember, the freedom-medal-this and humanitarian-prize-that. But what good are such tokens when you’ve missed out on the most exciting years of your life? An honorary university degree won’t pull you to a dark corner of a nightclub, nor will a monetary prize plant its mouth on yours.
If the global community really wants to offer me something special and memorable, why not arrange for me to have an hour-long makeout session with Justin Bieber? I don’t need to be warmed up with drinks, entertained with idle chitchat, seduced by an escalating series of flirtations. I won’t even ask that Justin feel me up. Just let me have a solid hour of some good old-fashioned tonsil hockey with him. Do I not deserve such an honor?
Our sweaty encounter wouldn’t need to take place somewhere fancy, like in a two-story VIP changing room at a gala event. We could simply take a walk through a forest, let’s say on a nice spring day, where we might observe the flowers in bloom, during which Justin could serenade me with his old songs “Baby” and “Never Let You Go.” I’ve got a whole playlist in mind. Then I’d tell him about the challenges faced by schoolgirls in Afghanistan, Nigeria, and other countries.
He’d tell me how brave I am, and he’d say, “Wow, Malala, I’ve never met a real Nobel Prize winner. I wonder what your lips taste like.”
And then he’d lean over and thrust his tongue down my throat. And that would be the best prize of all.
Malala Yousafzai is an internationally recognized women’s rights advocate and was among the first in her village to download Justin’s Bieber’s debut solo album “Baby.”