When the word 'icon' becomes affixed to a figure on the international stage, it is inevitably accompanied by a growing sense of unknowability. It denotes an aura, a separation from normal existence. It seems harder to get a feel for what they are really like, what makes them tick.
Myanmar's democracy icon and Nobel peace laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, is a case in point. In fact, her long years - 15 out of the past 20 - under arrest in her decaying colonial mansion on Yangon's Inya Lake have only added to that aura. For all her higher motives and fierce commitment to freedom, she has at times been portrayed as austere and aloof.
In the darker years of the past decade when the jackboots of the country's military junta stomped louder and hopes of reform appeared non-existent, even some of her supporters privately questioned her relevance to a new generation of activists in a desperately poor nation.
They worried, too, for her health and state of mind as she endured year after year without seeing her two sons, or her late husband as he battled against the cancer that would kill him. She felt she could never leave to see them, knowing the junta would never let her return. And they could not get permission to see her.
In the city of whispers that is Yangon, the crumbling former capital, the junta's stooges seem to delight in propagating such talk across the tea shops and noodle stalls.
Yet in the months of relative freedom since her release in November last year, not only has Suu Kyi impressed many with her good spirits, she has shown glimpses of her warmth and humour as well. 'If she was a racehorse, you'd say she looks good in herself,' said one Yangon-based envoy who has met her recently. 'It's a wonderful thing to see.'