I never expected to feel the immense sense of sadness I felt upon hearing the news of Jackson’s death. The sadness I felt was not so much for his death, as was for his life.
I remember the first moment when I started believing in MJ’s star-power. It was a video of ‘They don’t care for us’ … and it had this colourful crowd of kids playing drums … and MJ dancing among them, ethereal, slight, fragile … yet powerful.
And that’s what MJ would always be – a fragile fabric of a soul stretched and frayed struggling to not give way.
His music was something else – the magic of Thriller and Billie Jean inexplicable. And Michael’s soul always in his music, presence and dance.
I don’t think we would ever understand this person who became a caricature of a human being. What he wanted and could never get. What was he searching for in the making and remaking of himself. Whether he ever got away from the realities in his mind. Whether he ever believed in the adulation that he got and whether he could ever believe in himself. His close familiarity with the knife, the needle and pain, to mockery, to rejection … there seems to be no respite even in death.
Goodbye, Michael … to me, you will always be Beautiful.