Something made me get out of bed this morning to turn on the radio. I had no idea what made me do it, but I just felt the need to all of a sudden. And then I heard it. Farrah Fawcett has died of cancer and Michael Jackson of a cardiac arrest. It’s just so shocking. I didn’t believe MJ was dead. He had such great plans for a comeback, all the entrance on elephants and the works, and suddenly there is just no more need for that.
I’m sad that he’s dead, and I’m sad that such a legendary performer has passed, but I’m sadder because I don’t think he enjoyed his life very much. He was thrown into the spotlight and, subsequently, phenomenal stardom at a young age. All the papparrazi, all the being poked fun of because of his cosmetic surgeries, all the instances of invasion of privacy, all the false allegations and reports and petty rumours about him and his child abusive tendencies, and then his money running out, which made him desperate for a comeback. He said once that as long as one enters this world knowing that he’s loved – and leaves knowing the same thing – then whatever happens in between doesn’t matter. But I wonder if he left knowing if he’s loved.
My dad’s really sad about MJ’s passing. He told me he grew up with him, in a way. MJ was born in 1958, my dad in 1959, and my dad has all his records, and we used to watch the music videos together when I was young. I remember I was sick one day, and my dad was on leave for a day, so we watched it. ‘Black or White’ was my favourite MV – ‘Billy Jean’ my favourite MJ song – and I was impressed by how elaborate MJ’s music videos were.