Melaena; black tarry stools - courtesy of the hypocriticoafs

Because I’m medical (with a wicked sense of humour), I nearly guffawed off the chair when I saw this picture.

Headlines in a Rio De Janerio paper

This will not be another tribute; voices have already been worn out, tears so well spent in every corner of the world. But I will push on the necessity of doing this, for like many kids growing up in the 90s, his music was seamlessly woven into my life. I hesitate to think what it was like back then without those beats, those dance moves that permeated my happy childhood.

As Debbie puts it rather plainly, ‘The sadness hasn’t sunk in yet’. I was never encouraged to idolize, and so, the passing of such a great musical genius brings but a mere stir to my heart. The loss is still there, the emptiness still hangs. Debbie shared with me her memories of attending his concert in Adelaide many years ago. I couldn’t help feeling some shreds of jealousy, for I had always wanted to see him perform.

I was six when he brought the HIStory tour to Singapore. Back then, I used to have dance-offs with my brother, where we would sing our hearts out loud, each choreographed movement in his videos thoroughly memorised. When a new album came out, Dad would reward us with a cassette tape if we behaved. I once stared rather intently at his curly hair on the cover of ‘Bad’. I was riveted with the interchanging faces in the ‘Black or White’ video. I wondered who Annie was in ‘Smooth Criminal’. When he came to town, I was ecstatic beyond compare. My Aunt had spare tickets and because I was deemed too young (and I suppose, too short) I could not go. I stayed up late though, waiting for my brother to return, hanging on to every description he could muster as we sat on his bed, his excitement transpired to me.

Lisa Marie Presley wrote a touching piece on her MySpace blog; I implore you to read it for it asks, “How much can one sacrifice for love?”

I muttered, ‘At the end of it all, I think he just wanted someone to love and understand him.’ Debbie rebutted with a ‘I think he needed to love himself just a little more.’

Despite his eccentricities, he was just a broken toy waiting to be fixed. I never felt the curiosity with the construction of Neverland – was he not just another person who found joy in material fashion; had he not shared it with underprivileged kids who had no childhood? All those baseless accusations of molestation were just greedy hands disguised. To think that the one thing he had found comfort in – the innocence and bliss of youth – would so easily stab him in the back. He must have retreated further, trying to seek solace in physical reconstructions, purchasing items to fill the gaps, listening to others’ words, only to find that it would take more to cure the deepening heaviness in his heart.

In an Adrienne Rich poem, it was written – ‘If your voice could overcome these waters, what would it say?’ The painkillers finally worked; as he drifted into a state of unceasing analgesia, I wonder what thoughts coursed through him. Could this be it; could this be the finale of my life? A shot up my arm like a knife through my heart; my breath taken as swiftly as my fame had come. To die in a house that is not even my home. What would my kids be without me? I will leave them with my debt; their hands on a legacy that is now a scripted history where the curtains will fall on this moment; how short life can be. As now, there is no time to tie loose ends; for now, my peace will finally begin.

Or he may have said, ‘Well, this is another controversy for the headlines tomorrow.’

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Notes:
I must have been the last person to know: sitting by the old dodgy computer in the hospital cafeteria at lunch time, I had logged on to Facebook to check the address of a gathering I was invited to. The status updates stunned me; Google searches forced me into denial.

May Peace be with you, Michael.

In the recent issue of TIME, when asked about women’s choices, this is what Michelle Obama said:

‘Find your space. Find your spot. Wear what you love. Choose the careers that may have meaning to you, because there’s always somebody who will say, “I wouldn’t have worn that colour,” or “Why didn’t you work at that job?” But if you’re comfortable in the choice and it resonates with you, then all that other stuff - it’s just conversation. People have the right to have conversations. But I think that’s one thing we as women sometimes do - we don’t make choices that have meaning to us. And then when those things fall apart, you have to have yourself to fall back on.’