I asked my dad one day for your music, so I could listen to it, and see what the big deal was. Slowly filled with the music I felt a sensation only music could bring. And yours was the best. I was dancing (when I can not dance) and laughing and relating to situations I had never encountered. Yet with your voice, I knew how you felt. You made me feel it, too.
My collection grew. Sometimes I wonder how to categorize your art. Are you a dancer, the way you create your own style and illusions no one has ever done before? Or are you a singer, with perfect pitch tone due to constant hours of work and perfectionism? The world knows and loves you for these things. But I think you are a poet, greater than any I’ve come to know. Reading over your lyrics, its clear they are a true masterpiece all by yourself. Much like you were, when you were separated from your brothers. Not just a part of something greater, but also something great on your own. The fundamental backbone.
Things got difficult, and like any good poet, you helped me through. My thirteen-year-old self lay in bed sick with your HIStory album, singing slowly and feeling so much better. One day, she thought, I’ll meet him and thank him for that.
It is so hard to accept that my favourite feel-good song now makes me want to burst into tears. That the catchy tune and rhythm of ‘Scream’ now pulses deep into my heart, while I make the realisation as to what was going on with you. The world is mourning, and while I know it is illogical to grieve for someone you have never met, I am anyway. But I’m not ashamed.
Sometimes I would like to wish I had never asked my dad for that CD, and that I never cared. It would make right now a lot easier. But I can never hope for that. I have experienced far too much joy from you, the poet, musician, dancer and singer, and will continue to do so – in time. For now, I just have to remember what you told the world, and Keep the Faith.
Rest in Peace, My hero.