Becoming a Fan, Decades Late: My Confession to Michael Jackson

I saw the brilliant masterpiece that was Michael yesterday and was simply blown away by his talent and his kind-hearted soul. For some reason, I was never a fan growing up because I didn’t bother listening to his music. But upon closely watching the movie yesterday, I realized I have, in fact, heard all his hit songs and liked them. 

For some reason, I was simply more fascinated by rock and metal music as a teenager. Still, I absolutely loved his sense of dressing—the shiny gloves, the iconic red jacket, and the button-detailed blue informal blazer—all clothes that I would love to wear right now. He also had long hair and almost always wore kohl on his eyes, so how I was not a fan during my formative years will remain a mystery to me.

Nevertheless, better late than never. I have been listening to MJ's greatest hits all morning, from the shower up to my workstation at home. What a brilliant voice! He wrote his own music and lyrics—something that the pop boy bands I grew up listening to didn't have the ability or talent to do. 

My heart went out to the little boy who constantly got whipped by his father's belt for refusing a rehearsal after a tiring night of performing. I also respected him deeply when he told his manager very emphatically that all the compensation he received for the onset accident—where his hair caught fire—must go to the burn victims of the same hospital where he was admitted. 

My heart once again went out to the lonely little boy who had zero friends and strange animals, starting with a llama, a giraffe, and a chimp, as companions. His entire childhood was stolen from him because he attained stardom and superstardom so early in life. 

Rest in peace, wherever you are, Michael. The world has definitely not forgotten you, I can assure you of that. Tales of your talent will live on for generations.

Image sourced from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Michael_Jackson_in_1983.jpg