His life is an enigma. The King of Pop, who sold records like pancakes, swimming in debt. A revered individual adored by millions of fans around the globe, living alone in a rented mansion. He was afraid of dying young, and he died alone at the age of 50. A terrible, painful irony for someone whose fame skyrocketed, and who, through his music, broke through racial discrimination.
In his death, another irony: the unforgiving public who once tagged him as a molester now scrambling to buy his music online and dancing in the streets as tribute to the man who to this day remain to be a puzzle to all of us. Death truly has a powerful way of making us appreciate people more.
I am saddened that he was never given a chance to redeem himself in the public eye. He was only 2 weeks short of his comeback concert tour. News reports said he practiced for several hours each day, which began since March this year. He wanted nothing more than to be back on the stage, performing, doing what he loves best, showing what he has to offer in the light of the issues thrown against him. I am sad that this man was never given a second chance. Because everyone deserves another chance to stand up after a fall.
May you rest in peace, MJ. Maybe you're moonwalking in the real Neverland now.
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