Lessons from the King of Pop

After weeks of being oblivious to world news, I finally realized that Michael Jackson is dead. Not that I didn't know. It's just that I never really cared until tonight.

All right, I'm there. In some ways, Michael Jackson was a genius. He did something different - the way the Beatles or Elvis did something to their music. He made a lasting contribution to his art, something that stood out because it was extraordinary, a bit flamboyant, but nonetheless special from whatever angle we look at it.

Though I appreciate his music, I could not say I'm a big fan (though yeah, I admit. The first album I ever bought with my own hard-earned savings was his "Dangerous" album back in 1992). However, Michael Jackson's death and the media hype that followed it brought about several not-so-related-but-what-the-heck epiphanies:

1. I'm old. I know Michael Jackson, sang his songs, danced to his music, tried to imitate his moonwalk at least once during my childhood days. He was the King of Pop when I popped out of my mother's insides. His very white face and very thin features quite strangely remind me of that Gray Skull in He-Man. He was at the prime of his youth when I began mine. And now he's dead. That means my time is not too far out. He was King of Pop once in his life. I'm Queen of Poop. He once wrote a song to help Africa. I can't even write a song to help myself.

2. Everybody dies. Even a pop star dies. Francis M dies. Farrah Fawcett dies. Optimus Prime dies. The patient you're taking care of dies. The dog you've had for years dies. The computer in the CVS callroom dies. Soon enough, I'll die too. But there are thoughts in my head that keep on coming back every morning. They won't outlive me. But they better die too.

3. Everyone forgets. No matter how media distorted MJ's image, people cry for his memory. Songs are played, his albums are sold-out, even people who don't know him become interested in getting a piece of him. He's no longer remembered as the psycho of Neverland, the phantom who molests young children. He is the King of Pop, the legend who made lives better because of his music. Memory has a way of blurring things. Memory has a way of erasing them. So I better beware of my memory too.

Like a comet blazing 'cross the evening sky
Like a rainbow fading in the twinkling of an eye
Gone too soon
Shiny and sparkly and splendidly bright
Here one day, gone one night

Like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon
Like a castle built upon a sandy beach
Like a perfect flower that is just beyond your reach
Gone too soon

Like a sunset dying with the rising of the moon
Gone too soon

Gone too soon.