HE WAS one of the artists I admire most, he was near-perfect human to me in many ways, but this limited mindset totally obscured the objective I should have had afforded him - as his admirer: empathy and understanding. I realised he's only human like me after all.

As a young boy back in the late 70's, there was this sad song which lyrics I did not understand fully, but a soulful and innocent voice got ingrain in my early mind. It was the song about a mouse pet. Ben was my first opportunity to hear of his talent.

In my high school years back in the Philippines, at the height of MTV's popularity and its infancy, I had the privilege to take a glimpse of the person behind the voice. This time more imperviously impressed to my teenage consciousness: the backward moon-walking, the letter-initialed baseball jacket (he wore in Thriller video), the crisp fedoras, the aviator sunglasses, the wet-look hair, the single white glove. His Thriller music video was stunning.

His music was to become the centre of conversation with friends; and at typical times, his dance moves became a common ground among us in bragging-off new-found moon-walking prowess. At year-end school parties, he was with us - through a reverberating high-pitched stylistic voice in Billie Jean or Smooth Criminal single from our high school's rented sound system.



Years past, and the spell I was under lost its power. My interest with him waned and so memories with friends and our happy hanging out fluttered away with times. I endeavoured a path obligated to me by the norm rules and expectation of society: further education, career, family, etc.

In the late nineties and onward to 2000's, the innocent fascination I carried toward him as a teenager would rekindle, but this time, it was painted with regret, coldness, and the mood dispirited. My own ignorance on how I should understand one's frailty was muddled; such needed capacity at that time seemed diminished, if not absent.

He made moves regrettable to many and few understood him. I tended to be one of the former. Fame had enabled him and somehow veered him off from normalcy, which fed his eccentricity (to the eyes of many) and consequently, his recluse and temporary downfall.

He's dead now. The golden torch had finally lit-out for him. But for me, I would still hum as I listen to Ben in my idle time, and if my feet would allow me to moonwalk away to the tune of Billie Jean once in while, I will - just to remind myself, that Michael Jackson, the collective epitomy of our 80's vibrant youth - is still around in his songs and in my consciousness.

"You are hard to love, but hard not to"*...goodbye Michael Jackson!

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*quote adapted from Larry King