I cannot say I have ever been a huge fan of Michael Jackson. After all, when I heard about him, he was trapped in a series of scandals, which could be used to prove how immoral capitalist societies were in "ideology" class. I, a fledgling college freshman back then (even trying to break off the brainwashing nonsense), could not admit to myself that I was completely infatuated with his incredibly infectious dance. Why did he have to grab his crotch? I asked myself with embarrassment, while holding back my instinctive desire to imitate his moves.

That was the first time I had ever felt the urge to dance. Seeing myself as a smart kid, I believed dance was for pretty girls without brains. Yeah, I was judgmental, and probably not as intelligent as I thought I was. Soon other new things attracted my attention, and I started my exploration to the unknown world by myself. In the last 10 years, I have been shaped into a new person; in the meantime, MJ has been forgotten, until his demise. Coincidentally, he died in the same day that my beloved grandma passed, which gave me a totally different perspective on both death of his and my grandma's. I even imagined that my grandma and MJ danced together hand in hand in the happy-forever land. What a uncanny picture! 

With double grief, I downloaded (sorry I did not pay a dime) several albums of MJ's and listened to them repeatedly. It did not take much time for me to feel the uncontrollable passion running through my arteries. When "Dangerous" started to rock with the opening strong beats, my heart swelled up as if it could not contain that much of thunder and lightning. Gentle as "gone too soon”, it stopped my hands from shaking. I appreciate the way "You Are Not Alone" consoled me, for it was exactly what I needed to be told.

Gulping down stories and anecdotes about MJ, I felt more sorry for him. The sympathy did not come from a heart of a fan or an admirer, but of another human being in this overcrowded world. He must have been lonely, very lonely, extremely lonely. After all, who on this planet has ever known what underneath that once-black-then-white skin really was? He was, still is and will always be a symbol. The symbol will be immortal, whereas the body will decompose and eventually turn into ashes.

Was it worth it, MJ? I could not help but ask. (It is my wish that there were a time machine, by which I could travel in time and ask people the same question.) Nevertheless, not until last night, after finishing the posthumous documentary, that could I draw a conclusion. On the big screen, his face was glowing in ecstasy when he sang the songs; and from what I experienced, that must have been the type of happiness that people can scarcely bear. In my picture, MJ smiled and replied with his shiny voice, “Yes, this is it.”