Move and Be Moved

As soon as my left feet stepped into the front door of my house, my little sister greeted me with, “Did you hear? Michael Jackson died!”

A little appalled, when only hours earlier, I had read about Farah Fawcett passing away. I am not the least bit surprised at the regular suspects on my facebook’s news feed, all feeling something for a man. This particular man.

To many kids and teenagers growing up in North America, Michael Jackson was a regular household name, his music regularly broadcasted but never failed to lose its appeal. To me, growing up in Pakistan, my early exposure to music was of Mandarin or Pakistani descent. One of my very first exposures to English music was Michael Jackson’s “Heal the world”, even if I “knew” that he had bleached his skin.

To a mere 8 year old girl living in a country torn by poverty and war, the lyrics had moved a syllable in my nerve, even though I never fully understood what it meant. In my very first mp3 player, given by a few friends, one of the songs I had to hear was “Heal the world”. I could listen to the song on repeat and still be moved. There is so much hope, so much want in those words to strive for love in our human race.

Still, I can’t help but wonder and look at his death critically.

His music and dance has affected so many people that they are very willing to look past the allegations of his pedophilic nature, his very out-of-norm personality. The man really does not fit well with the general norm of the society, but he has brought so many people together, inspired them and moved them. That is a lot of forgiveness and a lot of acceptance for a man whose art lets us move and be moved.

A lot of the commentaries out there have it absolutely right in celebrating his life, instead of grieving and mourning in our loss.

Michael Jackson, may you celebrate with us, knowing that we will remember you, just as you are, never plain and always entertaining.

One love to another

Dear One,

After tonight, I’ll be leaving for Auckland. Please forgive me for saying goodbye like this. I just wanted you to know that after all these years; your friendship meant the world to me. This perfect day with you was a tribute to us, to our never wavering hope of strength that took us here. You held my hand for all the red and blue marks of my life. I take and give no apology for the hurt exchanged between us because I know it made us for better people, better friends.

I love you like it would make me soar and make me fly higher each time. You freed me from all the pain I once felt about romance. I hope you understand we can’t be together because I believe love only binds people and turns into resentment from all the lost freedom. Call me selfish but I only want to savor the best part of you.

After all these years, I grabbed onto my emotions so I can finally write this letter to you. I grabbed onto your interpretation and your impressions of me so I could remember them for us. Actions may speak louder than words but for once, I wanted the words to speak louder, to be a better translation between us. I wanted you to reminisce, 10 years down the road, that you loved me well, your love carried me to many places and will continue for the rest of my life.

Forever yours and always,
True Love

His knees gave way and the letter slipped from his hand. I can’t believe you said goodbye first.

Paris

I want to relive the following experiences:
- getting lost because for some reason, I love that. It creates a sense of adventure, I suppose
- feeling creative most of the time. Such an artsy city.
- setting foot in a place that has so much history, so much character, so much details
- sit in that really nice cafe, with the sun shining in my face, while I write my postcards with a cup of cappuccino well within my reach
- that surreal feeling I had when I was on Pont des Art, overlooking the Seine River.

I don't find the city the least bit pretentious, or that the people are rude etc. There's an animosity to the city that I really like.

I'm afraid that a 7 day trip will still not be enough.

Two halves of a whole

I suppose it was a long time coming and I had held out hopes for a long time, arguably too long. It's time for a lot of things: realizing that keeping the family together is rather cumbersome. Realizing that nothing is ever normal. Realizing that once a heart breaks, anything that comes in the attempt of piecing it together would be deemed as resentment. Realizing that the steps to signing that paper is probably the easiest part of this whole journey. Realizing that the only comparison of love I ever had will amount to two signatures on that piece of paper, signifying the complete opposite. Realizing that as a child, as an adult, as a loved one, that there is nothing I can do about it. It is just not within my control nor can I make it better for all of us. The pain of witnessing this whole thing coming down is just as bad as the two people who are going to decide this.

It's really easy for the third party to say, "Let it go, Jenn. You should be supportive instead because they're your parents." But when you see them playing for the attention of their own kids, vying for their affection; you know, this is only the beginning of another ending that slipped away in resentment, in unspoken feelings and in harsh words.

Thank YOU for trying to give me the rational perspective.
Thank YOU for being the first one.
Thank YOU for trying to reassure me.

It's not that you three didn't help, it's just that I feel incredibly sad at how life played out for 7 people.