i grew up like everybody else: strangely. which probably makes it normal.
being the youngest, i was endlessly chasing my (much) older siblings. my brother, the eldest, was my playmate and father figure, and i remember days of sitting with him while he read to me greek myths out of a tattered volume too heavy for me to hold and wove for me old pinoy folktales from memory, and adventures at the park when school was out, and carrying me while i cried from a growing tooth. my two sisters, who were both my mothers because our own was too ill, role models for behaving in the way proper girls should, even though we were all just guessing but turned out, mostly, all right anyway.
and i remember the music.
american southern rock music that my brother liked, peppered with led zeppelin. disco that my sisters danced to. and michael jackson.
i remember running to my cousins’ house in the afternoons on weekends to listen to beat it, each of us taking her place on the floor like members of an undiscovered girl pop group whose name ended in -elles and pretended at being women. or billie jean, trying to mimic that wrist-flick he did, because we couldn’t understand how to make our own feet work the way his did. we put studs and sparkles on ourselves to shine up our own playclothes, because what star didn’t have shiny things on themselves? all the better to see you with, my dear. and later, tired at the dance troupe thing, it was hide-‘n-seek, only we did it thriller-style, because it was always michael jackson on the radio and zombies were fun.
then michael jackson on the radio gave way to soundbites of reporters on the field of the latest riot after aquino’s assassination, and there wasn’t anything familiar after that.
a new country, a new life, a new culture to learn.
and still, there was michael jackson. the voice was a little different: raspier, harder, better in many ways. so much talent in a lithe frame that you almost ignored the slight discomfort at the change in his appearance, which became less resistant to being ignored as the years passed.
on mtv he danced through the subways like the jets through manhattan streets and implored us to look at ourselves.
despite all the eccentricities and allegations, the odd marriages, the low whispers, he was still the consummate entertainer, the tremendous talent. never did a pair of white socks and loafers smoke so hot.
rest in peace.