One of my earliest memories was sitting in the attic (converted into a music room for my brothers) holding Michael Jackson’s Thriller album in vinyl. I remember it vividly, the stack of albums in front of me covered in dust, the jar of aluminum 1 centavo coins my mom collected, the shade of the wood floor and its smell. I didn’t know how to operate the turntable (I was six or seven), so I couldn’t play it. I wasn’t supposed to be there alone anyway, so making a ruckus by playing music would not have been a good idea. I just held it and admired the man in his white suit. And just like the replica of the Mona Lisa in our hallway, the eyes seemed to follow me at all angles.
Michael has been making music before I was born and I have been listening to him ever since I knew how to admire music. It’s weird to think that there will never be anything new.
Bye Michael. Remember your way home, second star to the right and straight on till morning.
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