News of death is something unpleasant to wake up to, more so when it is two deaths in one morning. I was still in bed when Wuan got back from Pudu market and told me that the cab driver told her Micheal Jackson is dead. The King of Pop is dead? What tragic news. I got up and searched for news of his death. Indeed, Michael Jackson had died of cardiac arrest at age fifty. The television is on. CNN is continuously running news on this. My eyes were wet as I watched on television and read tributes to Micheal Jackson.
And then I read that Farrah Fawcett is also dead at 62 today after a long battle with anal cancer. This cannot be a good beginning to a sunny morning. The faceless voice saying “Good morning Angels” kept playing in my head. While I remember her as one of the Charlie’s Angels, the poster of her in a skimpy red swimsuit is forever etched in my mind. Red swimsuit, flowing wavy blonde hair, that wispy smile – it was so sinful to the teenager in me then.
The deaths of two icons of my formative years made me feel really old suddenly. The zombie of Thriller and the person who popularized the crotch grabbing dance move is dead? The one Angel that made teenage hormones hit the roof is dead? Those facts are hard to made sense of for now. This loss is coupled by the realization that things of my generation are slowly heading towards the sunset one by one. That makes me feel so vulnerable. Good bye Moonwalker. Good bye Jill Munroe.
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