To speak of Michael Jackson in an essay is like trying to compress Churchill’s memoirs in a booklet – you just can’t do it. To try and decipher what he meant for this world is another daunting task, for nobody was so much loved, and at the same time, so much hated, by so many people. But I am here to speak of the love and serenity I found in his music, in his words, in his presence. Fans all over the world will recall anecdotes, trying to allay the sadness of losing him. I had my special 10 seconds next to Michael, but they are a part of the deepest and most beautiful set of memories that I cherish, and I fear that by sharing them, I may tarnish them, just like a golden ring rubbed and worn too many times. I will not say how much I will miss him for the rest of my life – this is a personal tragedy which I do not want to flaunt in front of the world. I will say only that Michael Jackson was the man who inspired me with the best choices I made in life: quitting smoking and becoming a blood donor. A parent, a brother, or a lover could not hold such an influence over me to convince me to do those things. I did these because someone whom I felt to be so good, so pure, so well disposed and giving, that I could not but love him inspired me. In my heart, I never failed him. In my thoughts, I never betrayed him. In my conscience, I kept my faith in his goodness no matter what others said. But I am a rare bird. While he lived, he was treated like a weirdo, an outcast, a strange mutation living among us against all odds. Now he is dead, and people come forward to say he was a genius in entertainment and show biz, a wonderful father. His “victim” who drew millions from Michael says he lied, that he was no victim, and Michael no perpetrator. Even some fans, who swore never-ending love to him, turned against him. Now they are back, in tears, mourning and adoring Michael. I have a feeling of déja-vu. Some years ago, after Steve Irwin, the Crocodile hunter, died, the same wave of admiration and regret out poured, while during his life he, too, was seen as a weirdo. Will we ever learn to respect, admire a person while they are alive, and can hear our words? Instead of having a concert in Michael’s memory, couldn’t we have surprised him with a concert in his honor, while he was alive? I guess not. But before somebody else dies, and before we plan another memorial service, let us remember that no one is perfect, that we all have qualities and shortcomings. I wish we could turn back the time and tell Michael all the things we are saying now. I wish we learnt that we couldn’t take anyone for granted and pull at him from all sides. In the end, something gives out. But this is not an obituary. This is actually a declaration of love and admiration. Many times I wrote it, in many forms, but I guess I never had the courage to publish it. I did not want to become another one laughed at and ridiculed. In this, I did fail Michael. But in the end, what matters is that I kept the shining light of the love he inspired me always burning brightly. I never let it die out. And I never will. I love you, Michael. You were one of the few who lived as we all should – giving back for what we received, leaving an indelible mark and making a difference. For all his critics, I have a question: did you achieve what Michael did? He left behind a musical legacy, numerous charity works and three loving children. What will you leave behind?