How to describe the knot in my stomach as the news of a legend’s death sets in? I woke up this morning and my heart sank as I read the most terrible four words the music world apprehended: “David Bowie is dead”.
Just yesterday I was listening to his new album, dreaming of someday meeting him. I don’t usually condone people crying over celebrities fading away, there’s always a bit of hypocrisy in posts such as those social media boasts every once in a while. However, in this case I can’t help but post my own desolation, small words for a man who changed the perception of so many, me included and even at the top of the mourners’ list. This dreamer pushed me to take pride in my eccentricities, see them and display them as treasures in a world constantly denying us individuality. He singlehandedly managed to make millions applaud his madness, brilliant unforgivingly beautiful madness. There is no shame in being different, in seeing the world in a different scope than the rest; on the contrary, there should be pride in being everything but ordinary. Bowie showed us the potential of the marginals, the power that resides in every single individual deemed too strange; we are what makes us unique, we are our quirks and our dreams, and all we’ve got to do is put on those red shoes and dance the blues.
Where are we now, Ziggy? You have just travelled to the stars you were always so fond of, and if the Earth no longer enjoys the beating of your heart, your art lives on, for as long as there’s sun, as long as there’s rain, as long as there’s fire, as long as there’s me, as long as there’s you.