today is the day Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died. today is the day I had to write a tribute to the King of Pop. I tried to do it as respectfully as possible, not wanting to be obtrusive. but then I had to add a link so that people can download his songs. and, again, I thought about what has been bugging me the past couple of weeks—what a complete sell out I am.
the worst part is knowing that I’d do it again. because it’s what I can do—writing that is, not selling out. it’s how I make a living. it’s what I enjoy doing—writing that is, not selling out.
this was never the plan. but then again, I never plan. what I lack in strategic career preparation, I make up for in a self assessed notion of creative-slash-intellectual pursuit of truth, beauty, and other metaphysical concepts. in short, I went for whimsy instead of security.
not that I mind the lack of the latter, but at the end of the day, especially if you live in a third-world country, one needs to eat. and, if you’re a self-professed artiste, one needs to swallow a lot of crap to be able to make ends meet. and that means compromise.
and I ponder on the timing of this existential dilemma. is it because pop icons which represented my generation are now gone? is it because at 31, I still have not set one word on my future best-selling, critically acclaimed novel? is it because I am slowly arriving at the end of my compromise tether?
hmmm…
today, the King of Pop and an angel died. It is the end of an era. does this mean that I have to grow up now?
