C’est La Vie.
I don’t know how to accept the fact that Amy Winehouse is dead. How does one die just like that? The woman had problems and the way it was magnified in the public really didn’t help.
Why is talent and how “exceptional” they were only celebrated after they’re dead? And it makes me sick when these are possibly the same people who exploited her weaknesses to death when she was alive. All that judging evaporated after she stopped breathing and now, suddenly everyone’s a fan. What happened to the hating they were so bent on? Is it ‘cos judgement is a privilege meant only for those alive? That’s ludicrous AND hypocritical. They stopped attacking not ‘cos they want to but ‘cos there’s nothing left to attack. She’s dead. You win.
What could have been a lifetime of greatness was robbed ‘cos no one gave her a chance to be who she really was – an irreplaceable, unique, anti-conformity artist of our time. People gawked ‘cos they were afraid of what they don’t understand. I’m not saying that I completely do but now we’ll never know the real Amy behind all that irresponsible tabloid ridden reputation. How do we go on with two studio albums and a bunch of vicious gossip rags? This is an artist who got five Grammys in her short career. Five fucking Grammys!!
I was at a dinner party the night after her death and it was briefly mentioned during conversation. I responded by saying, “some people are just not meant to be celebrities, not meant to be in that unfortunate spotlight. They are artists and that is quite different from being someone who needs to be embroiled in the entanglements of fame to justify their art.”
A reporter whom I think really got it once said this, “Amy Winehouse was a victim of mental illness in a society that doesn’t understand or respond to mental illness with great effectiveness…” And by the way, a big FUCK YOU to the people who said that Amy’s manic depression was just an excuse for her being an alcoholic. It’s as good as blaming someone for having cancer and everything that comes with it.
When you see something you don’t understand, it’s better to stay away, get schooled or shut the fuck up lest you break it. My heart goes out to Amy, truly. It was our fault that you’re gone and that is a loss we can never make up for.
17 years later, the pain is still raw like a fresh wound from yesterday.
Today, I’m stopping my world, the way I always do on the day my world ended when her heart stopped beating. Right now, it’s raining exceptionally hard outside my window.
Every single year, the memory of that day replays in my mind. Things that were said, things that were done, people who were there, people who flew in. Every single detail.
The walk down that corridor in the hospital, the wailing I heard from the other end, the people who stood outside the ward, the last time I held her hand, the disbelief that she’s no longer breathing, the disappointment for not being able to sing her a song to make her better and the hatred for people who wouldn’t stop reminding me that she’s never coming home again and that she’s gone forever.
I miss you mommy. It only gets harder each year.
In loving memory of Juliana Lianto (1954 – 1992)
I’ve been meaning to write this but never got round to it ‘cos I’ve been ridiculously distracted lately. There’s too much going on… The mind is finding it exceptionally hard to stay focused.
I’ve never been good with death, other people’s loss. Whenever someone I care about loses a loved one to death, I kinda just slump back and hide knowing that words fail and all that I might attempt to make them feel better would be pointless. I feel helpless knowing that I won’t be able to disencumber the immense pain of a friend.
Here’s to a dog who left his teeth marks on me the first time we met, endearingly so. Behind his defensive growls and bites is a really adorable white dog who dons his royal blue outfit proudly with bling to match.
Rest in peace Rudie.