Melancholic Musings

I don't think I'll ever get used to the concept of death. The finality of it, the permanence, makes me very uneasy; especially since dead men tell no tales and death, especially under tragic circumstances, usually leaves a lot of unanswered questions that will probably never be satisfied.

I've been fortunate to only have to deal with death sporadically as my family is relatively healthy and long-lived. I usually have a funeral every 7-10 years or so and I'm fine with that. I cry for a little, and spend the rest of my time reflecting on my own mortality and my biggest concern: my legacy.

How will I be remembered?

That is perhaps the major impetus for this blog: Leaving pieces of myself behind for posterity.

When news came to me yesterday that a recently acquired acquaintance was found viciously murdered it hit me like a proverbial tonne of bricks. We were chatting on blackberry messenger early the previous morning as he had promised to come see me at the place of amusement my partner and I operate so we could discuss business, exchange ideas on the entertainment industry, and just shoot the breeze before his return to law school in Barbados two days later. I remember how struck I was by his charm, his unpretentious eloquence, and his leadership potential. He came across like a real class act and I understood his popularity even more.

We were both batch mates at University but never had any reason to speak. Everyone knew him as the big-shot party promoter and student leader so for most, myself included, he was one of those enigmatic spirits on campus that lingered in your psyche long after they graduated.

I think what saddens me the most is that the potential I was so quick to recognize will never be allowed to flourish. We continue to lose the best and brightest in this country and those that remain are silenced or made impotent by nepotism or prejudice.

The scandal surrounding his death emerges from the circumstances under which it happened. Jamaicans have this twisted notion that multiple stab wounds are signs of a so-called "crime of passion" and are therefore indicative of a gay lovers' spat gone awry. As such, little will be done in terms of the investigation of this murder, and his death will be mired in the controversy of it being the consequence of an iniquitous lifestyle .

I don't want to go down like that.

Imagine the grief his family is already experiencing knowing that their prodigiously talented son will never be able to live up to his full potential, and imagine how this grief is exacerbated with the shadow of shame that has been cast on his reputation with the introduction of a gay scandal in this hypocritically conservative nation.

It diminishes the value of his life in the minds of the blindly pious nincompoops that inhabit this rock. It sums up his life in one word that is synonymous with worthlessness: Battyman.

That is a betrayal of the brightness, of the charm, of the charisma, of the business savvy that made him so popular. No matter what kind of rumours were spread about him everyone had to respect him because he was no commoner.

And now it seems as if it were all for nothing.

It seems like such a waste of a life. Who can fill his shoes? Who can offer his unique perspective?

I really don't want to go out like that.

I saved your voice notes to inspire me in the future, and I still cannot close the conversation we were having that morning in the moments before you were taken from us.

Rest In Peace my brother. May we re-connect on the other side.

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