I could not recall how it began. How I fell in love; maybe it was his hair or maybe his flawless jawbones. His dirty jokes. His undying charisma. His stupid voice and accent. His talent. But he was so much more. All of us, I am sure, share the same para-social relationship with one public figure at some point. I never tried to acknowledge how a strange man from strange land could interest me in the most irrelevant way of inspiring such greatness in one bit of my life. Music. Bass. He may not know this. He may know that he is loved, admired -- by thousand, million girls all over the world. But he did not fully comprehend; especially during his period when he hit the rock bottom. He did not know that he is truly loved. He knows. But he did not really know. He should, you see. That is why I am writing this. In a million chance he might or might not read this. But he has the right to know that his life means a lot more that what he sees for himself. His life means more, to me. To his fans. It was beyond words when I heard he tried to commit suicide. I thought he was perfect. I thought he was alright. I thought I could see through 140 characters of writing. But I was wrong. Nevertheless, his decision which got him this far; safe, secure and sound, was his best work. He should be proud, he should be happy. Because I am. Or on behalf of his other fans, we are proud. I love him without knowing he knows my name in person.
I have met him once, face to face, and it was one of the best day in my life. He is dangerous in a way because he has that kind of crucial power within his grip, making the best day of someone's life, without entirely know he has it. Oh boy.
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