I grew up in the 1980s, when Michael Jackson was already an international superstar. I had heard of his song Thriller, but I never actually saw the iconic MTV video or his groundbreaking choreography during my childhood. Back then, I only had a child’s impression of him. I even found his fashion choices amusing—those glittery, sequined jackets, cropped pants that showed his ankles, and white socks that stood out so much on stage.

I was aware of his involvement in “We Are the World,” the charity single created to raise funds for famine relief in Africa, but he still felt distant to me at that time—more of a global figure than someone I truly understood.

Years later, when I was in high school, I saw him again in interviews, but he looked different by then—lighter in appearance, which I later learned was due to vitiligo. This was around the era of his Black or White album. I remember him speaking about his condition, and even then, I believed him, despite not being a fan yet. In that same interview, he also mentioned his admiration for Brooke Shields, which was widely discussed at the time.

When allegations of child abuse surfaced in later years, I found myself unconvinced. My impression of him was shaped more by the idea of a misunderstood artist than by the controversies surrounding him. My mother shared a similar view, often saying that his lack of a normal childhood may have shaped a “Peter Pan” kind of personality that never fully grew into adulthood in a traditional sense.

Now, as an adult, my perspective has shifted again—this time into deep admiration. I’ve become genuinely fascinated with Michael Jackson as a performer. The recent film Michael helped reintroduce his legacy, especially to younger audiences, and reminded many of why he is often considered one of the greatest entertainers of all time. It also reminded me of how I once became obsessed with The Beatles in high school, even though they were already legends long before I was born.

Watching Michael Jackson’s old performances now leaves me in awe. His voice carried both power and emotion, and his dance movements were precise yet effortlessly graceful. Beyond his talent, I also find him strikingly charismatic across every era of his career. There was a magnetic quality to him that went beyond performance—it drew people in.

With a more mature perspective, I now understand the purpose behind his signature style—the sequined jackets, the cropped pants, and the white socks were not just fashion choices, but intentional elements that enhanced his movement on stage and made every gesture more visually powerful.

It is a pity that the film Michael did not receive stronger recognition in the Philippines. It had limited theater screenings and was barely visible in local media or social platforms, despite its importance in reintroducing his story to a new generation.