Whitney Houston, The Most Beautiful

When I was a little girl I couldn't sleep often. I would lie in bed for hours listening to the television in the next room – sounds of gun shots, ambulances, lovemaking. If I got up I would be in big trouble. I had to pretend I was asleep.

One night I heard a voice that sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before, the most beautiful voice. I forgot everything and rushed to the television screen. I saw a face so beautiful I could not believe it could be a real person, a face surrounded by dozens of shiny beads streaming down the forehead and around the cheekbones, like frozen tears.

It changed my life forever; it is why I do what I do.

I still think Whitney Houston has the most beautiful voice. I still think Whitney Houston has the most beautiful face.

Let’s boycott the tabloids and gossip sites today. Let’s even boycott the news sites, the respected dailies. Let’s listen to the songs.

We know what happened already. The accounts of Whitney Houston’s struggles, recounted over and over again, are nothing but parasitical prying, yet again, disguised behind the chipped facade of objectivity – ‘the public has to know’.

Let’s not be the public. Let’s be people. Many of us have our own shit; the only difference is that it isn’t discussed on national television.

Let’s give Whitney the right to be one of us, to share with us what she came to be known for int he first place – her beauty, her voice.

It’s hard to write today. But it’s easy to sing.