Last night I went to see Bohemian Rapsody, a tribute to Freddy Mercury. While there may have been some untruths and exaggerations, it’s a love story. The story of a love; self-love, passion and how we all have our inner demons that rarely people see and probably don’t need to. Love of my life, a song to Mary, a song we all could sing at some point to the person who really knows our truth.
The reason I always felt close to this man is that he felt, as I have often, the passion to connect with his audience, the passion to feel he was only his true self when he was performing. He felt like a reject, as I have also felt. Seeking only to be loved as he was, for who he was on stage. He didn’t love himself that much, but that is not that bad, considering the option. When he passed, I had just quit drinking and the news of his having AIDS, only made me feel even closer to him. An outcast, as so many were at that time. This was made clear when I visited a friend dying from AIDS on the hospital floor in Spain dedicated to the lonely, the floor everyone back then, the 90’s, was afraid to visit. People facing death alone, abandoned by families and friends for having AIDS. The look in their eyes begging for some acknowledgment and affection.
The love of my life, Freddy, a kindred spirit fighting his demons but also fighting to be himself. I believe he did brilliantly. As I also believe he conquered and made peace with all of them at the end with utmost grace.