Once again a strange feeling.
This grief, this all-encompassing grief - because there is no other way to describe it really, boy did it hit me out of the blue. When I first heard the news, my heart skipped a beat. And then, nothing. I didn't feel anything, other than the grim thought that this wasn't really all that surprising and if it was anyone out of 1D, it would have been Liam and much like with Matthew Perry and his sad and untimely death, we've now been deprived of yet another much, much-anticipated reunion in the span of a year. Cause like everyone else, I thought there would be one.
I wasn't your typical fan, but there were lots that I enjoyed about the band and knew enough to know that Liam's career wasn't maybe all that it could have been and that he wanted the reunion the most, brought it up the most, held onto it the most. And while I hadn't heard any of his solo stuff other than Strip That Down, because that was enough to persuade me the music he was going to put out as a solo artist was not my cup of tea, never once did it cross my mind that this music might not have been his own choice but might have been under the guidance of people who wanted to keep exploiting him, like when he was in the band. Because it seems like Harry, Niall, Zayn and (after a hot minute) Louis, were more successful, but they also found their sound, their niche, and put out music that represented them. It took Liam dying for me to listen to Teardrops and think that under different guidance, with different influences, with motivation and room to show who he is as an artist and use his pain and his sorrow as inspiration, he could have become an excellent artist.
Leaving music aside, with all I've seen in the last couple of days, he was a guy that under the influence said some stupid shit, that even his bandmates were not angry about, which people took at face value and ridiculed him for, calling him cringe. Imagine being 31 years old and people treating you like a has-been. Any other time I've seen a video of Liam Payne in the last few days, he was always charming and had a good word for everybody. Yet that one stupid podcast was enough.
Don't get me started on the hotel staff, locking someone having an episode in a room with a balcony. What little value is placed on a human life? What little dignity is given to a dead body, photographed for the world to see, for the image to remain in the memory of the internet forevermore? For the father who had to navigate the paps on the worst day of his life?
How is it that my first thought when I heard Liam Payne is dead was that this is not surprising, when everything I've now seen, points me towards: this was completely preventable? This young man, young son, brother and father did not have to die. If only the world had been a little less cruel or one of the many people that could have reached out before the tragedy occurred, did so. Why is it that he said so many times how bad things got, but it fell on deaf ears?
All these nice memorials all over the world are taking place now and people say if only he knew how loved he was, as if being dead isn't the only prerequisite for them to happen. For all the fame, the love, the money, the cars, the mansions, the lights, the cameras, the adoration, I'm sure his family would have preferred it if he had become a fireman. Living down the street, popping by for a cuppa and having Sunday roast together.
Sharon Osbourne said it right, they failed you. They exploited you and left you without the means to pick up the pieces. And their lives go on.
I've spent the weekend sick with the flu and my mind on this. The futility.
Rest easy Liam, find peace.
