There's a Starman waiting in the sky.

For me, it's not that David Bowie has died, but someone who guided me through the stars, opened doors to other worlds and dreams has left. And he's not coming back. He left me here, alone in this world that makes me feel so weird and like from outer space. 

As many of you know, my mother raised me alone, she's always been my guide, but there have been things that she couldn't teach me, as usual. When I discovered David Bowie, his music and talking and way of life completed some pieces of me that were incomplete. Often, in key joke, I called him "Dad". Daddy Bowie. It sounded good.

With his music, I learned to dream big, to question what should be "normal" or not. From him, I learned that it was not unusual or wrong for a man to wear high heels and lipstick, or that a woman could do what she fucking wanted to do without being questioned. I learned the beauty of being different, of being you. I learned that we are all stars and we are made of the same material. With his music, David Bowie made me feel closer to him and the stars. The dark side of the moon. He was not a musician, he was a mentor. And more than a mentor, a father who was away but sent letters in the form of songs with life lessons. At least that's how I felt about him.

"If God exists and is a musician, is David Bowie," I would tell my friends. All those who really know me have heard me say those words. Well, God is again with the stars. And I cry a lot with his departure. And I miss you.

I love you, David. Thank you for all you have taught me. Thanks for being part of me with your art. Thanks for the dreams. I know where you're going you'll be in good company. Greet those who I love most, they can tell you what you mean to me and you can tell them that I miss them. Thank you, I thank you from the depths of my being.

And to you, who stay here with me, remember:

There's a starman waiting in the sky (...)
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie