Last night I saw Janet Jackson for the first time LIVE in concert. A sold out concert! I was so in awe that my partner had to nudge me a few times to see if I was still breathing. The screams all around finally grounded me in the moment; and I was able to embrace it and treasure it for life. I don’t mean to sound like one of those demented fans (oh well, maybe I am!) But I told myself that if I should die today, it would be OK because I finally got to see Janet Jackson in person and had even breathed the same air as her in Radio City Music Hall. Less drastic than that, I think the concert made my year and it’s only the beginning! 
I’ve waited almost two decades to see this woman perform. I’ve been a fan of Janet Jackson since her self-titled album “JANET”, released in 1993. I was barely 10 yet I was crooning to love ballads such as “Again” and “That’s the way love goes”. It wasn’t until “The Velvet Rope” in 1998 that I became more in love with Miss Jackson. I had gotten my parents to purchase the album so that I could listen to it day and night. Of course at 15, my hormones were surging, pulling me into fantasies beyond my control. “I’m in love with Janet Jackson,” I had said to my best friend in high school one day during lunch time. She simply shrugged. “Who isn’t in love with Janet Jackson?” she asked, returning back to her sandwich. “No,” I said. “I love Janet like a man loves a woman.” She paused and looked at me like I had just sprouted two heads. She never said anything to me after that so I gathered that I had crossed a line in our friendship. Professing my love for Janet Jackson at 15 was the first time I came out as queer. It was a milestone, an epiphany I’d never forget.Queer: The word that comes to mind when I remember how my friend had looked at me when I told her of my attraction to Janet—it was a look I imagined one reserved for aliens, freaks, Siamese animals at a circus. Queer. For this reason, I don’t define myself as such. Now I say that I’m a lesbian—a woman who loves women. Not how a man loves a woman; but how a woman loves a woman--the way I thought I loved Janet then; the way how I love my partner now. Of course with Janet, it was teen lust, but whatever, the feelings were there and I couldn't ignore them.
The Velvet Rope got me through a deep depression after coming out. I began to fail all my classes, was put on academic probation, and had even begun to distance myself from people. One of the singles on the album “Free Xone” incited me to rise above what I was feeling and took life into my own hands. An idea emerged like a light bulb one night as I cracked my books open again. I literally escaped in my school work, slowly rising above the average grade. While many kids used other means to run away, I used books. The results came in the form of college acceptances to far away places where I could be myself. The opportunities afforded me my sanity and freedom. 
Now when I tell people that I love Janet Jackson they don't even have to ask. They already know. I can be myself and not apologize for it. Thanks to that Velvet Rope album in my teens, I sprouted rainbow wings and flew in the direction of the wind, flying over hills and mountains and across the ocean. I’m finally home in my skin. So when I got an email from my partner’s uncle last week that he knew someone with Janet Jackson tickets, I jumped on it. This was the same night when the Super Moon was shining bright into our kitchen, stirring all kinds of memories and nostalgia within me, reminding me of a time when I had prayed hard for the blessings I have today. It was on that night under this moon that I remembered how significant a role Janet Jackson had played in me realizing that not only do I love women; but I owed it to myself to be truthful about it and love myself ten times more.
Miss Jackson, I thank you for a wonderful concert last night. If you heard someone screaming above everyone else in Radio City Music Hall that was probably me, declaring my love for you with my partner next to me who I’m sure was thanking you too, because her scream was louder. Nicole © 2011
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