This essay was originally published in Issue #4 “ACROSS ???”. Order a copy now on BLURB.
On April Fool’s Day, 2003, Leslie Cheung sat alone on the balcony of his room on the twenty-fourth floor of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, observing the bustling streets of Hong Kong far below. He ordered a glass of orange juice, and soon afterwards, requested a pen and some paper from the
receptionist. After about an hour, against the backdrop of a beautiful sunset over Victoria Harbour, Leslie climbed over the railing and leapt to his death.
It was shocking, amazing, and absolutely horrible. An immense outpouring of sorrow spilled out from fans around the world at the premature death of their beloved star. Leslie was a legendary artist, Hong Kong’s greatest male diva, who had managed two tremendously successful music and film careers — and he had now left the world stunned.