Finally, at Vive Latino, I got to see Smashing Pumpkins live. It was worth the five-hour wait because, in the end, the one who saw the show wasn’t the 26-year-old woman I am now; it was the 10-year-old girl who discovered them playing Rock Band, the teenager who cried listening to “Mayonnaise,” and the one who feels like a rat in a cage on public transport.

Billy and his genius mean so much to me. His music makes me feel like I’m not alone. Congratulations. May the years to come celebrate your legacy.