I have a confession: When Princess Diana died, I cried my heart out for weeks. I sobbed, I wrote in my journal, I brought a rose and stood in line to sign the condolences book in New York City, I attended an open-air memorial service in Central Park. I was heartbroken.

To understand how weird this is, you need to understand that I was never a fan of hers while she was alive. (And I know, she wasn't technically "Princess" when she died. But she was more of a princess in the magical sense of the word than anyone else with that title, so I will continue to use it.) I was dimly aware of her, because of all of the non-stop media coverage of her life, and I remember her visiting Hong Kong while I lived there, but I didn't care about it at the time. If anything, I looked down on the people who thronged to see her when she visited, and who followed news about her as if it were important. The truth is, I didn't think much about them, or about her, at all. 

And then she died.

And it was as if a light had gone out in the world. As if something that should never be struck down had been struck down. I couldn't believe it. And then, I became tremendously, tremendously, sad. I didn't understand why, at the time, but I allowed myself to grieve this person I had never known nor cared about. From the outside, it might seem that I was simply swept away by the collective grief of everyone else. But my own sadness began before I had seen any of that. I didn't watch much TV, and the only coverage I remember watching was the funeral procession and funeral itself. To this day, I still don't fully understand why her death affected me so much.