Boston Homecoming

18th July - 5th August 2011 | Boston, Massachusetts, USA

The setting sun fell gently on the water's surface, as sail-boats glided serenely across the Charles River, with the familiar skyline forming the iconic Boston backdrop that I had grown so used to on my weekly weekend-walks. A cool evening breeze caressing my face gently grounded the reality of the situation - that I was back in Boston once again, and memories of all that I loved were a reality once again. Still one of my favourite cities in the world, and while some might argue that the city is not much for sight-seeing, no other place outside of Singapore feels as much like home - despite being away from her for a good three years.

In The Eagles words from their ballad "The Sad Cafe": Things in this life change very slowly, if they ever changed at all. And indeed, Boston was exactly the way I remembered it to be, where muscle memory instantly sank in within the first couple of days, and I was able to find my way around by foot to all the familiar haunts almost entirely based on some sort of intuition or a sense of subconsciousness. Regardless, there is / was still very much to love about the place...

The cool-summer climate set the tone and the backdrop for much that I loved to do in Boston - weekend walks across the river to the downtown area. Following the Freedom Trail from Downtown to Quincy market, to arrive at the all too familiar square and see identical performances by the same performers from 3 years ago. Hunting for the sweetest deals on pre-owned games, where often times the journey to the nearest Gamestop was as rewarding as the destination - as perhaps all I wanted was some sort of self-justification to validate a weekend walk when I could have been sleeping or gaming it away.

Ice-cream - lots of ice-cream - accentuated by a new Pinkberry yogurt fad in town provided the perfect partner for a mid-summer's night stroll back home; too cheesy cheesecake from Cheesecake Factory that has a level of sinfulness only found in American dining; and of course the seafood: where Clam Chowder and Lobster is the order of the day, and the freshness of the Lobsters and the creaminess of the Clam Chowder found in Boston still ranks at the top of my list for these choices, and warranted returning visits to the local seafood chains. 

But more than the physical or the gastronomical, Boston does something for me on an almost spiritual level as well. Thriving with creativity, Boston left me creatively inspired the last time after the 9-week duration, and this time around, it was hardly any different, but perhaps even more so invigorated. Perhaps the turbulent events after the last trip left me desolate and depressed enough that I hadn't been able to fully piece the pieces of that inspired-soul back together over the years; even though it has definitely been mended - but perhaps it was never complete (which might be a good or bad thing, since an incomplete soul probably has a better tendency towards introspection and reflection). Being back in Boston probably helped to put the finishing touches to that mending process, and the added insight and experience that I had gained over the years in between the visits probably allowed me to gain a bit of an even more deeply rooted wave of inspiration that fuels my soul and my mind with possibilties.

As nothing but the sound of my rhythmic footsteps rang through the evening air as I walked across the bridge, one step at a time, breathing in sync to the walking and eyes fixed towards the tall tower in a distance, I felt that I was taking one step onto familiarity, and another into the future, all at the same time. 

Photo Album:

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The Boston Chapters: Sunrise

The smell of the night still lingered in the air, slowly thinning as we made our way down the unusually deserted roads, as I was blindly following the crowd of three a little bit of a distance ahead of the rest of us. We didn't talk much, never did; and being travelling companions with a common goal did nothing much to bridge that disconnect, save for a silent acknowledge of one another's presence.

Fatigue probably played a large factor to the unwillingness to converse as well, as the mind-set of maximizing the time left on foreign shores - which had me making the decision to take the last bus out, only to arrive at 4 in the morning with nowhere to go but a nearby MacDonald's to wait the time out - probably left my body more dry than high; partially from the lack of sleep, but perhaps more so from the boredom of waiting.

And yet, there I was, searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; hoping to find a rare glimpse of beauty in the ordinary, to find the worth in the while for all the physical fatigue... 

The first step onto the bridge proper had me lifting up my head, seeing it stretch far into the distance, across the strait, with its suspension cords stretching towards the heavens, into the darkness above. Step by step, we walked down the bridge, going further and further into the thinning darkness.

A pinkish glow started to crawl along the sky - slowly but surely engulfing the darkness. The rattling of wheels and the distinct sound of bicycle bells rang behind us, as the bridge started to awaken with activity. Voices and shouts heard in the distance ahead, as step by step, we had come to the quarter-mark of the bridge. 

The ground beneath our feet shook more than slightly - a consequence of the high speed vehicles zooming by under our feet, with the sound of the roaring engines to accompany the sensation. More and more violently the earth beneath us shook, and the frequency of passing engine roars increased exponentially.

Just as we reached the halfway mark, I heard exclamations coming from the group ahead of us, as they started pointing towards the direction in which the water below us ran towards - eastwards. A thin ray of light shot vertically upwards from behind one of the buildings; and in almost an instant, spread out into a fan-like shape that stretched out in multiple directions. I stared intently, waiting for the visual climax.

A round golden silhouette peaked its head above a building, as I instinctively brought my hands to shield my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of the light. The great ball of light climbed confidently up the morning sky, assured of its dominance over the city, as its golden glory carassed  the faces of buildings near and far, having them respond with a golden glow off their reflective surfaces. The city had awoken to yet another sunrise.

I had found my pot of gold, in all its blinding glory - the glimpse of the sunrise in the Big Apple, probably a sight that millions wake up to every morning and see nothing out of the ordinary in - but yet, for one on foreign lands, it probably bore the significance of the start of the last chapter of the journey, as we headed towards our final weeks on this land.

The sunlight fell on my face, as I took in the air to smell the morning...

Niagara Falls: Hell and Highwater

13th July 2008

The queue towards the elevator snaked all the way to the back, and my companions and I were almost at the tail-end of it; but it didn't bother us one bit, as the sights around us captivated our souls in amazement.

Canadian shores laid opposite us with the connecting Rainbow Bridge standing proudly on our left, suspended over the calm, green waters of the river below. A scene of soothing tranquility as the cars cruised across the bridge almost in tandem to the white foams of the river flowing by.

Pot of Gold

The scene on the other side was one of stark contrast; the distant roars of the 2 different falls rang in the background. Clouds of mist that rose towards the sky from the bottom of the cascades only served as proof of the might of the cascading waters. Little blue people scrambled about the foot of the falls, hoping to get a bit more upclose and personal with the Maiden of the Mist, while equally tiny onlookers viewed the rear of the falls from a safe distance from an overlooking park.

Perfect Picture

When we first set our eyes upon the panoramic-view of the falls from our vantage point, my friends and I stood there utterly speechless; mostly out of amazement at the beauty of the way the different elements of man and nature came together to form a perfect picture. As we looked down at the Maiden of the Mist and the Veil of the Bride American Falls, with the main horseshoe falls setting the misty backdrop in a distance, we knew that our 8-hour trip was utterly justified, and almost pitied the people who opted out of joining us to get a first-hand experience with the Natural Wonder.

We were almost-subconsciously pushed to the entrance of the elevator, ready to make the long descent to meet the ladies face to face. It's a queer thing how the falls have such feminine monikers like "Maiden of the Mist" and the "Veil of the Bride." The elevator doors closed as I felt the pressure in my ears increasing. What we were about to see would surely provide a brand new perspective of the falls relative to the morning's visit.

The morning re-visit to the park that we were at for the night scene of the falls met with the same dastardly fate as the night before. Grey clouds looming overhead hinted that we wouldn't be seeing any rainbows in the daylight.

The day-time view of the Falls was less threatening than what we had witnessed the night before. While the mighty torrents of the river still rushed down the stream with the same thunderous gushes, the increased visibility made the green waters project less of a sense of fear and mystery than in the dark.

Daybreak

Not lost in translation however, was the great mist that rose from the impact of the cascades. Standing near the railings, I could feel the refreshing vapours of the Mist gently caressing my cheeks. So lost was I in the moment that I didn't really notice the raindrops that were falling on the dispersing crowd.... again.

A slight jerk followed by a chime indicated that we had reached the bottom of our descent, as we stepped out into the daylight, we heard the angry roars of the American Falls coming from our left. But the immediate priority was to join the ever-increasing queue for the Maiden of the Mist boat ride.

Down the queue, we were handed large, oversized, one-size-fits-all raincoats. Surely a primer to the wrath of the falls that we were about to face. Looking ridiculously undersized for our attire, we climbed to the upper deck of the boat to try to get the best view possible for our $200 bucks worth.

Never has the Raincoat looked THIS Sexy

"Welcome to the Maid of the Mist boat ride, ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice came over the speakers as the boat started to make her way upstream against the peaceful, emerald-green waves. But we were far too busy pushing through the crowd to really pay attention to what he was saying.

I pushed through the crowed and manoeuvred as close to the side of the boat as I could. Just as I emerged from the chaos, I stood rooted to the ground in wonder at the view that I was getting of the Maid of the Mist.

Love on the Rocks

Almost perfect streaks of white-water rushed off the cliff at the top, hitting a bed of rocks on the way down, emitting clouds of mist that rose towards the sky, while the white-waters continued to snake and meander their way down into the river below. The sight was one of that was awe-inspiring and yet, oddly soothing in a zen-like fashion at the same time.

The boat continue to sail further upstream, approaching the main Horseshoe Falls as our gaze remained fixated on the beautiful sight of the American Falls. It was only when the blue and yellow people grew much smaller and the trademark thunderous roars of the Horseshoe Falls grew louder that I shifted my focus.

Impending Doom

As if heading for impending doom, the boat cautiously sailed into the grasp of the threatening horseshoe so often portrayed in media forms. While not as towering as often depicted, there was no doubt about the velocity of the waters that earned the Niagara Falls its moniker of "Thunder Waters." The walls of the world's widest waterfall stretched in an almost perfect semi-circular fashion as water rushed off the cliffs from all sides, causing us to be buried in a large collective cloud of mist.

Music started playing through the boat's speakers as we sailed further into the treacherous jaws of the horseshoe; perfectly constructed walls of water surrounding us on every side. The captain paused briefly as the music quietened, the boat's engine slowed as the boat continued to drift into the Eye of the Storm.

Just as the boat drifted into the centre of the horseshoe, the Captain's voice came over the speaker...

"Ladies and gentlemen.... this is Niagara Falls."

The music dramatically climaxed into a crescendo as the mist rushed at us from every direction, engulfing us with a vengeance; as if Mother Nature was trying to assimilate us into the collective mist that spewed from her foreboding jaws. The calm was nowhere to be found in this Eye of the Storm for certain, as we were drenched thoroughly through our raincoats, having me drip from cap to toe... and yet, I loved every drop of it.

The boat turned tail to retreat and escape from the threatening clutches of the horseshoe, as I stood at the corner of the boat in an attempt to capture my close encounter with Mother Nature's fury. As if to put me in my place, she unleashed her fury in the form of an overhead wave that slapped me across the body as I held my ground in defiance.

Defiance

I gritted through the fury of the tides until the ship pulled far enough away from the jaws of doom, finally earning a breather as we enjoyed the round-trip scenery of the American Falls once again. Yellow and blue people continued to scale the winding staircases under the foot of the two American Falls, as I knew that I would be one of those little people the moment the ship docked.

Survivors

As we stood at the foot of the hills, we saw a string of blue meandering up the staircases at the foot of the falls in search of a little upclose and personal time with the Maiden of the Mist. With some sort of slightly masochistic adventurous streak, my friends and I sought to get another round of lashing from Mother Nature.

Jer and Will went up the Hill to fetch a Mouthful of Water

We ascended with caution, up the slippery steps and enduring the periodic sprays of rage that the Maiden of the Mist rained upon us, with the sprays getting stronger as we ascended higher and higher. We saw people turn back halfway into the pilgrimage with squeals and screams due to the increasingly menacing sprays, but we chugged on towards the very top of the stairs, and awaiting us there was nothing more than an open wooden platform and a potful of pride.

Probably angry with our persistence, the Maiden of the Mist rained her fury upon my friends and I, beckoning us to turn around and head back. Even though her anger was relatively less menacing than her bigger counterpart, it was still enough to drench us through our raincoats for one last time, temporarily destroying my camera in the process as we attempted to squeeze out our last few memories.

Extent of Damage

As I sat in the 8-hour bus ride back to Boston, shivering from the cold air-con blasting away and through my soaked t-shirt onto my skin, with water still dripping off the hood of my cap, madly fiddling with my vapour-filled camera, and moving my toes to feel the water squishing about in my shoes and my socks; logically, I knew that I should been feeling cold and miserable. Yet almost unexplainably, I couldn't help my smile to myself in satisfaction as my eyes grew heavier and heavier...

Legend of the Falls

The Boston Chapters: Over Troubled Waters

The bridge has always held a significant value to me. Sure, it stretches across an extremely peaceful river with the most tranquil of sights - sail boats gently gliding on the water's surface as the sun's rays reflected off of the dancing waves of the river. But then again, it has never really been about the sights of what one would see on the bridge, as much as it sure does help; it's the very act of crossing the bridge that counts more.

Geographically, walking across the bridge takes one to "the other side", or a whole new realm we all know as Boston. I remember the first time I crossed the bridge, I felt a slight rush of excitement as I made a mental note of the "new frontier" in which I was about to set foot upon.

Over the course of the 2 months, as much as the feelings of excitement and adventure peeled off with the weathering of time, I still always make it an effort to walk across the bridge every time I want to head down to the all-too-familiar comic shop or Prudential Tower on the other side.

As much as it would make more comfortable sense to ride the bus instead, there was just something about crossing the bridge on foot that meant something, something that felt "right" or refreshing; especially so during the times that I walked alone, with only the hymns of Mother Nature ringing through my ears. Somehow, walking across the bridge had unknowingly become my little quiet spot and reflection time for the duration in which I've been here.

I'm sure the sights and sounds played a part in attributing to the creation of this little emotional and mental refuge for me; but thinking deeper about it, I figured that maybe its because it holds a significant metaphorical meaning to me as a person as well.

The entire experience of this 2 months could very well be likened to, you guessed it, a bridge in my life; a bridge over the turbulent and troubled waters of uncertainty. And just like the little bridge, these entire experience is also set to lead me into new frontiers; a new chance, a new job, a new hope, maybe. No one really knows what really lies on the other side, but I'm sure that this bridge is leading me somewhere.

But just as or perhaps even more important than the eventual destination, the bridge in itself, is a journey or part of THE journey as well. While the main purpose of it was or is to bring one to the other side, I cannot deny that making this crossing has yielded its own share of intangible rewards as well.

In summary, these 2 months habr been magical to say the least (minus the debacle of "Black Tuesday"), and not only have I learned and grown as a Game Designer with the project and under the guidance of the people that have been helping me out along the way; more importantly, I've learned and grown as a person, learning important lessons from the experiences of almost-utter freedom and independence, and I would be lying to say that I didn't almost enjoy every single minute of it. And the best part is, I managed to do all this while joining a team of talented (and some less-talented people) in creating something special.

While not THE most polished or complete of games, Muzaic is definitely something that I'm more than happy with the way it turned out. Sure, we had our hard times, we crunched blood and sweat out of the last fortnight, and we worked our asses off to get all that we wanted in; but through all the buggy mess that was / is often out of our control, the bottomline is: Muzaic is a game that I'm proud to call my own, no matter what anyone or everyone thinks about it, I will always feel that magic was made while I made this little crossing in my life's path, and in many many more aspects than one.

I looked at the iconic pointed-top of the Prudential Tower get bigger and bigger as I drew closer to it. The length of the pathway behind me getting longer with each subsequent step I took. Sail boats glided across the surface like every other good-weathered day. The waves rippled under my feet as I looked at the shimmering image of the sun on the water's surface.

And turned around, and stared long and hard through the intense light at the scene that surrounded me. Today, I crossed the bridge for the last time...

........... See you on the Other Side

The Boston Chapters: Black Tuesday

29th July 2008

The familiar jingle played repeatedly, stretching my already too thin patience. Still suffering in shock and anxiety of discovering the loss from my wallet, I was trying my best to calm my nerves while preparing for the worst.

I saw the scene play back in my mind's eye. Standing in front of the ATM, typing in the amount "$200.00" on the number pad. A flick of the wrist, a glance at my watch; an awful reminder that I was already much later than I should have been.

The all-too-familiar hobo sitting at the side was caught in my peripheral vision, as my central vision caught a message on the screen.

"A 2 dollar charge will be made for your transaction. Do you still wish to proceed?"

Jamming the button hurriedly produced no results, only to later find out that it was the misaligned button below it.

Snatching the money out of the jaws of the teller in a hurry, I impatiently answered the "Do you need a receipt?" question on screen with repeated button presses. Snatching the receipt the moment it was dispensed, I turned around and left for my meeting... not realizing that I had forgotten something; something too costly to have been forgotten.

"Hello. Mr. Kang?" a man's voice came on the line, through a relatively thick and familiar Filipino accent.

"Hi, I lost my debit card yesterday and I am calling to enquire if there were any transactions made after 5.45 a.m. Singapore time?" I asked, wary and yet trying my best to be preparatory.

"Yes sir, there have been a number of transactions made," the voice replied.

"Could you list down all the transactions made after the withdrawal of $200 USD at 5.45 a.m. Singapore time?" I asked further, still trying to hold myself together.

"Well sir, they are at 6.10 a.m., a $20.13 transaction; at 6.22 a.m. a $35.46 transaction.... at 6.50.... at 12.05 p.m., a $65.34 transaction, at 12.20 a.m. a..." my heart sinking deeper with each line the voice read off.

"You know what, could you just total the total amount that I lost?" I cut the voice off impatiently.

"Please hold on for a second sir, I will compute it manually," the voice said, as he subjected me to the artificially-happy jingle all over again. Well, for what it was supposed to be musically, it sure didn't help me feel any better, as I bit my nails and took deep breaths waiting for the final tally.

"Ok sir," the voice returned, "the total amount of your transactions made amount to $981 SGD," he said calmly.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I sat in silence for a few seconds; probably the longest few seconds in the last 2 months, before I managed to utter out the words in a shaky tone, "is there anything I can do about these transactions?"

"I'm sorry sir, these transactions are still pending... file a dispute claim..." the voice continued to explain as I felt my heart wrenching in pain and disappointment while my mind tried to focus on the instructions detailing what I had to do next.

"But again sir, I stress that there are no guarantees that filing a dispute claim will be able to get you your money back," the phone call ended as I sat in my chair, stunned in silence, in an entirely emotionally confused state.

Feelings of disappointment, anger, at both myself and my carelessness and the motherfucker involved, resignation, resentment, shock, self-pity, enlightened all compressed into an extremely long and painful 5 minutes; maybe longer, maybe shorter, but it didn't matter.

I took a deep breath as I thought about the things that the money could have been; the opportunity costs involved. It could have easily been a PS3, an Ipod Touch, a trip to Taiwan, money to get me by till the next job, a shopping spree; and yet, all it ended up was a pile of dust to be squandered off by someone else. All the hard-earned funds from the previous low-paying job burned in the hands of another.

I let out a deep sigh as I thought about my fate. Questioning the lesson to be learnt behind this. Prudence perhaps? And in a way, I was every bit deserving to have someone squander of some of my money. But to the point that it escalated into almost my entire remains, to have to pay close to a thousand just to learn said prudence; that was just bad luck, or just another cruel twist of fate.

Indeed, blind optimism somehow always lead me to believe that things happen for a reason. And oftentimes, I convinced myself that God is simply moulding me with each experiencing to make me into a bigger and better person, so much so that as and when he were to thrust my almost-deserving Greatness onto me, I would be ready to accept and hold it.

Yet, in recent years, with each new cruel twist of Fate, I only find myself seemingly growing decrementally less, and question the cause and purpose of such experiences incrementally more; always convincing myself that "the light at the end of the tunnel is just around the bend", or "its always darkest before the dawn" psycho-babble. But yet, with each new mishap, my patience for the answers grow thinner and my bitterness and resentment towards my Fate, luck, chance, karma, purpose, or whatever one might call it grows cancerously.

Indeed, it never rains but pours. Just another cruel twist of Fate in my already bitter life, perhaps?

So, despite and against all warnings from the company around me, I still have to ask: "So, what else could go wrong?"

................ Fuck.

Niagara Falls: Night Scene - The Cursed and the Mist

13th July 2008


The sound of running water sounded off from a distance as I peered over the railing and through the trees to get a view of the waters below.

"Please move to the front, there is a better view there," the tour guide said in her almost-obvious Malaysian English accent.

Knowing that we only had 20 minutes to spare, we hurried along the pathway. The sound of the running water got louder and faster as we walked down the pathway, matching the increasing pace of our excited hearts. It was of little surprise really, after all, this was what we had endured more than 1o hours up the country to see. And the validation of that endurance was only footsteps away.

The pathway came to a downhill, and the trees came to a clearing, revealing to us the very validation that we seeked. Just below us, was a cliff that hung over the cascades of the falls, shrouded in a thick cloud of mist that blurred the Canadian backdrop behind it.

Mist of Night

I stood there frozen in wonder for a few seconds, staring out at the wondrous Mist. A mist so thick and so vast that served as a proof to the strength and speed of the waters that spawned it. A body of water strong and loud enough to earn itself the moniker of "Thunderous Waters". Wasting hardly anytime, I skipped down the downhill path into the park below to get more upclose and personal with the raging waters.

The sound of the waters grew louder as I made my way downhill, finally peaking at an almost deafening volume when I had reached the bottom. The stream that led to the actual cascade was fierce, raging and violent, judging from the speed in which the white foams of the waves were rushing downstream. But this was only a mild prelude of the force of the water that lay ahead.

The Falls proper were a horseshoe-shaped wonder of power. Water rushed down the cliffs at tremendous velocity and fittingly deafening volume. The vapour that sprayed from the impact of the raging waters onto the rocks below accumulated into a collective cloud of mist, shrouding the other ended of the horseshoe behind it. As the wind blew, parts of the Great Cloud fell onto the face, driving in the reality of my proximity to the fabled falls.

A Horseshoe of Rage

For some odd reason, the water spraying on my face grew more frequent. "Is it just actually raining, or is it just me?" I turned around to ask Joanne and William (a.k.a. Hot Stud).

"I think its really raining," Hot Stud replied, as he hid his friend's SLR under his jacket.

"Typical, " I said to them, "what else is new?"

Seizing the moment, I tried to grab as many photos as I could while wishing for the weather to hold out a little longer, just that little bit longer. But this has never been the case in the past, and as usual, the inevitable happened.

Through the Rain

The rain got progressively heavier until it escalated into a rapid downpour, forcing everyone to run for the nearest shelter. As I huddled under the shelter with Joanne and everyone else, shoes drenched and hair wet, she turned to me and said, "I think you are really a jinx, man. Seems like every time I travel with you, it will surely rain."

I just turned to her and forced a sheepish grin through the cold shivers, partially in recognition and partially in resentment of my fate.