Risen From Prison. Bosco H. C. Poon

you were on the night of April 2. You were at an underground parking lot in Vancouver, right? You and your buddy were looking for someone, right?”

      “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I told you already! I was in a recording session at the studio! Go ahead and talk to the guys in my group. Call them.”

      “You sure you didn’t get the date mixed up? It was a Friday night. You were at the parking lot. Think again.”

      “I’m sure I was at the studio. Call the owner of the studio.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yes, I am!”

      “How sure?”

      “Very sure!”

      “How come you are so sure?”

      “Because I was at the studio! How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

      The investigator then dropped his pen. “Mr. Poon, you know damn well why you’re here! This is not a random chit-chat. This is something very serious, very very serious! We’ve been after you for a whole week. We have stacks of pictures of you and your buddies. We know everything. So go over it again. Did you kidnap the victim on April 2 at the parking lot?”

      He tried to box me into one corner and then into another. If things were not proceeding the way that he liked, he would circle back and start with the same set of questions all over again. You can’t really understand how frustrating this is until you’re in the middle of it, but I guess it must work, because he did not relent.

      I had been awake for over 24 hours, my lips were cracking, and my mouth was dry. I knew that however tired I had ever felt in all my life, I had no understanding of “tired” until now. All I wanted was to go home and to collapse into bed, but that wouldn’t happen for a while.

      After the questioning ended, I was tossed into a dirty holding cell: three walls of concrete, one steel door, and, naturally, no window. It reminded me of a horror flick called Saw that came out that year. Staring at the light coming from the fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling, I wondered how long I would have to stay in there. It was the Easter long weekend, but there would be no celebrating. This was just the beginning of a long, dark nightmare.

      “My son, if sinful men entice you, do not give in to them … These men lie in wait for their own blood; they ambush only themselves!”

      (Prov. 1:10, 18)

      Chapter 2

      In the Beginning

      When most kids are little, their parents are their heroes. While this is not always true, it usually is. So being a child is simple: you look up to your parents and follow their example. Hopefully things just work out. You don’t really worry, because life just seems to be something that happens to you—not something you can shape and control.

      For me things were a little bit different. While I loved my parents and did look up to them, ever since I can remember I had a fascination with superstars performing on stage. The things that attracted me about the celebrity lifestyle are the ones you’d expect: the adulation, the recognition, the massive sphere of influence. I wanted it all—I wanted to be a star. I wanted to impact people with my voice and the message of my music. But most of all, I just wanted to be famous—camera flashes, fancy hotels, and nice cars. The problem was I didn’t know where to start. For years, I quietly kept the dream tucked away in the back of my mind. After all, why invest so much hope in something that might not come true? In my more conservative moments, I dismissed it all as a pipe dream.

      But in my last year of high school, I decided that those who do not try cannot succeed. So, if I didn’t take a crack at stardom now, in the window of my youth, it was never going to happen. I would end up as just another grey suit working a desk job in a cubicle somewhere, typing away under fluorescent lights and giggling at the daily wisdom of Dilbert cartoons—not that there’s anything wrong with that.

      Back in those days I was a diehard partygoer, and by chance I was introduced to a Chinese vocal trainer, Miss Mary, by a friend whom I’d met at an outdoor rave. It had been a three-day party held at some remote area east of Langley, BC. The organizer provided school buses to pick us up from the Willowbrook Shopping Centre parking lot. After a short 15 or 20 minute ride, we got dropped off at an entrance to a muddy trail walled with tall trees on both sides. As we walked deeper into the woods, my heart pounded harder and harder as the music got a bit louder with each step we marched forward. The moment we exited the trail, we saw a wonderland with many tents set right in front of a huge stage with lasers and colourful lights. After some of our guys finished setting up our tent, we went inside to put on some gear for the party: white gloves, visors, glow sticks, plastic bead bracelets, and necklaces. Before we headed outside to join the growing crowd, each person got to choose a favourite kind of candy from the goody bag. The one that always gave me the right boost of energy to dance the whole night was a custom-made capsule containing the perfect proportion of MDMA (ecstasy) and speed.

      As soon as the drugs kicked in, my body movements seemed to flow to the music. Like a robot with new batteries, I danced six hours straight non-stop that evening. When the sun came out I realized just how much I’d exerted myself. All my joints were swollen up and in pain. Resting in the tent after taking some Advil, I talked to Andrew about our lives and my dreams. We carried on discussing the same topic for a couple of hours.

      While we were on the school bus heading back to the mall parkade, Andrew said, “Since you want to have a music career, why don’t I hook you up with my vocal trainer? She is quite well-known in the local music scene, and she’s a good friend of my dad. They both used to be singers in Asia. She doesn’t accept just anyone as a student. But since she knows my dad, I’m sure she’ll help you out.”

      “Really? That would be awesome! I would love to meet her. Thanks so much, man!”

      Within a week, Andrew had arranged for me to meet Miss Mary. After the initial audition at her home studio, she frowned and said, “To be honest with you, there’s tons of work we need to do before you can go on the stage to perform professionally. You have a long way to go. But don’t be discouraged; if you are determined and not afraid of hard work, I can train you to be at that level. Unlike traditional music schools in North America, you don’t need all these musical qualifications to enter my program, just a passionate heart and a commitment to follow my instructions. I act as a private coach. My vocal master in Hong Kong trained me since I was a little girl. Many famous singers from the ’80s and ’90s are my personal friends. In our tradition, we’re not allowed to pass our knowledge and skills to anyone until we receive the approval from our master-teacher. When I decided to move to Canada, she then finally approved me to be a teacher for others. The same condition would apply to you when you become my student.”

      I nodded as I hung on every word that came out from her mouth, not wanting to miss anything. She then pointed to a wall full of photos and posters. “Many of my students have won singing contests, some of which were hosted by Sony Music Taiwan and other big name companies from overseas. Two of my students were signed by record labels in Taiwan. You can see their pictures and signed posters in this collage.”

      Looking at the people inside the photos with trophies in their hands, smiling so happily, I instantly wanted to be one of them. The beautifully made posters of the two famous recording artists mesmerized me. Miss Mary continued, “Once you have the agreement from your parents about the tuition, we can get started. I’ll base my fee on a thorough evaluation to tailor a program just for you. Towards the end, I’ll use my connections in the music business back in Asia to set up meetings with agents and record label representatives. Though there’s no guarantee, I’ll help you to get into the business as best that I can. In between, you’ll have to go to a lot of competitions to gain live performance experience. It’s not going to be an easy road; hard work is required. Now you go think about it, and then let me know your decision.”

      After talking to Miss Mary, I felt like there was a beacon of light shining down upon my path. I finally got a sense of direction after wandering for so many years. She showed me an avenue to the