Risen From Prison. Bosco H. C. Poon

rose in the same manner that physical blemishes can be exposed by soap and water. I could have avoided a lot of hurt by applying a little wisdom.

      “For the lips of an immoral woman are as sweet as honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil. But in the end she is as bitter as poison, as dangerous as a double-edged sword.” (Prov. 5:3–4 NLT)

      Chapter 6

      Keep Fighting

      “Well Mr. Poon, can you tell me how you occupy your time each day?” My bail supervisor, Marcus, peered at me with my file sitting open on his desk. His demeanour and tone betrayed his skepticism, but I sensed his genuine desire to help me get back on the right track.

      I responded in a somewhat dejected tone but tried to make myself sound productive. “Well, I’m in court from Monday to Thursday, so I can’t do much then. I do work at a salon on Fridays and the weekends. Sometimes I get hired on a freelance basis to do makeup for models at local fashion events.”

      “Really? You get fashion work? That’s pretty interesting, but I have to say, you don’t look too excited, kid.”

      “Well—the trial is taking a lot out of me. What do you expect?” I was far too familiar in my way of speaking to him. “Plus, I have a curfew. I have to rush home like a madman from work most nights. How excited should I be?”

      “Boz, you seem passionate about what you’re doing, and you are getting opportunities to work. Despite the circumstances, I think you ought to be a little happier.” He seemed to actually care about me.

      “What’s your dream?” he continued.

      “Don’t talk to me about dreams …” I sighed. The truth was, I wanted to talk about dreams. I had them—in spades. But I was feeling pretty petulant about everything at this point, and I was playing the part.

      “Why not? Everyone has dream. Tell me. What’s yours?” He leaned forward, and his forearms slid onto the table. He looked me in the eye and waited. I snubbed him as long as I could.

      “You’ve got to be kidding me …” I sat silent for 30 seconds. “I spent over four years chasing after my so-called dream, and look where it’s landed me. You have no idea how much time I spent and how much energy I wasted.”

      “What was it? What were you working on?”

      “I was a recording artist.”

      “What? You? When?”

      “Yes. And I’ve had two record deals slip through my fingers. A third one is on hold right now as we speak.”

      “C’mon.”

      “Yes, and my group and I—I’m completely trapped waiting for this situation to resolve so I can release our first album with them in Taipei. So tell me, can I go fulfill my dreams now? No, I can’t leave the country, so I’m going to lose this deal too. What is there left to talk about? My dreams are evaporating.” I clenched my fists to keep myself from showing a lack of self-control.

      “Wow, really? That’s really unfortunate. If that’s your passion, why are you doing all these other things then—the fashion stuff, I mean? Why don’t you focus on the music if that’s what really brings you satisfaction?”

      “Do I have a choice? Hair and makeup have always been a backup plan. I don’t love them, but it is work, and I need to eat. If the music thing never happens, at least I will be able to seek out a living. But the way things are looking right now, I’m going to be cutting lots of hair. God only knows when this trial’s gonna end or if I’ll just get tossed into prison—”

      “It’s still up in the air. The case isn’t settled yet. There’s still a chance that you’ll be released. Why not think about channelling your energy toward your music? I mean, maybe not full time, but give yourself a little freedom to do something you love. There are many aspects of your situation you can’t change, but there are things that you can do to help make yourself feel better,” he suggested.