Hello, Boston


“Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.” – Alan Sachs

Indeed, you can’t find a sight like the above photograph in Woods Hole. For the three-day weekend, I hopped in a car with my mom’s dear friend, Kristin, and hit the road for Boston! Our first stop was the WWII museum in Natick, a city around twenty minutes west of Boston.

The museum was very small, especially when compared to the Holocaust museums I visited in Los Angeles, D.C., and of course, Israel. Nevertheless, the size made it more personal and I was able to take my time on every exhibit, absorbing in every detail. Rather than trying to complete a huge museum in a few hours, I was able to sincerely grasp every emotion that the museum strived to evoke. Personally, I was especially enthralled by all of the propaganda that covered all the walls, especially the ones in the Germany section. It allowed me to sympathize with those who were in Germany, involved with Hitler’s horrid scheme. I could imagine myself walking down a street in Germany with war propaganda constantly being shoved in my face. There was truly no way to avoid being brainwashed by Hitler’s brutal, hateful philosophy.


After completing the museum, Kristin and I were ready to lighten the mood with the city lights of Boston. After parking the car, we walked through the Boston Common, people-watched at the famous Swan Pond, absorbed in the beauty of the State Building, checked off the Cheer’s bar, and finally, did some shopping at the Faneuil Hall- Quincy Market. After returning to the car, we made our way to the fascinating Liberty Hotel. On the outside, it looks like a typical five-star hotel, but thanks to Kristin’s abundance of historical knowledge, she insisted on bringing me inside. After being greeted by a gorgeous artistic lobby, we made our way to the second floor, where there was a small exhibit, revealing the hotel’s dark past.

Before the Liberty Hotel became the beautiful building it is today, it was the infamous Suffolk County Jail! In fact, WWII Prisoners of War, anti-Wilson protestors, Malcolm X, and German rocket scientists were once incarnated there. During the 1970’s, however, the U.S. District Court ordered that because of overcrowding and awful living conditions, it must be closed down. I’m not the biggest fan of history, but this story did a great job of convincing me that history can be fascinating!


I came to Boston two years ago while university-hopping and visited the Harvard University campus but I didn’t have time to explore Boston so I didn’t think much of Massachusetts. But, after a long day of painting Boston red, I realized that MA has a lot more to offer than I thought.

Kristin and I weren’t quite done with exploring.. After a good night’s sleep, we were fully energized and eager to continue our adventure! Growing up, I’ve always been humored by the fact that the Plymouth Rock was named America’s Most Disappointing Landmark, and so to live up my childhood laughter, I convinced Kristin to make a pitstop there before dropping me off at Woods Hole. Needless to say, I was satisfied by its disappointness!

Yes, you’re seeing right. The grand Plymouth Rock is in fact a mere rock. Not even a boulder!! It’s amazing how easily something can be glorified when in reality it’s a worthless piece of crap. This concept can easily be applied to many things in life, celebrities, junk food, and most commonly, money.

Forget that. Enjoy the little things in life. I’d much rather enjoy the lovely pebbles off the beaten path in an unknown place on the coast of New Zealand than visit the famous Plymouth Rock!

Till tomorrow..



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s