THE PLACE OF THE MOST INNOCENT PRISONERS

THE PLACE OF THE MOST INNOCENT

Prisoners

EDSEL HARRY R. TURDA s I drive on a dark chilly night, I have

Apassed by various road signs showing disparate warnings and safety measures. A John Denver classic, Take Me Home, Country Roads, was reimagined as I cross two-way and single roads to home. Not to forget, my inner buddy, whom I am singing passionately but silently—with, tries to escape the weekday problems, as we drive home. I actually imagined myself as a bird escaping from the stout bars of a cage, thinking that I really am freed, when I am actually not. I just got out from a small box to live and justify my liberation in a larger cage—a habitat created to test humans and humanity—we often call, life.

I’m getting old. I recalled life as something we often experience on jeepneys and buses going home. Trust me when I say, I was five when I was first sent to jail. Like any other young prisoner, my mind was a tabula rasa. I had no complete idea of what in the world is happening, I just followed the instructions and went on with the path, though what I only had in mind back then was Disneyland. The jail was so vast that it could accommodate thousands of prisoners in our town and nearby cities. The doctrine I had as a kid was that only the bad and probably evil people are thrown behind bars. With that indoctrination, I was formally baptized by the sacred judgments of society that I was a legitimate sinful person--at the age of five. I innocently accepted the accusation. Believe me when I say, my parents were the very people who sent me to jail—a place, they believe, would make me a well-grown individual. I was thrown into the first cell and was instructed to be transferred to another cell after a year if and only if I will behave well. We are tortured and forced to perform tasks— count the animals, color the fruits and if we failed, we were punished. No, we did not count more animals nor asked to color more fruits; instead we wrote more of our names—full names, repeatedly, on a whole sheet of paper.

The same routine was done every day, in seven years, excluding summers. I spent that long before we were sent to a more complex jail, for another six years. The higher the level, the harder it gets. Our consistency had been tested, the time had been strictly monitored, the judgment was more inhumane and we were measured with prejudice. It was the exact opposite of a fair-and-square system. The crooked methods of the lords, the bosses and the authorities

prevailed. The favorites ruled. Of all the group of prisoners, those with serious criminal cases are the ones who were freed and the innocent ones were unfairly judged to stay. Indeed, the higher the level, the harder it is to prove that you are innocent. It all went out to be the most biased six year of my life, so far. Having been to ceaseless unreasonable opinion, insensitive actions and two-faced people, it was exasperating to be continuously bombarded by a classic cliché question, why is life so unfair?

Surprisingly, the six-year prejudgment was an unforgettable occurrence—one I consider as both good and bad because I definitely learned from it. But despite the seemingly endless process of gaining trials and triumphs, I still get disrupted by society’s random judgment. I felt like every morning was a death threat, knowing that the moment I open my eyes, I would have to blindly absorb everyone's unjust opinion against me--again. This happened to me in the highest level of jail—which houses the most liberated prisoners yet the most rigorous ones.

I never doubted my bravery. The life I will have in this highest jail is foreshadowed by the experiences I had while I was on the lower ones. It is now that I can appreciate, more than ever, the places that served as my training ground for thirteen years. Because now, I have entered a peculiar jail, specialized in training people to manage and guard the cells and its prisoners. I do not know if I should have the same feeling I had when I was five, when everything seems to be new for me. I, again, have no idea of the decisions that I am about to make. But I guess, it is how we learn that life is all about taking risks, or perhaps, life is a risk itself? Anyway, I am all for taking risks, and I am all for the last four years in jail. I am all for the last four years of dealing with irrational prisoners, I am all for the last four years of doing grueling works, I am all for the last four years of arguing with the rule of the favorites and I am all for the last four years of proving my questionable worth, not to you but to my inner buddy. But then again when I give my all, what would be left of me?

I am already used to jail, of becoming a prisoner. The seventeen years of my life being spent in a jail, is a mere choice. I chose to be the strongest possible person that I am when I am at my weakest. I chose not to have regrets in every decision that I make. I chose not to believe everyone’s judgment of me. I chose to hold on to my own principles when everything and everyone is pulling me down to their level. I chose to see life as fair as possible even when life makes me see, with open eyes, that it is actually not. And I chose to take this seventeen years in jail as a responsibility. Others may say, with great power comes great responsibility, but I firmly say, with great responsibility comes great power. Everyone lives with a responsibility. I was jailed at five for a purpose. I was judged unfairly at fifteen for a purpose. We all are responsible for our own purpose— we both find and create.

If you happen to pass by road signs, listen to classical music, sing with your inner buddy emotionally, or imagine yourself as a bird—a free bird—it all has a purpose, why you think, why you feel, and why you imagine situations in buses or jeepneys. That purpose happens every day, to take responsibility for the circumstances you cannot stop from happening. I was not able to forbid myself entering a jail for seventeen years, but it is my responsibility to make the most out of it, to find the shining gold in the dark sand, that will surely benefit, not only me, but others who are in need of a person to help them and guide them in finding their own responsibility and own purpose as well. That is my responsibility, and my great power.

And that is, for me, a well-lived life—finding your purpose everyday and being responsible for it.

Now, I am judged with a life sentence. I will be spending my whole life in jail, I mean school—a place for the most innocent prisoners, I mean, learners.

And though it may seem a long path to take, I will drive on that road, take stops when I need to, go back home when I feel like I have to, until I am strong enough, brave enough, and worthy enough, to be sentenced with a LIFE, without judgments. Only then that I can declare-- I AM FREE.