Prisoners Are Human, Too

Yesterday, in a criminal justice course that I have to take for some reason to get my psychology degree, the professor brought in three prisoners accompanied by a member of security to talk to the class about what it’s like to be incarcerated.  These gentlemen walked into a classroom filled with spoiled, dead-eyed undergraduates who have never seen the inside of a jail cell and were expected to give them all a play-by-play of the heinous crimes they had committed.  I’ll tell you this: their stories were very eye-opening and managed to dig deep into the thought of only having one life to live.  I can also honestly say that despite their status as inmates, they were by far more human than every being populating our classroom.

The first inmate who stood before the classroom was a 39 year-old man who informed the class that we had nothing to be afraid of, and joked if something were to happen then they’d be tranquilized on the spot.  Immediately, he began his soliloquy on his life of crime.  He began an addiction to crack cocaine at the tender age of 15 after only a few experiences with marijuana.  Eventually, his story was filled only with speculation as he claimed that he could not remember a good portion of his life due to what seemed like an everlasting high.  One night, while high, he said that he wanted to go rob a store with someone he considered a “true” friend at the time.  They settled on a gas station and decided they’d rob the place by equipping a starter pistol (a pistol used to start track and field races).  He stumbled into the gas station and immediately pointed the starter pistol into the gas attendant’s face.  He requested all of the money in the cash register and made a quick attempt to the escape the gas station, only to be stopped by what he described as a .38 handgun held by the attendant.  The attendant did not pull the trigger and the prisoner repeatedly claimed that God had intervened to give him a chance to correct his actions.  Just as he was about to let go of the money he had stolen, the prisoner began overdosing on whatever concoction of drugs circulating about his system.  His “true” friend, waiting in the car, proceeded to drive off once he noticed that the prisoner was on the ground overdosing.  The prisoner says he never saw his friend again and woke up in the hospital the very next day, only to be given possession charges and robbery charges among others.  He is currently serving his 7th year in prison.  He has a wife and two daughters who await his release.

The second inmate was an enormous man about 45 years-old who did not have an excellent grasp on the English language.  He started off in life as an excellent athlete who played football, basketball, and baseball while in high school.  He also said that he amassed an impressive grade point average during his time as the school’s star athlete. His peers convinced him to try an assortment of drugs that would eventually damage who was then and change him into an entirely different person.  While in jail serving time for drug charges, he got into a fight with another inmate who he ended up stabbing with an improvised weapon that he made in prison.  After discussing why he was in prison and what it was like living out his life within these walls, he informed the class that he had a wife along with seven children; two of the younger ones aren’t exactly sure why their father isn’t at home with them.

The final inmate was younger than me at 21 years-old.  He had dreams of going to college until one night in particular changed his future.  At the age of 18, a fight had broken out at the party he was attending with some friends.  He and his friends had left the party after the fight had concluded, only to return later in the night to brutally beat on the people who fought them.  After severely wailing on them, the prisoner and his friends stole some items from the house.  That same night, the prisoner and his friends were arrested and destined to be imprisoned for the next several years.

Each prisoner showed remorse for his actions, however they also admit that they’re grateful for the events that took place in their lives because they claimed they would not be the changed men that they are today if those events didn’t occur.  The prisoners looked about the room and admired that all of us were sitting in our seats pursuing the dreams that we wanted to live out.  However, I was bothered when I noticed that two girls had the audacity to sleep for a better part of the class period while the prisoners were sharing their life stories. These rude displays of behavior bothered me because it did not seem like they were appreciating the life they were living as opposed to the prisoners.  These prisoners were in the classroom wishing that they could be in our seats living out the dreams that they once set out for themselves.  My classmates did not even have the decency to give these men the time of day.

Their goals have changed to accommodate the dreams of their children so that they won’t make the same mistakes they did growing up.  Unlike many of who want a job that will provide thousands or even millions of dollars, these men vie for a simple life where the only requirement is happiness.  The money doesn’t matter to them, instead they’d rather be out of prison so that they can care for their children and give them the greatest lives possible.

Our society looks down upon prisoners who have wasted their chances on heinous activities, yet I discovered during this lecture that they are human like the rest of us.  Like us, they have made mistakes that have altered their life’s course and seek for a second chance to correct themselves.  Despite what these men had done, I grew a tremendous amount of respect for them; even more respect than the two girls who decided to sleep during their presentation.

These men are not prisoners, rather they are humans like the rest of us, and I pray that they will be given the second chance at a life to fulfill their dream of happiness.

The Reason Why I Started Blogging

This seems more like a post you’d see at the beginning of one’s blogging career, but here I go being a rascal and not following logic.  I started thinking about this blog today not only because I feel like I’ve been slackin’ on it, but also because I really wanted to discover the real reason why I started blogging in the first place.  Hopefully, at some point, you’ll think about the reasons why you started blogging and make connections with other bloggers/writers.

I always had a passion for writing ever since a group of neighborhood kids from my teen years and I started making our own home movies.  Film was my first passion, but then I was acquainted with writing when my friends and I were stumped on ideas for our next film project.  I told them I would handle it and they wouldn’t have to worry about it.  I then told them I would come back the next day with a full story idea written out.  When I sat at home alone for hours on end into the night, I, too, was just as stumped as the collective.  It wasn’t until I read numerous gruesome news articles on Yahoo! that ideas began to brew in my head.  I penned some simplistic story about a serial killer that filmed each kill of his.  The group liked the idea, but I felt the story itself was underwhelming and the movie we filmed based on this idea was complete crap.  But hey, you can’t expect 15 year-olds to make Oscar material.

It was senior year of high school and I needed one more class to fill out my schedule.  Every cool class was taken up and a class called ‘Mass Media’, a class where you got to make movies basically, was removed from the list of available classes.  Creative Writing I was the only other option I had.  I absolutely dreaded this because, but when I got to the class it quickly became one of my favorites in the history of my education.  It was the first and only class where I had creative freedom to do whatever I wanted, even if the subject material of my writing was inappropriate at times for high-schoolers to read.  There was one assignment where we had to start a blog and post once a day on anything we wanted for one week.  We also had to read and comment on other classmates’ posts.  The first post I had written was “The 7 Worst Types of Girlfriends.”  The post was a huge success, and I could tell because like our own WordPress blogs you could see how many times the post was viewed and how many comments there were.  I remember vividly that this first post garnered 142 views and generated 32 comments.  Every other post had on average 20 some views and relatively few comments.  Each post I had written afterwards for that week I received the same praise for my written work, even from this one girl in class who I thought was drop dead gorgeous and never noticed me in class until this week.  I told everyone I was going to start a blog if I was going to receive such positive reviews, but the project never came to fruition.

It wasn’t until my freshman year of college where I got dead serious about starting a blog.  The girlfriend I had my freshman year had an active blog on Blogger.  I told her that I was a writer myself, but I literally had nothing to give her, so it basically came off as bullshit and I couldn’t show her my talent.  Still, even with motivation to show my then girlfriend that I was a good writer, I didn’t take advantage.

As I’ve said before, I had a blog before “My Seven Devils” on WordPress called “A Living Oddity.”  The latter of the two was my first real commitment to writing during my sophomore year of college after I had transferred universities.  I realized after the first semester at my new school that I made the biggest mistake of my life and I wanted to go back to my old university.  I had no friends besides my two roommates at the time.  I relied on them to get me through the repetitive, everyday routine that is established during your school years.  When they weren’t around because they were attending classes or other matters, I was left to myself on a frequent basis.  The old idea of creating a blog then came to mind.  I wanted to write because I pretty much had no one else to share my writing with.  I thought it was interesting how I didn’t start a blog despite the positive reception I had in the past with my writing, only to start one when I literally felt like I had nobody.  It was through blogging, first on “A Living Oddity” that I felt I had a connection with others, even if it was only through the Internet to read and comment on other blogs.

Writing on a blog at first was a big risk to me because I thought people would be offended by the subject material, or they would just straight up dislike it and think I was a terrible writer.  I’m still not entirely sure how people feel about my writing, but I’m just happy that I started a blog anyway.  It’s a great feeling to have even if one person likes or comments on your post.  It shows that you’ve engaged them through your own words, and it’s quite rewarding.

Forgive Me…

Forgive me, followers and others who have been yearning for new reading material to engage with on the toilet (or elsewhere).  I haven’t written any new material in months, but I’d like to announce my return as I’ve discovered a sudden surge in motivation and creativity.  Writing is something that I love to do and yet I’ve been selfish to not share it with any of you.

As much as I love life in itself, life sure does get in the way of the things I love.  I’m sure many of you can agree with me on that notion.  College certainly gets in the way as my tuition money and brain dead professors have the audacity and authority to shape how I spend my time.  Now that it’s summer time, writing is going to be one of my major focuses.  I’ve been wanting to write all kinds of things lately such as poetry, short stories, humorous pieces (I’m assuming I have a sense of humor that rips a chuckle or two out of my audience), simple observations and complaints, etc.  I now have the time to do all of these, so I’m definitely looking forward to sharing my writing with all of you and, of course, reading your material.

I really hope people have figured out by now that you can’t just put material on this site and expect to have legions of people following them.  If you don’t have the time or patience to read other peoples’ work, then you might as well drop the idea of writing your own material altogether.  But anyway, I hope you all enjoy my new material and I look forward to being further engaged with the followers I do have and the ones that I don’t have.

Keep writing, my friends.

– Evan

She Finds My Heart

She stands in front me, pondering why I am the way that I am. My entire body is intact and I’ve professed my love for her, but she is curious to see me on the inside. She wishes to scavenge for the love within my inner chambers, layer by layer of my anatomy.

Slowly she begins to grab hold of my skin, the outer most layer of my being that she’s used to seeing everyday, and rips it off like wallpaper.  There are a few more layers of skin to peel if she wishes to go any deeper. It’s almost like a mask and costume of deception to her, hiding what I really am on the inside. Blood permeates through my layers to let her know that I am indeed human. I implore her to dig deeper.

She has arrived at the muscular system. Blood still flows but it has picked up the pace. I have the strength to uphold myself, and my love for you shall do the same. Go even further my love, you haven’t reached the center of my universe.

She’s proven how eager she is as the blood stains her hands and the ground below us. The warmth of the blood shields her from the ice coursing through her own body. She continues to pry my muscles from the tendons connecting to my bones. In the process she has managed to dispose of my organs. My stomach still pulses with nausea, yet there is no sickness inside of me for there is only love. My lungs are working overtime to compliment the thumping heartbeat to ensure I’ll be with her until my last breath.

She has finally reached my skeleton. The bones are still shaped correctly to hold me up as she is minutes from discovering the love within me. This is the first time my inner self has escaped from the eternal darkness. She has allowed the light to fill my pale skeleton as the life spills out of me. She removes the roof of my skull and pulls out the brain. She examines the beauty of its complexity and takes note of my thought process. This is also the first time that she’s been able to read into my mind. There is no code to decipher, she can see exactly what I’m thinking. Telepathy at its finest. She gently places my brain back in and closes my skull.

She works her way to my heart. She snaps my ribcage open like it was a trap door and grasps my heart firmly with purpose. She’s careful so as to not drop it, risking disease and splinters from piercing it the second it hit the floor. A feeling of warmth and love impales through her hand as the feeling travels through her arms and towards her heart. Love possesses her own heart as she nears the end of her journey. She has reached a moment of clarity as blood trickles down her arms and soaks the rest of her body. She has found the center of my universe and her own. We live through each other in the heart. Do you see now, my love?

Now stitch me back together.

New Year, Same Me

New Years Resolutions: A declaration of change for the new year that ultimately is not followed by anyone after a few weeks.

Change is welcome, albeit many people only seek it when a new year is approaching.  After claiming the previous year that they were going to lose a bunch of weight, they gave up two weeks in and decided, “Awh, screw it.  I’ll start again next year.”  Generally, I applaud people who are willing to change something about themselves or how they go about life, yet over the years I’ve grown skeptical of the whole New Years tradition.

Why is it that people are only electing to bring change into their lives around New Years?  The comparison I’m about to make may seem a little out of line, however I feel it matches best to what I’m trying to convey.  After the despicable shooting in Newtown, Connecticut where nearly 30 people lost their lives and many others injured,  a lovely woman named Ann Curry inspired a mass movement called 26 Acts of Kindness, which asks everybody to do one act of kindness in memory of each victim who lost their lives at the hands of Adam Lanza.  On human nature’s part, this is excellent and incredibly unselfish.  My issue lies with the fact that many people seem to only be inspired by tragedies and upcoming holidays to do good for others.  People have effortlessly applied this concept into those dreaded New Years resolutions.  I think it’s fair to argue that if our calendar didn’t start anew every January, a lot of people wouldn’t be electing to change whatsoever.  Would there be an Acts of Kindness movement if there weren’t any tragedies or holidays to consider?  Maybe so, but only very few people would be inspired as many are infatuated with their own well-being.

I have decided that I have no true New Years resolution.  I have come to the conclusion that I need to be myself and do good for others at any opportunity I get.  Change is welcome, but I don’t feel the need to change because then I just wouldn’t be myself, I’d be just as guilty as those who are only inspired by outright disaster to not only think about themselves.

While I would love for all of you to achieve your goals, I implore everyone to not reserve your weight loss goals, personality changes, and what not for New Years resolutions.  Instead, make these your daily goals because New Years resolutions are bound to be broken.  There’s no motivation whatsoever to reach your New Years’ goals because you can always “start again next year.”  Having daily goals will give you the proper motivation you need to succeed.

Happy New Year, everybody!

Blank Staring

When you get incredibly bored, it’s part of human nature to quit squirming around and let your eyes do all of the work.  This rang true while I was at the mall today waiting for my mom to get out of the makeup department at Nordstrom.  I sat down and just let my eyes follow every person that graced my presence, like little kids in the back of a soccer-mom van watching every car fly by on the interstate.

I took note of every girl I’ll never have the pleasure of treating to dinner and a movie, and I calculated ratios in my head to determine the number of obesity victims to everyone else.  Society sure is rich of colorful characters, some I’ll never have the chance to interact with.  I only wander who is staring at me while I creepily ogle from afar.  Who else is engaging in this same activity as I am?

Boredom is not given enough credit.  What other times do you really have the chance to just sit there and take a gander at your immediate environment?  I’ve certainly learned much about myself and how I fit myself into such a puzzle of an environment.