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A Writer From Prison

When the day finally came to set me free, I didn’t really have any plans for what’s my life was going to be. All I could think of was just I am out but I am still as empty as I was back in.

Somehow, I am not as excited as I have imagined it. That is probably because of the fact that no one was waiting for me outside.

The first thing I decided to do was head straight to the city. I didn’t want to see my family yet. I don’t think they would want to. The fact that they only visited me once for the last five years, I suppose that explains why.

I took the first bus, still no plans and no reason for me to look out for my future. What I need now is a breath of fresh air and hope to goodness I could get some sense out of my situation.

I do not have any great skill. Back when I was in college, I did some writing as a freelance for orderessay and that was pretty much where I got to live off with my scholarship. Other than that, I do not have anything to be proud of. Add that to the fact that I was a former inmate, what more could I possibly be proud of? My family would not even see me, remember?

So as soon as I saw the city lights, I made myself walk the streets. There are lots of people living their life and I get to start just now. Somehow, I got the feeling that maybe it is a good thing to be out again.

I am not angry anymore with my life. I got tired of blaming the world for what I have become. I realized when I was inside that prison that it was wrong of me to define myself by what the world would want to me. I got lost with the attention and I got too reliant on the fact that I will be fine as long as I have everyone to cover me.

After some wrong decisions and bad companies, I got myself in for five long years.

And now, I have an idea of what real people are. They have no responsibility for you. In fact, I should only be on my own. Friends are only for company. They are not meant to help you live your life. They are only there to guide you or make you lose your way. But your life is yours to drive, and that idea should have been apparent to me back then. But I was too blind to see things clearly.

And now, I start to realize that I am not useless after all. I could write. And if that is the only thing I am good at, then I will write.

I went to the nearest internet café and look for some sign that I could use the only skill I got. When I found some, I made a resume and prepared some samples to show them how I write. Sent as much as I could with the time I could get with my money.

After that, I went to a small bar and ordered a small meal and a beer and head out somewhere I could sleep without getting mugged or something. The city does not care whether I am an ex-con or a millionaire. To it, we are all the same—people.

This city has not changed much. Most of the things that were here five years ago are pretty much still here. Busy people and homeless ones that have been forgotten by their families are all that surrounds me. Maybe I am going to be just like this guy. He is wearing old dirty clothes with only one of his shoes on. Torn plastic bag that looked like a bag of trash, but I could not really tell. Perhaps, it’s all of his stuff and what’s left of him from the past.

Am I going to end up just like this guy?

I sat on a bench watching the night turn deep. I only have a couple of bucks with me. I fell asleep to the sound of cars and murmurs of people around me. The morning came. I made it through the night. The first thing I noticed is the homeless guy lying on his back just across the street from me. He looks dead. Well, if he was then I suppose he is finally done with this world. Good for him. There was nothing good for him here anyway. And maybe, same goes for me.

I waited for the sun to finally do some shining. And then I went ahead to the internet shop to see if I could get some good morning luck. I opened my email. There were replies. First one rejected. Second, rejected. Third, rejected. The list went on. I waited for another hour and hoped that something would finally come up. I am hoping. I am starting to hope. I am not empty after all.

And then someone must have heard me. An email arrived scheduling me for an interview. It’s a writing gig so I was pretty confident that I could do this. I replied for confirmation. I am now a person with a plan.

So after 8 months, here I am. I’m still looking for a job.

As it turns out, I just needed a little push and a glitter of hope just to realize that life has not ended for me back in that prison. I have found some temporary freelancing job using my writing skill. But I am still looking for a permanent if possible.

I have also decided to see my family back in Oregon and stayed there for a week. And then I went back here to continue changing my life for the better.

Author Bio

James Blake is a team leader and senior contributor at He manifests traits of a Type A person –ambitious, competitive, and outgoing. Besides article writing and blogging, James loves sports analysis. He frequently places bets at fantasy leagues and also an avid fan of snowboarding.

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