Martha hates me. This all because I didn't want to share my shampoo with her. I have reason to do so. She once stole my share of banana during lunch and fooled me into believing that Miranda used it for her facial mask. The three of us fought like cats over a banana and when martha finally admitted that it was she who ate it, it was too late.

Bruises were all over Miranda's face and she didn't even really had any facial mask. I felt so sorry that I begged for her forgiveness for two days. I made sure I save my banana for her on the next seven days as a token of my sincere apology. I mashed it everyday and  left it outside her room. She forgave me eventually but things were never the same anymore. She said that she will never forget how much  pain I inflicted when I pulled her hair so tight and beat her face up over a banana. If any, nobody ever dared to steal my share of dessert since then. I became instantly popular as the girl who'll fight for a banana.

"Don't dare steal her banana or you'll break your face like Miranda." girls would loudly whisper when I pass by.

Everyone loses something inside the jail. The funny thing was, nothing was ever precious there. Yet, everyone was stealing something from each other. It has became a game or a habit for some people.

"I lost my pillow case." an obese woman once announced with a used vegetable oil plastic container as her megaphone.
"Is it yours in the first place?" somebody retorted.
"Well, it was inside my room when I arrived. It's considered mine." the proud owner replied.
"Somebody must have decided that it's not yours anymore." another one chuckled.
"Is this your pillowcase?" came a skinny girl holding a piece of rag. "I caught it inside the bathroom. Somebody must have used it as her towel or toilet paper. geez, it stinks!" Everyone roared in laughter.

On some days, it wouldn't be as funny as this. Jenny cried for three whole days when somebody stole her wooden picture frame. According to her, that's where she keeps all the love letters that her husband used to write to her. But now that she's inside the jail and her husband dumped her, the love letters are her only memento of her beloved husband. Some girls sympathize with this. Some aren't. Jenny says she don't blame her husband if he dumped her because she pushed her mother in law and caused her death.

"Oh crap. I can write you another one if you want. The guy dumped you. Nobody cares if you dehydrate your eyes." Truth hurts. It really does.

When I wrote about getting in jail due to drunk driving, I was partly lying. Truth be told, I killed someone in the process. It was just too painful to admit it. The car that I was driving almost crashed to a post and I shunned it. The consequence? A life that's not mine. I wished it was me who got killed but here I am, alive and kicking and wishing that everything is but just a dream.

The teenage boy was riding a big bike and in a span of seconds since I threw him out of his bike, he stopped breathing altogether. It still haunts me up to this day. I lost everything that I had and was too ashamed to get in touch with anyone after that incident.

I've been in the jail for more than a year now. I can't say I enjoy it. But acceptance is something I already have. I don't mind gulping a cup of water unfiltered and I don't mind sharing a sandwich with an inmate. There's a bond between us already and it's probably because we all at some point in time have done something really awful before this and what's so scary about sharing a sandwich when our hands have been stained with blood already? There's nothing worse anymore.

Not that I expect being here as some form of meditation or a personality growth workshop, I didn't expect anything. I didn't expect it to be this sickening nonetheless. I noticed that the longer I stayed here, the worse I am getting in terms of interacting with people, which by the way is far from what I really am in the real word. I can't say I am a certified people person. I am not. I do have my antisocial modes too. But I never hated talking with people.

If anything, I am already mastering the skills of avoiding people. Welcoming anybody was out of my book. I preferred being an outcast. Maybe I consider these people are people I shouldn't have close relationships with. Do I sound judgemental? You bet I am. I loathe myself being here. How could I possibly accept others apart from myself? Call me a bastard. I ain't be here if I wasn't to begin with.

That's the problem with me. I hate them yet I am to afraid to show them. It's a painstaking job to be pretending all day. Worse than being a dishwasher or a bathroom cleaner. Don't believe me? Try it. Go out and pick somebody you loathe to the bones and try talking to him like you've been friends for the past 5 years, if you could get past at least 10 minutes talking with the person, I'd build you a monument and give you 5 of my meal stubs. If you can't, then start building my monument and please, send me three bottles of shampoo. That ain't asking too much.

It goes without saying, she tailed me. From the bathroom where I had to pretend I needed to pee down to the most isolated section of the compound where our sick inmates hang out, she offered me her life story.

"I used to be the prom queen. pretty as ashley" she grinned.

I tried to hide my disbelief by not uttering any word but I failed.

"You don't believe me?"

"I didn't say I don't believe you."

"Your eyes say otherwise."

I smiled.

"I swear. I will bet all ten of my fingers plus my toes plus all my meal stubs. I was the prom queen back when I was 17. "

"I believe you."

"My boyfriend who became my husband was the prom king."

"Really."

"That bastard. He eloped with another girl 10 months after I came in here."

"Aha..."

"Stopped corresponding with me."

"Aha..."

"The last time he visited me, he told me he's going to start a new life and will not be able to come visit me ever again."

"Aha.."

"He's the first person I'm going to hunt the day I get my freedom back."

"Aha..."

"Fuck. I still cannot get over that bastard."

"Aha..."

More weeps from her.

By this time, I got tired of nodding and smiling and "Aha" seemed to be an overused response already.

It's been just two weeks since I came in, save nosepicker and a number of my neighbors whom I came to become in good terms with solely because they consumed almost two third of my shampoo, I am not friends with anybody.

That afternoon, while I was in the middle of the height of suspense watching Double Jeopardy, I was interrupted by 8721 or was it 8712. I don't know her name and I didn't care to ask.

"I watched the fucking movie 20 times and I can't get over being reminded of my husband."

I glanced at her and nodded in courtesy.

"See, the difference between me and Ashley Judd is this - She's fit and I am not."

More nods.

"That movie is incredulous I say. Nobody is fit here. Everybody smokes and drinks. Where do you get such attractive women inside the jail?"

More nods.

"I'll probably do that one of these days. I mean go out and kill my husband."

More nods.

"What do you say? Do you think I can do it?" while munching her third bar of snickers bar that she purchased from another inmate.

I can't take it anymore. I am in the midst of my quiet moment with Ashley Judd.and here 8721 was, whimpering about how unfit she is.

"Well, you can try what she's doing. You know, work out a little bit." I stood up and left the cafeteria. "I need to go to the bathroom."

I am back to being 16. Life here is all about getting back your discipline or so they thought. Waking up before the sun rises and lining up the bathroom while our eyes still half closed aren't the most pleasant things to do everyday. Much more having someone around you begging you for shampoo and laundry soap.

Tuesday is my favorite day of the week. It is TV day and we get to sit around the cafeteria with our sorry asses and keep ourselves busy and quiet. The quiet part is what allures me because as it is, spending a quiet moment is a rare occurence with the number of women cluttered around here.

Nobody is quiet. Everyone is whining about something else. The son that 8481 never gets to see, the mother who turned her back on 7124, the boyfriend of 11211 who eloped with another girl, the friend who betrayed 0098. A hodge-podge of what could be potential novels.

Tuesday. I get to watch Double Jeopardy. It is kind of ironic but still, watching something is better than having to go over everyones life's story.