Vinahradau: In prison, you can't throw away anything at all

Habit number one: saving everything and anything. Sitting in a covered cell, you quickly realize that you cannot throw away anything at all. Because today you threw away a torn plastic bag, and tomorrow you have nothing to pack a note in. Today you threw away a broken pen, and tomorrow you have nothing to make a hook from or to wrap a thread around.

Today you threw away a staple from a notebook, and tomorrow a temple of your glasses broke off and you have nothing to fix them with. There were countless such situations.

When I got out, it was very difficult for me to get rid of all this, and I felt considerable internal resistance every time I threw away a bag. But now I understand the motivation of people who turn their homes into a warehouse of metaphorical suitcases without handles. Well, what if it's needed?

Habit number two: vigilant sleep. When you are in an aggressive environment, you quickly realize that you absolutely cannot "squash your face" completely. 24/7 you must listen to what is happening in your cell, in neighboring cells, and behind the door. It's safer that way, it saves you from various kinds of surprises. So I heard everything or almost everything, even when I was sleeping: what cellmates were talking about, who was signaling to whom in other cells, and in which part of the corridor the guard was now.

Now I sleep as if I'm in a coma. Seriously, I once fell asleep in a children's play room in a shopping center where about 40 children were constantly shouting. And also, I only dreamed of prison twice in ten months. And even then, there was something funny. I was lucky here, because I know that many people have problems with this.

Habit number three: walking "back and forth." In the isolation ward, to put it mildly, there are few entertainments. Mostly it's walking back and forth in a straight line. Even if I was suddenly not isolated from everyone else by a thick layer of concrete and iron, communication with other prisoners mainly happened while walking.

Now, when I wait for a bus at the stop — I walk, when I smoke — I walk, when I talk to someone — I restrain myself from starting to walk (sometimes unsuccessfully).

Habit number four: never throw away food.

While I was imprisoned, nothing ever spoiled for me. What? Smoked chicken in the neighboring cell became slimy and smells? That's not true. Come on, send it to me via the sewer pipe! Is that really a stench? Washed, boiled twice, covered with a marinade of garlic, water, and spices, left overnight — and voilà! A slightly fermented smoked chicken in garlic sauce, worthy of a Michelin star! And it cleansed the intestines at the same time. All around, pure gain!

Now I have almost unlearned this, but I consider throwing away food a mortal sin and a slap in the face to the third world. But if something is already moldy, bubbling, and smells bad — then it definitely goes to waste.

And no more "now I'll boil it, add pepper — and everything will be fine"...

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