5 minutes later, I was in front of the judge.
Well, this picture was the last day I’ve seen my mom smile. I won’t let my family see me. It’s too far from where they live. But I was playing Tejano music and singing, then I put on the song “Baila” by A.B. Quintanilla. She laughed so hard and said, “Quit playing, you’re not gonna get locked up.”
Me: OK, Mom, I trust you.
Mom: We’re gonna go eat dinner at U & I in Corpus Christi.
Me: Ew, OK, bet.
I’m incarcerated. I looked at Mom and told her I need a raincheck on that dinner. She said, “OK, mija.”
So it’s OK. I call her and let her know I applied for Peer Support Specialist Champion. This time I’m doing isn’t going to waste! I wanna help in any way I can, wherever I can help. I probably can help with Humans of San Quentin.
I’ve been incarcerated 1 year 6 months, and I’ve learned a lot about myself in a program for Domestic Violence class, grief, trauma, sexual trafficking. It’s called O.R.T.F., Our Road To Freedom class. I love it. I’ve learned so much about myself. I’m so happy about you, Humans of San Quentin. You can help when I’m out. I promise I wanna come help your great group. Finally, someone to show our gratitude to!
Thank you for everything you’re doing for all of us in here. I hope that you really know it’s a huge blessing. Sending you appreciation for this. Thank you again for everything y’all are doing for everyone!
They Say Time Is a Thief
They say time is a thief,
Sitting in a jail cell dealing with grief.
Trauma, abuse, domestic violence,
Time steals moments and keeps you silent.
They say time is a thief,
Sitting in a jail watching time slowly go by,
Dealing with shock and disbelief.
Hours, minutes, seconds, days fade away.
Time steals memories I’ll never get back today.
They say time is a thief,
Sitting in a jail cell missing my life,
Knowing I’ll never get that time back, then
Slowly time starts giving back to me, time to
make some things right. What was stolen is
now being restored.
They say time is a thief, and ironically, I’m
given time. Sitting in a jail cell, time is given me
freely: time to heal, time to feel, time to speak.
Time is no longer a thief. Time is giving me
life to breathe. Sitting in a jail cell, I can
finally be free.
Estefana
📬
These stories arrive by mail.
Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.
Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.
📬 Join the Mail Club
