Clinging to a life

With now my fourth apartment in 2 months I have grown accustomed to setting up and breaking down my life’s possessions. It only takes me around 30 minutes for me to get moved into a new place. In my new room in Cusco I rearranged all of the furniture to improve the flow of the room. The bed had swallowed up all the floorspace below the window and I personally feel like windows draw you towards them. They are meant to be stood by and gazed outwards from. Where my room was crowded with three chairs, I was able to turn one chair into a stand for my techno gear and add a small table to make a desk for my laptop. Where the small cabinet was used as a standalone item on a large wall I moved it next to my bed so I could have a nightstand on which to leave my cellphone.

In prison, the few pieces of furniture that exist are bolted to the floor and walls or just made out of concrete. With no ability to change the layout of the room, prisoners are left with only the opportunity to carefully arrange their few possessions such as toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, cigarettes, lighter, etc. There are probably a number of potential reasons why but it seemed to me that all inmates share this ritualistic habit of obsessively organizing the few things they maintain control over. For the longest time I was convinced it was because it helped them make sure nothing of theirs was stolen. The logic being that if their cellmate knows they keep everything in a certain location and only remove it for use, they can’t really take anything unnoticed. Prisoners are always looking for a quick take but you definitely don’t want problems with your cellie. You could think that in a world where so much defined structure exists — from the daily schedules to the order in which your table gets served food in the mess hall — that the prisoners would like some variables in their routine like having to look for something, but no.

I’ve carried this habit on with me from prison of finding the ‘correct’ place for each of my items. From the order in which I hang my clothes, to the proximity with which I place my shoes to the door, to the chair that I feel has the least chance of tipping over as I throw my winter coat across it I strategically pick and choose these locations for each item. As I unpacked and strategically placed my items across my newest space here in Cusco I suddenly realized that maybe we as prisoners didn’t organize our stuff for security purposes — maybe it was because it was the last ounce of control we had over anything. When you sit in a prison cell you realize that you are no longer your own property, you are in fact property of the state that holds you. Your decisions are made for you, your bills are paid for you, your daily schedule is created for you, your living quarters and cellies are selected for you, your food is prepared for you, your table in the cafeteria is assigned to you, your windows of opportunity to bathe your body are created for you, your haircut style is selected for you, the hour of your morning alarm is set for you.