The small corner of the prison yard felt like the loneliest place in the world, even though it was surrounded by many people. Madam Hera Sitting alone under an old tree with sparse leaves looking out to sea, I stared at her into the distance. The waves crashing in the distance seemed to reflect her disarrayed soul. For almost six months she had been here on this island, in this prison, she was lonely, not yet able to mingle with other prisoners.
For her, time passed so slowly, it probably felt like a century. She seemed to have lost her way, lost hope. Her husband and only child were gone. Even though she looked strong, she was fragile inside. I had never seen her cry. I know that feeling, how can you cry over something when your heart is already too full of pain? Family? Friends? They never even contacted her. She seemed dead in their eyes. Other inmates? Her status as a former judge made some other inmates treat me like an enemy, bully me, laugh at my weaknesses.
Yes, I have experienced times like that, losing my beloved mother, losing communication with my family, being taunted by other inmates when I maintained my innocence. The limitations of the prison situation became a burden that I could no longer bear. At that time, my mind wondered, would it be better if I ended it all, would this pain go away?
I saw Madam Hera was alone under the tree, so I directed myself to approach her. "Assalamualaikum, Madam Hera," my voice broke her reverie.
She was surprised, I sat beside her without being invited. Her face was tired, wrinkled and no longer looked calm, this time her eyes looked empty, as if she didn't know what else she could do here. "What's wrong, Sarah?" she asked, sounding casual.
She took a deep breath, looking at the same sea as me. "I know, Sarah. I know what you're thinking, you're trying to convince me again that you're innocent."
My heart beat faster. I kept quiet, hoping that one day she would understand, accept me. But of course, at that time she still couldn't accept it. Then without further ado she said, "It's not been an easy six months for me to be here. I know you've lost a lot. I know about your mother, I also know your future is ruined."
I was a little surprised by the words that seemed to understand what I felt. Her voice was soft, full of despair.
"I know your family no longer contacts you. And finally I know how it feels when the world seems to have left you alone."
Her tears began to flow uncontrollably. "What's the point, Sarah? Living here... feels like dying slowly. Every day, I feel smaller, more insignificant. If I'm not accepted, why should I stay here? Why should I lose everything? My children, my husband, my possessions, my friends, my dignity... even myself." Madam Hera lowered her head, holding my hand.
I just listened without interrupting. "Sarah, I feel that life in this prison is not easy, or life here is not fair. There are times when I think of giving up. You are great to have survived this long in prison, but I don't know if I can." I felt Madam Hera's despair, who was still looking down.
"But no one cares, Sarah…" her voice cracked. "No one cares if I leave. Even my family, my own friends don't want to know where I am."
Madam Hera looked at me with withered eyes.
Finally I responded to her outpouring of heart "I care, Ma'am. Sarah cares, at least because our business is not finished, I am innocent ma'am, even though I am still imprisoned here, I still hope that at least you believe me."
Hearing my words, Madam Hera's tears became more intense. "I'm not strong, I'm tired of living here. I just… feel like dying."
"Ma'am, don't give up," I said, trying to calm her down. "Because giving up won't free you from this pain. I've been there. That feeling of despair will only pass on this wound to those who care about you."
"Who else cares, Sarah?" the reply
"Apart from me who cares, the officers also care, Ma'am, if you commit suicide, they will be the ones in trouble." I said, trying to convince her.
"I believe there is still a desire in you that is not yet complete—a strength that you yourself are not yet aware of. I believe you can survive, you have been here for six months and you are still holding on, even though you feel alone. That is proof that you are stronger than you think." I said again, trying to convince her even more.
She held my shoulder, this time tighter. "Madam Hera, numbness doesn't mean you're weak. It's just your body's way of surviving. But listen to me, Mom. This pain is not a punishment, but a test. I know that sounds cliche, but I speak from experience. I've been in a position like you, where I felt like there was no reason to continue living. I even tried to commit suicide, but thankfully my attempt failed, then I decided to survive, and I never regretted it."
Madam Hera stared at me, trying to find a lie in my eyes, but all I said was the truth.
"Then what should I do, Sarah? I don't know what else to do."
I smiled a little. "First, please stop blaming yourself, don't blame others. Don't let this place, or the people here, make you believe that your life is meaningless. Then, I'll help you find friends, companions or something to fight for, no matter how small or big. I've survived this far. Don't let despair overcome you."
She was silent, letting my words sink in. For the first time in a long time, I felt like there was someone I could really help, someone I wouldn't let fall even though she was the one who broke me and up until then couldn't accept me.
"Thank you, Sarah," she whispered.
Then the officer approached us "hey you girls why are you just sitting there, get back to work" the reality of prison greeted us again.
Madam Hera, who looked better, smiled and stood up. "Don't forget, Sarah. Help me here. We'll get through this together."
She walked away back into the heat of the fields. Maybe, today, I will try to help Madam Hera, to find a reason to keep on surviving.
Suicide Attempt
Madam Hera's despair brought back memories of that dark time. The first two years of my life in prison were devastating, every day felt like an unbearable mental punishment. The pressure and despair built up to the point where I felt like there was no way out. Working in the fields under the scorching sun was so hard, it exhausted my body and mind. The news of my mother's death, the only person who had always supported me, destroyed the last bit of strength I had.
Thoughts of ending my life often came to me, and one afternoon, I tried to make it happen.
During my lunch break, I walked absentmindedly towards the beach. The vast ocean stretched out before me, seemingly calm yet deep and dark. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore seemed to call, offering the relief I so desperately craved. It felt like a final call—I stepped, then ran, into the water, letting the coldness pull me in. It felt like freedom, the only way out. I hoped the pain would end there.
But before the waves could completely drown me, two male officers saw my actions. They immediately ran into the water, pulling me back to the shore. With a trembling and weak body, I could only lie on the sand, still coughing out salt water from my lungs.
One of the officers stood over me, his face full of disappointment. He shook his head, his hands on his hips, as if he couldn't believe what I was doing. "You think you can get away with this like that?" he said in a harsh tone, but with a hint of concern. "Your life is already ruined out there, to the point where you're sentenced to life in prison. Now what? You're just going to end it like that?"
I looked away, unable to look at him. Tears mixed with the remaining seawater on my face, while the officer continued to talk, as if trying to make me understand something I couldn't understand at that time.
"Do you believe in heaven and hell?" he asked suddenly. "If you give up like this, what do you think you'll find there? Just another prison—an eternal prison, with no hope of escape."
The words felt sharp, penetrating deep into my already fragile feelings. My breath hitched, while the atmosphere around me seemed to stop for a moment, only the sound of the waves and my broken breath filled the air.
At that moment, a senior inmate approached, crouching down beside me. Her voice was soft, full of gentleness, but also full of firmness. "Listen to me," she said. "You're not the first person to feel hopeless here. But this isn't the end, understand? Here, we're all trying to survive. If you choose to give up now, you'll never know what might happen next."
Another inmate who had also witnessed this approached and spoke softly. "You have to accept the reality. Accept what happened and what brought you here. It's hard, we know, but this is no coincidence. This may be part of God's plan for you. You are being tested, as we all are. Every day is a test, and if you survive, you will be stronger."
I was silent, staring at their faces that held so much experience and pain. Faces that held the resilience they had built despite all the hardships of life in prison. They knew exactly how I felt, and somehow, their words slowly began to sink in.
"Do you think you're the only one who feels broken?" the senior inmate asked. "We all feel the same way. But if we all give up, no one will survive. You have to be strong, you will find that peace later, but not by running away or giving up. Start by accepting yourself and finding your strength."
The officer who had yelled at me just nodded, supporting the prisoner's words with a serious expression. "Life here is not easy, but this is your life now. Make it something meaningful, or you will lose everything. Don't waste this opportunity again."
I lay on the sand, feeling every grain of it stick to my skin, as if reminding me of the pain I had endured. The officers and prisoners surrounding me gave me an attention I had not expected, but at the same time, they also aroused a sense of helplessness within me.
My chest tightened, not just from fear, but also from shame. They were right—I didn't fully understand the reason behind all of this, but for the first time, a glimmer of hope slowly grew within me.
A day passed in the silence that enveloped me in the solitary confinement cell. The officer came to me, "Why do you want to end your life, Sarah?" asked the officer who had warned me earlier, his voice now softer, but still firm. "What do you feel that makes you feel like there is no way out?"
I was silent, thinking about each word. "The pain... of losing my mother and everything I love. Here, life feels empty. It feels like being trapped in darkness without hope. Everyday is like that, and I don't know how long I can last."
"Well, here's the thing," the officer replied. "You're physically locked up, but you don't have to be mentally locked up. You get to choose how you want to spend your time here. This is your chance to learn about yourself. To discover strengths you may not have realized you had."
The senior inmate added, "Our lives are not defined by what happens to us, but by how we respond to it. There is strength within you, and it can emerge when you need it most. I was at my lowest point, and I chose to fight back. You can too."
Their words seemed to awaken a spirit that had been suppressed for so long. In my mind, I began to reconsider my decision to end my life. "But I don't know how to survive," I admitted, my voice shaking. "The pain is too much."
The officer replied, "Talking about your pain is the first step. You are not alone. Many of us here feel the same way. Facing our fears and sadness is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of courage."
The other inmates surrounding me nodded. "You can share your story with us, or with the counselors. They are here to help. You should not feel ashamed to ask for help. We all have dark moments in our lives. It is important to find a way to get out of it."
Slowly, I began to feel as if there was some hope left, however small it was. "But what if I fail again? What if I can't survive?" I asked, feeling doubt creeping up on me.
The officer smiled. "Failure is part of the learning process. Every time you fall, you learn to get up again. Life is about the journey, not just the destination. Try to give yourself a chance to feel the positive things."
The senior inmate added seriously, "And if you ever feel down, remember that you have us here. We will support each other, and when you feel weak, we will remind you to get up. It's okay to feel pain, but don't let it define who you are."
I was silent, letting their words sink into my heart. For the first time, I felt that hope could be real. Maybe I could start taking small steps toward healing, instead of giving in to the darkness.
"Thank you," I said, my voice calmer now. "I don't know what's going to happen next, but I'll try. Maybe I'll start by telling you a story, even if it's hard."
The officer nodded, a proud smile on his face. "That's a good move, Sarah. Remember, we're all here for you. You're not alone on this journey."
As we all exchanged glances, I felt a new bond forming between us, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a little stronger. Maybe my life in prison wouldn't be the end, but the beginning of a new journey of self-knowledge and rediscovering lost hope.
Since that day, the reality of my life in prison has not changed, but my understanding has changed little by little. I began to see that survival is not just about doing hard work or obeying the rules.
I began to learn that life is about finding a reason to keep going, even in the darkest of times. That strength came in unexpected forms—in their support, in the bonds formed among the inmates, in the belief that one day I would find the peace I never had if I kept running.