How many times have I wandered astray on the chosen path before me, only to crave a new path at the forked cross?
All my life I have wandered endlessly with no regards for the future, my future. No plans or desire to do anything with my life but to live selfishly, enjoying the pleasure of a drifter’s life. Till the day I found myself on Texas death row…even then, it took a few years before I understood the opportunity that was before my eyes, within reach of my hands, if I chose to reach out with fingers to grab, to hold, to make a change in my life, and perhaps, help make a change, an everlasting impression in the lives of others.
Through years of experiencing life on the streets, vividly I recall the lessons it taught me, and what it did to me, as I slowly conditioned myself with a plate of armor to hide my inner emotions. My eyes are not blind, nor does my heart lack compassion or remorse. I simply did not express it; the troubles of my mind and turmoil of my heart were for me alone to deal with, fight over, and work out. I usually managed to do as much, caring little about how others perceived me—heartless, emotionless, remorseless. Because I did not live by what others thought of me. I did not let their opinions dictate my life.
I only lived as I pleased and chose. Was my life not mine to lead?
But perhaps that’s why I sit here now, expressing a part of me that would otherwise be forever locked in my heart. What am I seeking for this unnormal act of self-expression, with thoughts I share, the secrets of my mind, to the open vulnerability of my heart? Is it to seek sympathy or pity? No, it is seeking for you to momentarily know me—me as a person, me as a human being, me as a boy who’s matured into a man, but mostly me as who I now am: Son Tran, a condemned prisoner who resides on Texas Death Row.
Two monkey seasons old. Twenty-four summers my eyes have been fortunate to see; life around me has become a masterful painting no penitentiary walls can deny. No longer do I call myself a drifter. A man without a course to follow. Because I am now a man with a purpose who possesses a sense of direction in life. True, I can no longer live my life as I once did, for the shackles of man’s oppression have found my flesh; but the will of my spirit refuses to be oppressed, or denied its chosen path.
Daily confined behind walls so thick that sounds of nature are elusive: the slamming of steel on steel, the yelling of man’s despair, and the sad but forced laughter of men condemned, are all I hear. Most days pass uneventful. Even on the day someone is executed. These walls do more than confine and isolate men; they break down their bodies, minds, spirits, and cause them to surrender, believing it’s better to submit to the system’s design than to fight. And, refuse the oppression of being denied food, recreation, commissary, visitation rights, mail, etc., thinking that if they simply comply everything will be okay, or get better. But they are only fooling themselves. Because even basic privileges and rights are slowly being taken away day after day.