The two things Ja Rule was “dying to do” after getting out of prison
That summer after leaving prison, Ja Rule did not dwell on comebacks, fame, or bank accounts. Fresh from serving close to twenty-four months for firearm and tax offenses, his thoughts settled on quieter needs – basic things most overlook. When questioned about what he longed for most upon release, his reply skipped past spectacle without hesitation. Intimacy with his spouse topped the list. Right after came a proper cheeseburger, nothing fancy.
Right after getting out, Ja Rule spoke with Interview Magazine without pause. Top priority? “Sex”, he stated flatly. That came first, no hesitation. His honesty felt startling, somehow. Years locked away had sharpened what mattered – touch became a symbol of being free. He admitted warning his wife ahead of time: “You’re going to get it, girl, once we walk through that door”. Not boastful. Just honest exhaustion giving way to joy. Time inside erases nearly everything, leaving only gaps. For him, closing one with his partner made the pieces fit once more.
What came next wasn’t emotional, yet still showed a lot. “All I really wanted was a cheeseburger”, he said. Not some fancy dining experience or famous spot – just an actual burger, nothing more. It had been nearly twenty-four months since his last bite, and that longing turned into a quiet symbol over time. Meals behind bars are made to save time and cost, never meant to taste good. Imagining the moment – a warm, messy bite – had slowly come to mean returning to what felt ordinary. Texture mattered. So did the flavor. Choice too – each fades fast when liberty slips away.
What those pairings reveal cuts straight to the heart of what freedom feels like. Not love combined with food exactly, but how they return together when deprivation ends. Sensation follows emotion – skin meeting air, flavors on the tongue. Time locked away strips ambition down. Grand dreams fade fast once basic comfort returns. Ja Rule described missing small things more than fame. Toilet paper that was soft mattered deeply. So did a real toothbrush, one that cleaned properly. Even bedding became significant – a blanket without stiffness, a mattress kind enough to spare his spine. Wearing jeans once more held meaning. Not because they were special, but because they spoke of worth.
What stands out most is the contrast with Ja Rule’s earlier public persona. Not long ago, he chased success as it defined him – now that drive has faded. Instead, there appears someone quieter, reshaping worth through absence. Time locked away shifted what mattered; now closeness means more than control ever did.
What you see is what it is. Ja Rule spoke plainly, without hidden meaning. Not putting on a show of modesty. Not setting up some redemption arc either. Just stating how it feels to come back into life after being locked away. Freedom suddenly felt real. Not ideas, but her arms around him, lunch tucked inside waxed paper.
Eventually, what mattered most to Ja Rule reveals deeper truths about prison than fame ever could. Jail steals not only years but the very richness of living. Upon release, people seek whatever restores their sense of self – often music, memory, or movement. Life after confinement begins where feeling returns.