// Jeepney. Marikina City //
Hello, Friends!
"No FX is stopping to pick up commuters!!!" I scream into my phone.
10.30pm, Friday night at the junction of Katipunan Avenue and Aurora Boulevard. The clouds are gleefully taunting me with big, fat raindrops that are quickly forming deep, fetid puddles around my sneakers. Typical of Metro Manila, public transport becomes ever more nightmarish with every drop of precipitation.
"Take a jeepney," my brother, Igi, replies encouragingly. I could hear rhythmic slapping noises in the background. He must be getting a massage. How annoying.
"Jeepney?!?" I shriek, growing more shrill by the second. "No aircon?!? But all of them are full, too!!!"
"That's just the way it is," Igi responds. "You have to run after them if you want to catch a ride home. Sumabit ka nalang."
His last statement chills me to the bone. My little brother actually thinks I should just hang on to the butt of a jeepney with my bare knuckles...
I'm suddenly overcome by the memory of the first and only time I ever attempted to hang on to a very full jeepney. I was 14 then, scrambling to make it on time for my voice lessons with the venerable Maestra Buensuceso Nañagas Abadilla.
In less than 5 seconds, the jeepney threw me off onto a crowded Monumento sidewalk packed shoulder-to-shoulder with street vendors. It was kind of like being thrown off a bucking bronco at a rodeo, except decidedly much less sexy. It wasn't glamtastic at all.
I cried. The vendors helped me up on my feet. I was OK, honestly. I simply bore a few scrapes. It was just super embarrassing.
I never made it to voice lessons that day.
And I swore never to endanger myself in such a way again. Why would I, after I had just proven in grand fashion that I didn't possess the required amount of fortitude anyway...
"Just hop into a cab," my brother suggests kindly.
Six and a half years of having been spoiled by the comforts of Hong Kong's public transport system have made a greater sissy out of me, once faced with Manila's much more... dramatic circumstances.
"The cabs are all taken," I sigh with resignation. Anyhow, my hair is now matted to my scalp. "What time you think commuter traffic will ease up?"
"11pm... maybe midnight," my brother answers evenly to avoid panicking me even more. "Just be patient."
I walk further down to a spot on the road that's not as packed with miserable commuters. I eventually manage to catch a jeepney with some seating space - "some" being the operative word since my ass is barely perched on the bench. During rush hour and / or rainy spells, barkers always pack their jeepneys to unbelievable capacity.
I'm wet and tired and hungry and grumpy. I hate my life; why is this happening to me? The only thing nastier than Manila's brackish rain puddles is the disgusting pool of self-pity I am drowning in.
Give me the fucking crown; I'm a drama queen.
At the Marcos and Sumulong intersect, a family hops aboard the jeepney. Grandma, dad, mum and little baby. Dad and grandma are carrying heavy bags filled with random merchandise. DVD's, plastic wrist watches, even panties... perhaps knick-knacks they were trying to peddle on the street until the nasty rain hit? Now, of course, the bags and the products are soaked with rain. Mum, using her own t-shirt, is trying to keep baby dry. (So Angelina Jolie in Beyond Borders.)
The other passengers help the family get deep into the frontmost bowels of the jeepney, where it's most dry.
I want to cry.
I have never felt like a bigger brat until now.
This situation which I, in typical hyperactive fashion, have elevated to the level of a Greek tragedy, is a daily fact of life for many Filipinos.
So perhaps the commute is neither as short nor as pleasant as I'd like it to be. But I remind myself that, at least, I'm coming home to a hot shower and a dry roof. I will my heart and my mind to shut up for the rest of the trip.
Anyway, as the jeepney gradually emptied its passengers closer to the final terminal, the visibly exhausted barker - who also happens to be wet 'n' wild - slides next to me.
It was kinda hot...
With Affection,
James
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