Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kamalayan/2860230121/I was checking my email's folders a while ago when I came across this sent item. It made me nostalgic. I suddenly remember my college days where I have to travel from our house in Novaliches to Sta. Mesa where I am studying. I used to take long bus rides and jeepney rides. On bad days, it takes around 2-3hours just to get home. And on good days, I sometimes get to ride with a pretty lass. This was just a few of the perks of commuting everyday.
I can relate to the story because I also eavesdrop on people conversing during the trip. I always smile and laugh privately whenever I see a couple fighting over some matters like when the girls catches the guy looking at other girls. I even tried to report to PREDA(People's Recovery Empowerment Development Assistance) when I was commuting home to our province a father verbally abusing his son who was crying in a bus. Unfortunately, they got off in Pampanga and PREDA's reach does not go beyond Zambales. If I were braver, I could've taken a video or even confronted the man. I felt sorry for the kid.
I have a lot of experience commuting back in college. Even just this last semester of the last academic year, I commuted weekly to Sta. Mesa and back to Zambales to attend
my classes as I was enrolled in PUP for my Masters in Psychology. I even get a chance to study during these long bus rides. I also used to do this on "Patok" jeepneys(the fast and plays outrageously loud music jeepneys), cramming for and exam in Abnormal Psychology while headbanging to loud Korn music.Those experiences helped shaped me as a person. I don't know how, but at the end of the trip, I always felt satisfied. Maybe because I quench my insatiable thirst for discovering the other side of life. These experiences makes what I learn from classroom discussions on Social Psychology a reality.
But just like in the story, sometimes you get on the same ride with some you know you'll never see again, although you wish you'd see them again. And also, I remember my girlfriend back in college. We would take the same bus going to school. I would wait for her to arrive from Bulacan on the corner of EDSA and West Ave., known as "Paramount" and we would take the bus bound for Cubao and take the jeep bound to "Stop N' Shop." I know it'll never happen again and it's not that I wish it'll happen again. I suddenly remembered my college life. Before we get far, here's a part of the article:
I rarely take the MRT.
I deliberately take the long route to work—by bus.
Call me crazy, but I do this for my soul: my bus rides
are the most therapeutic moments of my day. When I am
in a bus, I remember my dreams..
I look at people waiting for their rides. It is
amazing how you can measure the degree of timidity or
aggression in the people from the bus window. Some
people rush to meet the bus, certain that this bus has
the right ibabaw-ilalim configuration. Others approach
cautiously, a foot-in-the-other-foot-out expression on
their faces.
I eavesdrop on people’s conversations. There was one
girl who kept calling somebody on her cell phone.
Then I heard her saying, “Ganyan ka naman talaga, eh.
Lagi mo akong binababaan ‘pag nandiyan ang asawa mo.”
There! She was having an affair with a married man! I
have nothing against mistresses (what they do is their
choice), but this girl was obviously reckless at being
reckless!
R was—and he still is—the love of my life. I first saw
him in the library, sleeping. We were creatures of
habit, I guess. I always sat on the same table and he
would always take the table across me. We were both
there at the same time: from 1 to 4 p.m., Mondays and
Thursdays. I got into the habit of watching him frown,
watching him sleep, watching him talk animatedly to
his friends.
He became my classmate the next semester, and it was
not long before I was scalp-to-toe in love with him.
He was beautifully shy and broody, with sad eyes and
quiet ways. He had a sense of humor, too. And he was
the only person I know who could get drunk the night
before and still ace an exam.
And so I told him.
He just smiled and said nothing. It was a beautiful
silence. I was young and I gave myself license to be
foolish and crazy. I assured myself only a matter of
time before we would end up with each other, somehow.
We both graduated and found jobs.
And then a mutual friend told me he was leaving the
country for good in two weeks’ time. I was not
prepared for the way I reacted to the news. It was as
if a part of me had been wrenched, exposing a gaping
hole that I didn’t even know was there.
A week later I saw him as I was waiting for a ride. I
looked and he was there, like magic, like I wished him
out of thin air. He was smiling, walking toward me. My
heart was on wings. Destiny! I could talk to him
before he left! I suppose he saw that from the look on
my face and my smile…
But he just smiled, waved and walked toward a waiting
bus.
I bravely walked toward my bus, too. I didn’t shed a
single tear. But inside, I pondered on why we always
find ourselves on the fringes of the lives of the
people who are the front, left and center of our
lives.
We hadn’t seen each other for more than a year and we
probably wouldn’t see each other again. But the bus
was waiting and he had to catch that ride. He couldn’t
stop and talk. Just like that.
It was my longest bus ride, that trip from Diliman to
Ortigas. I thought about the stops and what I’d been
through: his silence, the waiting, the roller coaster
of emotions, his girlfriend, my replacement
relationships. It was a long stretch of highway and at
every point during those six years, I was hoping he’d
catch up with me and we’d ride off together. But he
wouldn’t even stop to say hi. The No.1 person on my
A-list wouldn’t even stop to say goodbye.
Yes, it has been a long trip and I am finally getting
off. Me and the boy with the beautiful silence—we will
never take the same bus ride. Ever.
-C.L.B.
________
Source: Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer, July
14, 2001
