'mama'

I hate it when I am called “mama,”  pronounced with a glottal stop after the second syllable, as  it connotes old age and namelessness. Although it can be translated as mister or man and fits any adult common-looking Pinoy, I don’t wish to be called by it. Other than its connotation, it is the name I use to address jeepney and bus drivers in Manila; I never got to calling them ‘boss,’ the other popular form of address to drivers.  This gets me to ask, how do drivers feel when I call them that? Well, I don’t see their face cringe at the sound of it unlike in my case; I guess it’s ok.

I write because I was recently called ‘mama.’

It was a Friday night. At six, after a long session at work, I took the train from Pasay-Taft MRT to Ortigas to celebrate my former colleague’s birthday. I never liked that Pasay Taft area; it’s very busy at any time of the day, and foot and vehicular traffic is just crazy.  An MRT commuter can’t do much about these, really. So, like the hundreds or the thousands who converged at the station to make use of the affordable mass rail transit on a rush hour weekend, I readied myself for combat. The growing number of people waiting for the next train meant aggression, something I could very well do. As for the imperturbable majority who just wanted to go home, the sight was ordinary. 

Then, the train arrived. Passengers from the north alighted. Protecting my bag, I squeezed myself in with mob. I was a  meter away from the entrance, occupying my less than one-square-foot space. As we stopped at every station, I was pushed farther back. 

It was my time to get off, at Ortigas. I was two meters from the exit. I had to force myself out as the train riders crowded by the doors; I didn't want to be locked in. Then the words came out, “Mama, dahan-dahan naman” - from a protective mother guiding her two kids out of the train. 

I knew she was talking to me although her back was facing me. I could not deny it, as I was directly behind her, pushing her. I kept a few distance from her after getting off the train, but I saw her comforting her pubescent daughter who appeared to be having difficulty breathing. 

It was no longer about being called ‘mama’ that made me uneasy. I let myself lose sight of them. I was guilty of losing acceptable behavior. But I couldn’t think of a more acceptable behavior in circumstances as that, can you?