Drivers and Conversations

"Magkano ang bayad galing Southland pa-ATC?"
"Ocho," the driver at my side said.
"Dies po ang pera ko, " I said wanting of my change since I was near ATC.
"Anong probinsya mo?" he inquired.
"Zamboanga po, " I responded.
"Sa amin sa Leyte, Jis ang sampu."
I smiled and said "Thank you" holding my two pesos as I got off at ATC.

I had a feeling that our conversation would have gone further if I went farther. This was not the first time I got to converse with drivers while sitting beside one. I forgot how many times this had happened. But too bad for them, I am not much of a talker. I usually just do two things when they talk to me -- I either agree by nodding my head or say something like "Oo nga po," or I just simply say '"Ahh..." for statements I don't agree with or for the lack of anything to say. It doesn't surprise me that drivers can talk about a lot of topics. They listen to a lot of DZRH, DZMM or DZBB and other four-letter initials. On top of that, they seem to be the keeping many tabloid publishing houses afloat. However, their topics are mostly on the following (not in any particular order):

1. Politics

2. Oil Prices

3. Road Accidents

4. History (narratives that usually start with "Dati.... with allusions to Martial Law and the bygone eras)

5. More politics

I remember a driver who was passionate about Erap, and I was not; he was talking about how great Erap was and how many achievements the former president had. I managed not to say anything incriminating and critical since my only purpose that day was to get to my destination unscathed.

In instances when they can't establish conversations with their passengers, they talk to their fellow drivers on the road. I'd hear them say, "Mamaya ha...Magdala ka kahit isang lapad...Birthday ni Dong. Papainon daw. Punta ka!... Naka-ilan ka na? May boundary na ba?...Ang hina ngayon. Walang pasok eh."

The street is their workplace. Yeah, like you and me, they've got social lives, too.

Gate Pass

Entering a posh subdivision like Ayala Alabang Village (AAVA) may bring a lot of inconvenience to a commuter especially when he or she is a non-resident. Imagine you have to fall in line to secure a piece of paper allowing you entry into the subdivision. Upon entering the gates, you get off the jeep to show your entry pass or any recognized ID; the security officers check your belongings as well. It is pretty much like the airport, minus the frisking and the metal detectors. And since the jeeps take specific routes, you will have to walk some more if your destination is not along that route. Oh well.You are lucky if you are exempt from this security ritual. I cannot completely blame the AAVA for the measures they undertake; the residents pay big bucks for them to bask in their expensive southern Manila sun.

I remember a few years ago, the AAVA implemented tighter security measures. Few days earlier, there was a reported 'robbery.' Since it was a big incident that concerned some important people, the security personnel took precautions and inspected everyone --- anyone who did not use a private car when entering and exiting the village gates was a suspect. I felt more poor and low every time they would inspect my bag in hopes of finding loots. They failed all the time. In my mind, the thieves were those with cars and not the helpless bag-toting commuters! Later I found out from an AAVA resident and neighbor of the victims that it was a family fight over money that had gone violent. To add credibility to the true story, I read a similar blind item/story on a daily that week. Sad story.

Poor rich people, poorer poor people.

to be continued...

feet

I managed to inherit my dad's Chinese genes, thus, my complexion - not yellow, but lighter than most. It follows that my feet are white, and I love these mobile appendages that carry my whole self. I enjoy seeing my soles redden after a long walk or from the immense pressure of the whole 149 pounds of me. I don't need 'mertiolet' (if that is how you spell it). Aesthetically, I don't have a bad pair, in fact, my college classmates' sole recollection of me is my white feet! hehe. But what I am very thankful for is that they take me everywhere. Walking is my passion. I simply love walking. I remember in college, I go to Intramuros for walks; to be around history was a spiritual journey. In my one of my walks, I decided to go to Fort Santiago. We were to have a 'Rizal' test the next day. I told myself "there is not a place more fitting to study Rizal than in Fort Santiago." Clutching my Rizal book and a few pesos and using my ever-dependable rubber slippers, I headed to the the park.

"Ok. I shall study here" I said.

The lady by the gate asked for an entrance fee. I refused to give her that much. I told her I was a student but couldn't provide her with an ID. Will I bask under history and go home penniless or keep whatever money I have? I decided on the latter. I was a poor student!

I was a bit frustrated; I continued walking along A. Soriano Street; Manila Cathedral, Palacio del Governador were in sight. I saw an exit; its name I can't recall. The 'puerta' was an unchartered territory for me. Beyond the gate were big trucks which I infered came from the port. I heard stories about the port area; the stories were not very friendly to red-soled teenagers. But by some instinct, I trod to that direction. There was fear I had to admit. From a distance, I saw streetchildren and some 'streetadults.' How I could possibly protect myself from the forces that be was a concern of mine. I was checking the dust that had enveloped my feet from the walk when I noticed bronze footprints on the pavements. I took a few steps farther to realize I was walking on the path Rizal took before his execution. I was enthralled at this thought. I couldn't hide my smile from the good fortune I was experiencing. Every few meters or so was a marker highlighting Rizal's accomplishments and life experiences. "Boy, I am lucky." Not having anyone to talk to, I kept these comments to myself. Every marker I saw, I read; I was reviewing for the test. Rizal's steps took me to Rizal Park. His journey to Bagumbayan marked the end of his life; my journey was a greater realization of how I love my feet! hehe.

As for the test I took after, guess what happened?