Love - r

Ronald, a seaman, goes home to his province in Tuguegarao every time he has the chance to. He must have missed land transportation very much because at home he would ply the streets of Tuguegarao using their family-owned passenger jeepney. During one of his trips one afternoon, he chanced upon a beautiful young teacher. He stopped for her and the teacher hopped on. Every afternoon after that, he would save a space by the driver's side for the teacher. They got married years after.

This story was supplied to me by my friend who read my 'love' post. This can be just one of those stories that could attest to "basta driver, sweet lover." I don't personally know a lot of drivers to check the truthfulness of this sticker statement posted in just about every one in two jeeps I ride in. The one and only driver I personally know happens to be separated from his wife.

In Facebook, account owners have their way of self projection. The profile pictures and the status updates and whatnot are all of the account owners' choosing and they determine the kind of identity they wish to project to people. I guess, drivers do the same with the various stickers glued on the jeepney walls. Again, there is no way to check the sticker content's veracity.

I get to observe, though, the drivers when their female companions sit beside them. Together, they make a living; one drives, the other collects the fare.  Sometimes, the driver does all the work while his mate sits firm or stays asleep to give her driver some warmth. I usually sense something wrong in that picture, but I choose to shut up about it. I was always told that relationships in whatever kind of workplace may pose to be problematic to the people concerned and to the people around them. There are even times when it becomes a family affair/business. Other than a fare collector, there is also an in-house barker who, in his small voice, would call out passengers to ride the driver's jeep.

Theirs is a love story taking place in front of the jeep, and it shouldn't be anyone's concern but theirs. As for me, I have my own love affair taking place in the jeep. For as long as they don't disturb me admiring myself in the jeep's side mirror, there's no reason for me to mind them.

Love

For the first time in 15 years, my good friend in her 30's is hearing her heart beat again for a man who seems to be seriously pursuing her. She was beginning to forget how it was to love. 

I need not know the rest of the details of her love affair. I am already content and happy knowing that she blushes like a teenager at the slightest mention of love. For a lady whose many weekends have been spent as a single woman praying to God for a boyfriend, she deserves whatever feeling she has right now.

There is always an opportunity for love at one point in our lives; for some, it's several, but it is undeniable that love, in whatever form, age and intensity, feels good. I am not to speak at length about the topic, for the subject has been immortalized in all forms of literatures already. I'll let Shakespeare and my mother do that for me.

Why am I writing about love in a commuting blog? It is because I couldn't think of anything else to write about commuting! hehe.

Seriously now, the the long weekend got me to watch a lot of TV, and I saw Yeng Constantino's newest single entitled "Jeepney Love Story." As I was listening to it, I told myself, "I will blog about jeepney love stories." But I couldn't think of a love story conceived in a jeep or bus for that matter. I've heard stories about babies being conceived in buses, but I have no personal knowledge of a love story springing from a bus or jeepney ride.

There are instances, though, that a passenger or two would catch your attention. They'd have pretty faces, nice bodies, and sweet fragrances, but the admiration would only be as good as the length of the trip. I can only imagine of a situation when you've taken fancy over someone in a jeep and pursued this someone to become your one true love. It's pretty much like a storyline from a Filipino romance novel.

In my limited experience about love and in my bottomless resource of love stories, I have learned to see that love can start anywhere - snail mail exchanges, Internet chat, group project, lab partners and many more. Jeepney rides are not exempted. But if you see someone winking and looking fiercely at you in a jeep or on a bus, whether it's from a girl, boy, or someone in between, it's best you arm yourself. Or you could always wink back.

I wish all of us love, wherever we may be.

Bed

My bed, which I purchased when I was 20,  has been a witness to several moments in my adult life: moments of joy, sadness, comfort, rest, ecstacy, warmth, security and love. The moments are mostly good that's why I just love my bed although it's not the most comfortable one in the world. Nevertheless, I know what the value of a good and useful bed is.

Together with my co-volunteers in Don Bosco Alabang, I recently visited a street children center in Bulacan. Hardly any trace of street life can be seen among the kids, mostly boys, of St Martin de Porres Children Center now. They are beautifully housed in Spanish-style houses, fed thrice a day in a Batanes bahay-na-bato-inspired dining area, and educated in a nearby public school. But the center was not like that initially. The boys had to content themselves with sleeping inside non-working buses donated by Baliwag Transit. Sleeping on buses? That's not new to me. However, to sleep in buses for more than five hours every day is a totally different thing. For the kids of St Martin, sleeping in buses was much better than spending their nights on the streets.

Whatever their reason was, whether to dispose off a rotting vehicle or to practice genuine altruism, Baliwag Transit did those boys some good. Equally important to the comfort that any bed does is the care given to the kids in the hours they are awake. I met the likes of Ate Kaye and Sister Nazareth who look after the street children and orphans of Bulacan. I was happy there were people like them, but I was also sad to see many parentless and abandoned children. The presence of the social workers and the religious who devote their lives to the children makes up for whatever love and care the families of these kids fail to give. The heart, no matter small, could never run out of room.

It is through the demonstration of love for these children that my faith in humanity refuses to go away. It is also through this love for children that I have met wonderful people who took that trip with me to Bulacan. We braved a looming supertyphoon that October weekend, yet we  successfully delivered messages of hope and care.

We got back home tired and late at night already, but we felt rewarded. At home, I tucked myself comfortably in bed knowing that the kids we met would be doing the same. The bed buses now are just remnants of their past, and so are the streets. It would be good if it is kept that way.

The actual buses now serving as a 'storagebus' of sorts