I
don’t remember the first time I commuted all the way from Las Piñas to España.
But I’m sure I was alone that time, because I remember the anxiety creep all
over me as I guess which jeep I should take. I remember whispering “I hope Brigette was with me right now,”
every now and then, because she was the one who was with me when we first went
to school to pick up our uniforms. She was the one who taught me how to go to
school, the convenient way. Now she lives in a dorm nearby our school, and I’m
starting to miss those shuttle rides with her.
I
wish I hadn’t forgotten about that first time I rode a shuttle all by myself. I
could have written about it in here (or in my journal, if I was a little keener
on keeping one last year) and it would be blissful to read about it now,
exactly a year later.
Going
home felt like a vacation to me. It’s exhausting as HELL, but I can’t bring it
to myself to deny the fact that riding the shuttle, the jeep, or the tricycle
always evoked a nice, fuzzy, dreamy feel in me. I guess you could say public
transport is a guilty pleasure of mine, because I never admitted to anyone how
I love commuting. (Please raise your hand if I told you a story about my
strange fetish.)
Driving
lessons are interesting enough for me to convince (force) my dad that he should
give me one, but I never made it enough of a big deal; I guess it’s because it
felt more of an obligation than a want or need. It’s not that I don’t want it,
but because I’m not ready yet—probably
because I grew up having someone who does it for me, and being the one who actually does it sounds so strange. I
have no absolute idea why I’m dwelling so much on something I would probably
do, anyways. Driving seems an impossible feat as of this moment, because I
think I’m too hung up on a lot of things like, you know, commuting.
So I
take you back on the public transport fetish.
I
guess it’s because of the fast-paced life outside I see on the windows of a
bus. Everyone seems to be in a hurry, and I’m stuck inside this vessel with people
I don’t know. It’s the strange connection I feel with them, as we watch the
world outside. The street lights add up to it, too. Plus the music blaring
through your earphones kind of just… does it justice. Either you listen to Jack
White or Etta James or Ang Bandang Shirley, you see it, the life outside.
It’s
the scene outside that makes you feel as if you’re this little viewing the
insides of a dollhouse. You see the cars race past you, people rushing to catch
the next bus, the street lights getting brighter and brighter as the night goes
deeper.
When
you’re driving, you only see the road ahead of you. But when you’re sitting
beside the window of a bus, or a train, you see everything. You tilt your head
to the right and you see kids running around. You turn to your left and you see
two cars beating the red light as they race through the road. And then you
suddenly think about a lot of things. And you love it, no matter the thought
that whizzed past your head, because you’re thinking.
You’re being you in a different
world, beyond the valley of the now and most certainly beyond the valley of
reality.
I
remember being on a bus on the way home, at nine-thirty in the evening. It was
raining, so the windows were drenched with droplets of water, and makes
everything outside look like a scene from a blurry dream you had. I was
listening to Up Dharma Down’s Sugarcoats
and Heartbeats. The track had crowd noises at the beginning. It was that
same noise that made me realize I was connected and somehow disconnected, at
the same time, with the people who are on the same bus I’m in.
We
were all thinking that time, I know. There were only a few people in the bus
because it was already late, so you can see how everyone is seated. The bus
wasn’t even full, and it was kind of eerie when you see it. But it was a
blissful sight to see, something very rare. There was a TV at the front, but it
only showed us the face of Kris Aquino and Boy Abunda, with static and glitch
sans the sound. But I was very stuck in that moment that I had to look for over
seven seconds because I’ve never seen such a peaceful sight inside a bus, like
there’s something going on. That scene in Battle
Royale always comes to mind but I didn’t give it much thought. I didn’t
want to ruin the moment and creep myself out.
Public
transport has shown me a lot of things. You feel all kinds of things as you
look at the window, the people around you, and you create these stories inside
your head just to pass time. I don’t know how I fell in love with commuting,
but one year of riding to the North from the South did me well. I can say, that
amongst other things, commuting helped me build myself. Sure, it instilled the self-independence
I needed to survive the harrowing world of college, but it really taught me
well when it comes to connecting with people. It showed me the real wonders of
empathy, as I walk with people from different walks of life.
One
UV ride made me think of all this. I wonder if driving induces the same emotion
as commuting does. I’ll probably let you know, sooner or later.
