Commuting under the “new normal”

Nowadays, even though it’s not as strict as during the heights of the pandemic, commuting in Metro Manila remains a nightmare specially for the working public.

Some public utility vehicles (PUVs) have been allowed to travel but with limited capacity. For jeepneys, which is the most common public transport, drivers are required to have those makeshift plastic barriers inside to maintain social distancing. And from the usual 16-18 passengers, they had to reduce it to 10-12 or less depending on the size of the jeep to maintain the distance.

To be honest, it took me awhile to ride the jeepney again. If there’s one bad side that this pandemic has brought anyone, it’s being anxious and paranoid.

Since March 2020, I’ve only ridden the jeepney for 3-5 times or maybe less. I will only ride the jeep if one, there’s just really few people inside; and two, if it’s raining. I would give up the second condition if the jeepney is crowded.

And between riding a taxi or a jeepney, the latter is safer because it’s not airconditioned. Air can rotate continuously.

Still the best option for me is either to ride a bike or just walk. I walk going to the mall, to the park, to the market, which usually takes me 30 minutes to an hour.

Lucky for me, my office is just a 10-minute walk from where I live. And I love walking.

But for others, the usual one-hour travel pre-pandemic time, takes longer due to limited supply. It is also more expensive to travel due to limited choices. 

Ephemeral

“even
in the loneliest moments

i have been there
for myself.”

― Sanober Khan

A few hours before we headed back to the city, I found myself standing in front of an empty paddy field looking at the horizon. I was blinded by the striking image.

Our crew was wrapping up and we were instructed to go back to the vehicle so as not to get caught in the traffic. The sun has just set, and the sky was bursting with an assortment of striking colors. There were blue and red, a tinge of magenta, yellow, orange but mostly a splash of fiery colors. For some seconds, everything looked like the surrounding was buttered in golden yellow. I did not budge from where I stood. I took my camera and did a time lapse.

One of the crew members was shouting my name asking me to hurry up! But I stood on my ground. I couldn’t let go.

I stayed until the colors were gone. It was a few minutes, and they were gone. The horizon darkened without a trace of what were there a few minutes ago.

One of the crew was in a bad mood. But I was smiling the whole time we were traveling. It was too beautiful to let it pass. Life is too beautiful to just let it pass.

Autumn in the Tropics

If I was born in a temperate country and if I were to choose my favorite season, it would definitely be autumn. For the simple reason that watching leaves fall from a balding tree looks so poetic to me. Set it in slow motion, let a leaf fall on my head and we’re in the movies. As a child, the scene was so realistic to me. In fact, I have always imagined myself to be walking on a street that is covered with autumn-colored leaves. It gets no better as I would wake up and realized that I am in a tropical country and that experiencing autumn is next to impossible.

This is the reason why, I look forward to the fire tree season. Fire trees (Delonix regia) are deciduous trees, meaning they shed leaves once a year. They come in full bloom from May to July with leaving the tree with just the red-orange flowers making it look like a burning tree from afar, hence the name “fire tree”.

I was in the campus the other day and I had to walk on that particular path where there are a line of growing fire trees and the road leading to the library was full of those red orange flowers. Poetic! 😀

Being Brilliant

The bus hit Dave with a thump, his thoughts started leaving his head, as if attached to the blood and skin on the bus’s windscreen.

The “Being Brilliant” course had started it all really.  Dave had merely wanted to irritate his new boss, his nemesis, archetypal fast-tracked manager, the character of an amoeba with none of the charm and the threat of dysentery with any prolonged exposure.  Dave was looking forward to working for Brian about as much as he would having his leg sawn off or going back to that school aged twelve.  He needed to stall for time whilst he worked out a longer term strategy.  Claiming that Brian was no better than an Auschwitz guard at Nuremberg when told he was just implementing the policies from senior management had not gone down well and ‘The Art of Being Brilliant’ sounded just the ticket to buy some time out.  It also looked like a doss.  It turned out to be more of a revelation than Dave could have imagined.

Dave’s life involved few non-work related activities.  In the pub his friends encouraged him to practice chatting up women, laughing at the unsuccessful results but claiming to be offering advice and moral support.  The oasis of calm was the French film class, Dave’s secret, something that revealed him to be a more than the boorish exterior evidenced by the tired work persona and drunken pub activities, somewhere to use his brain addled though it unquestionably was these days.  It was there he met Maya, bewitching and enchanting Maya.  Clearly way out of his league he resolved not to make an idiot of himself but he found himself far too often watching her than the film and his French was certainly not good enough to understand without subtitles.  Maya rarely made any eye contact but if she did she gave a little smile.  Dave was not good at reading body language it was as much a mystery as quantum physics it made him uncomfortable and, in contrast to down the pub, rather shy.

The ‘Being Brilliant’ course had been really quite good, it hadn’t been the hippy love-in he had rather expected but more a gentle nudge that perhaps he had more choices than he thought about how he viewed his life.  It had given him a curious impetus to change tack.  He began to look at life more positively and it had paid off, the response had been pleasing.  Dave’s new engagement at work represented a seismic shift.  None of his “friends” from the pub had seen fit to call him lately neither had he been down the pub, but he did not seem to mind he didn’t miss it any more than he missed them.

He had always participated in the French Cinema class to a degree, he would wax lyrical now and again but seldom bothered with the homework and further reading. so his contributions were most often glib comments to cover up when he felt he might otherwise look stupid.  However now he engaged with a renewed vigour, the odd insightful comment, the odd respectful silence and listening and this also had a noticeable effect.  He began to demonstrate a deep knowledge and love of characterisation and cinematography, to show a meaningful critique of the language.  This transformation was not lost on Maya who seemed more attentive, it was as if the sweet little smile had just broadened enough to round her face a little more, it might not be so discernible to those not used to focusing on her face but he noticed, he knew it was there.  That was when he had made his decision, he was going to ask her out.  Sure she would say no and that was something he could accept, even expect but he would be spared the haunting ‘what if’ and if he was going to try to be brilliant then this was the obvious place to start.

So today when he saw Maya across the street there was no point in delaying, the time was now, whilst that nervous adrenalin gave him goosebumps, if he waited he’d lose his nerve for certain.  He called over, she smiled and waved, he started across the road.

Everything went into a disquieting and surprising slow motion.  Maya’s glance to her left, the look of sheer horror that washed completely over her face like a tide coming in, the very large and very red Number 53 bus, the abrupt thump of toughened glass on a not so toughened face.  As his eyes closed and his head seemed to fog with the same colour as the bus he could hear the scream of Maya’s voice, she sounded really concerned.  Just before his head hit the ground she was calling to him, she was coming closer, that was a good sign too, that meant she liked him…, didn’t it?

The right words always seemed to come late

There’s this book which I have carried for a week out of a need to finish it badly. In between lunches or dinners, I would read a chapter or two and then another before I sleep. I always chase my own time and I haven’t been effective for a long time. So finally, I got to the last chapter. I was in a plane bound for India. And I looked at my window and found this amazing scene of the sunset. I had to stop and savor the moment. My hand instinctively searched for my camera and clicked the shutter.

Did you ever feel an overflowing of emotion that goes beyond words? And as you overflow, you looked around wishing that maybe, just maybe someone was looking at the same scene and you wanted to share that intimate moment. I glanced at the person beside me. A stranger who was languidly sleeping, his head was about to touch my shoulder. I returned to the scene in my window and the sunset was gone. What remained was a sea of fluffy clouds bathed in gold light.

I returned to the last few pages of the book and on page 342, my eyes caught these lines.

“Sorrow surged then, silently, like water inside him. A formless, transparent sorrow. A sorrow he could touch, yet something that was also far away, out of reach. Pain struck him, as if gouging out his chest, and he could barely breathe.”

Orange Picking

Last month, our group hopped into a road trip to the northern part of the country to attend a wedding of a dear friend. After the wedding, we went further up into the Mountain Province to explore some sights. We went through a 10 hour trip to a place called Sagada, a tourist spot known for its nice places and rich culture and traditions. It’s been my second time in Sagada but it was my first experience to go on “orange picking” at the Rock Farm.

You see, orange trees are not very common in the Philippines and the idea of being in the middle of whole plantation of it with its ripe, juicy fruits hanging from these verdant trees was enough to get us all excited. It’s silly but it felt like I was in a movie, minus the glamour, of course. So off we went to the orchard with a plastic bag in one hand and a pair of snips in the other.

The farm collects 50 pesos ($1) as entrance fee and after that, it’s pick and eat all you can! Those that you put inside the bag for take-out have to be paid separately (50 pesos a kilo). When we came into the farm, our group separated to find our own individual tree to hunt for the sweetest citrus balls we could find.

There were various types of oranges inside the orchard (sunkists, hamlins, and ponkans). To be sure that we pick the sweetest fruits, we were advised to sample one from one tree and stick with it. But I was too excited to care. I immediately went to my tree to pick and eat. When I got tired of stuffing myself with orange, I climbed and picked for my take-out. After our group finished picking, we gathered together and compared our harvests. I got the worst batch of oranges. I got most of the ugliest oranges, the wrinkled and the half-colored ones. I also have the most irregular sizes of oranges. Oh well, I guess too much excitement got the better of me. Anyway, I went there for the experience. I can always buy the sweetest orange from the supermarket. :-p