Memoirs of an Amnesiac

A close friend of mine recalled nights ago how one incident inside the jeepney gave her stomach muscle cramps the whole night from too much laughing (I might be exaggerating here but she did appear so swept away by it.)

Some nights ago, an old man rode the jeepney she was also riding. When the jeepney rounded at Sanciangko Street, the old man reached inside his pocket for coins but couldn't find one. So he handed the other passengers a bill and added, "Palihug ko. (To the driver he said: ) Nong, usa ra na, senior citizen." And so the old man got his change and everyone was quiet. Just then, a student handed her fare (like some form of psychological suggestive act) and also added, "Usa rana nong, estudyante." About a few meters from E-mall, two men just then handed their fare and added, "Duha na nong, bayot."

I've ridden jeepneys all my life. The only time I was really amazed at how unique the riding scheme had been was the time I stayed in Manila to train. During that time, wearing long sleeves and those office uniforms were considered to be suggesting a much higher form of work, something that is of white collar. That jeepney ride heading for Ortigas was unique in a way that we had to fall in line and if one likes, even when he or she is wearing an executive suit, he could make "angkas," not minding those patchy wet forms and figures underneath their armpits because of too much sweat.

Life could be likened to one jeepney ride. Sometimes, our destinations are pre-programmed and we can't go beyond the exceeded distance or we will have to ride another one. We cannot choose the passengers but we will have to accept them as our fellow-riders in the journey called life. Sometimes they could be noisy and loud as those one group who just came out from school and are planning on their next truancy escapade. Other times, they could be as silent as the lambs that our minds would freak out on the thought that they are on a conspiracy of how to snatch away some careless girl's bag from her. Some of them might bring heavy baggage along and we need to help them out in carrying them. We might even need to swerve away just to give room for them. There are nice views along the way and oftentimes, we find ourselves looking outside, maybe because the inside do not always appear welcoming.

We would be lucky enough to have a driver who's experience on the road had been one he wanted to share. They represent people who wanted to give us advices on the how and what-not about life. At other times, we meet a driver who probably had seven wives to feed because he is always in a hurry. We blame ourselves nonetheless for not investing in that life plan, thinking that it's morbid to even start paying for one's own death service.

My favorite place inside the jeepney is not at the ends but in the middle. I like it that I am sandwiched between people and not just be at the end. I don't like it that I'm near the driver because that means I would have to serve as his "conduktor" if he doesn't have one. I don't like being at the other end either because that means I would have to bear the weight of everyone when the driver suddenly hits his brakes.

Sometimes when we can't take what life has to offer, we suddenly embark on a certain street and probably walk from there towards our destination. We take our time in walking, thinking that there are so many jeepneys that would pass by. But we will never get to ride the same jeepney again. Just like opportunities -- gone when not taken.

We always have the option to ride whatever jeepneys we like and to whichever destination we want but we will never have to choose whomever we ride it with. We will have to learn to tolerate and endure them or better yet, use them for our advantage, for purposes of learning. Besides, we will never get to ride with the same batch of persons again.

And when our street is near, we can always tell the driver, "Paki-step the brake, Manong." And thank the heavens for a safe ride.