Every day, I travel 33 kilometers (20 miles) to get to work. I pass seven cities in Metro Manila from Paranaque to Quezon City. I asked a friend in the US if this was a relatively far distance by their standards, and he simply laughed it off as he said “No.” I told him that last Friday, it took me 4 and a half hours to travel that same distance from work to home. I left at 5pm and arrived home at 9:30 pm. If that was preposterous by US standards, it was realistic by Manila standards. Manila.
I flagged down an empty bus in Quezon Avenue corner EDSA, and sat at the back. Here is where the nightmare unravels. THE BUS. It was probably more than 10 years old, which is the running average of use of public transport in the Philippines. If it still runs, no need to replace it. Stepping inside the bus almost feels like jumping in the boat ride for the River Styx. There is always an ominous feeling of death. (I had bus rides that sent passengers flying through the air; maniacal bus drivers are common in these parts).
The bus is aircon-less, which means I had to endure the toxic fumes of the city with open windows. Buses with AC are a sort of rarity, so you really have no choice for convenience. As the bus traversed the stretch of EDSA, passengers began filling the bus. And filling. And filling. And filling. Not only until all the seats have been taken, but literally until the bus is filled to bursting with humans!
Next to the bus is a truckload of squealing pigs being transported to the slaughter house. They are crammed against each other. I thought of how comfortable those pigs were compared to us. Inside the bus, the humans rubbed faces against each other and exchanged sweat. We breathed each other’s breath and body odor. It was so intimate. The state of unity was so palpable, albeit in a nauseating and suffocating way. This would continue for a good four-hour trip.
My nose eventually got used to the putrid smell of humans and their excretions. However, my butt didn’t get used to the eternal standstill at EDSA. It was a nightmare for my coccyx really; I arrived home with a throbbing ass thanks to that very uncomfortable ride in the bus. I was limping! (Now’s the time to make lame jokes about prison). Seriously, with my weight, sitting down on a hard seat becomes a liability.
For the most part of the trip, my head was turned towards my window. I saw thousands of workers who are naghihikahos to get a ride home. To amuse myself, I counted people passing by and marked them inside my head whether they would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Naturally, hot people must survive at all cost!) I marked them thus: nope, nope. Yes, nope, definitely not, yes, nope. It was during this silly game when I made eye contact with a human who I haven’t marked yet whether it should survive or not.
A thought sprung on me as I read the suffering in the man’s eyes; here or there, we are all dead or dying anyway. It was true, of course! Neither those people in the street nor those who are in the bus are faring any better at surviving the choking madness of Metro Manila. (They wouldn’t want to get in this cramped bus, and I wouldn’t want to get off the bus to walk in the toxic, choking street either.) And it’s getting worse.
I stopped counting. I looked over the road and I saw the red taillights of thousands of vehicles inching forward, stretching for miles ahead. The road goes on ahead with no sign of improvement. Silly. I stopped counting and plugged my earphones, drowned myself in blaring music. I must get out of this city.
Pitasyo 