Kwentong Dyip (repost)

Youngblood
Jeepney ride

By Katrina I. Martin
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:56:00 09/03/2009

Filed Under: Road Transport

Every day I get up at 6:30 in the morning. I eat breakfast, take a shower, get dressed for work, go downstairs, put on my shoes, check myself in the mirror, say goodbye to my mother, and walk out the front door. I stroll down our street, then another before reaching my usual waiting place. There I stand for about a minute before the right jeepney comes along. My hand makes the slightest wave, and the jeepney driver sees it and immediately steps on the brake to let me get on.

I take a seat as near to the entrance as possible. Once I feel comfortable, I take my wallet out and count P12 for my fare. I hand over the money while announcing, “Bayad po!” I wait for one of the other passengers to hold out his hand so I can place my money on it. He in turn places it on another passenger’s hand, until it reaches the driver’s own.

The jeepney stops for somebody. She is a middle-aged woman who expertly gets on board while balancing her shoulder bag and files and closing her umbrella at the same time. She takes a seat across me and extends her arm to give her fare. The student nearby does not budge. The woman has to try twice before she finally catches the attention of the student, who reluctantly reaches out to receive the fare.

In this short span of time, the jeepney has managed to move once more.

As I face the wide-open window on my side of the vehicle, I see a man smoking on the street a short distance ahead. He is waiting for the right jeepney. When he sees it, he gives a small wave and takes one last puff on his cigarette before flipping it casually on the street.

I narrow my eyes, but before I can give him a piece of my mind, something distracts me. It is the sound of a drum. I spot a boy in his mid-teens, walking on the street. He has dark skin, and his striped T-shirt and shorts have turned gray from use and dirt. He is trying to catch the eyes of the driver.

He gets on the jeepney and starts handing out white envelopes to the passengers. He then sits on the step and starts playing his makeshift drums made of cans, plastic, and rubber while singing in a tongue I do not understand. I have seen his kind before, but never experienced riding in the same jeep where they played.

I look at the envelope in my hand and see some writing on it. “Konting tulong lang po para sa Badjao,” it reads.

I remember placing a pack of soda crackers in my bag that morning and take it out to put inside the envelope. A girl sitting near me sees me do this and gives out a small laugh. Maybe she isn’t used to seeing people give food to strangers. I smile at her, hoping she has a pack of crackers to give as well. It seems she doesn’t.

The young man seated beside her pulls out some coins from his pocket and drops them into the envelope. I smile again.

The boy playing the drums stops, gets up, and goes back in to collect his envelopes. He stops in front of the middle-aged woman who just ignores him. He nonchalantly reaches out to take the empty envelope beside the woman (he is used to that kind of treatment).

The girl gives back an empty envelope too. The young man next to her gives his envelope of coins, while I give mine stuffed with crackers.

I smile at the boy before he taps on the roof of the jeep, a signal to the driver that he is getting off. The jeepney slows down enough for him to safely jump off before speeding up again. I smile and look out of the window again.

Badjaos. I am sure I have heard of them before. Perhaps I studied something about them back in high school, but I can hardly remember. I am glad I finally met one.

Using one’s talents to entertain other people is a perfectly good way of making a living. Actresses and musicians and writers get paid for doing their thing, so why not drummer boys? I promise myself to write about them. Something about the beat of the makeshift drums and the boy’s unfamiliar words cling to me. I smile and for a while, I am at peace amid the hustle and bustle of the rush hour.

Other people may not understand it, but I find joy while seated inside a jeepney. Though the smoke threatens to spoil the pleasure, almost everything else contributes to the appeal. Jeepneys have an almost magnetic charm for me. In exchange for a handful of coins, you get an authentic and rich insight into the lives of real Filipinos—an intimate peek, if you will. No, the jeepney isn’t exactly squeaky clean. Neither is it all pleasant and inviting, which is perhaps  the reason some people hate it: we cannot all yet own up to the fact that life isn’t perfect. It is what it is. And depending on how you see things and what you make of what you have, it can be good.

(Katrina I. Martin, 21, is a research assistant at the UP Manila National Institutes of Health and a mission volunteer for Youth for Christ Campus-Based.)

portrait of a young artist as an adult

so this is what adulthood means--to be responsible for your actions...
this is what it means to be a good adult--to never let your actions be the cause of others' suffering (no matter how little).

after almost nine months, i am somewhat sorry for my brash decisions and actions. i do not regret the experiences--they have taught me much. but i regret tying myself down like this. and now i must stick it out for a year and at least 3 months more. because i made a commitment, and to break that would be to cause trouble to good people--something i do not want to ever do.

maybe, if it weren't for the promise made, i would have enough courage to take that leap of faith right now. forget the risks, the uncertainties, right? but when you put others in the line, i cannot allow myself to be the reason for their jeopardy. i guess this also answers that question of "how far would you go?"

as far as necessary, but still remaining true to who i am and to the values that i live by.

the land of the Wild Things

...is in each of us.

I watched "Where The Wild Things Are" yesterday and found it quite moving--this story of a kid with a temper and a huge imagination. i found that i could relate to it in some ways.

just like Max, i find it difficult to maintain healthy relationships with my family--i am easily disappointed or frustrated by their actions and am hurt quickly and deeply. i tend to take everything personally, even though i already know i shouldn't, and find it more convenient to blow my top off rather than act like a good Christian. it is difficult to be in a family, much less an imperfect one. everybody's got quirks and issues and deficits in pleasant characteristics. but it would be a lot more difficult without it altogether.

see, i'm just me. i'm no savior or king or magician. and i sure as hell have neither powers to make everything bright and sparkly, nor a sadness shield. in truth, nobody on earth does. we are all just ourselves. but we really do have to learn to live with one another in peace, to appreciate each other--while we still have that chance (and while the supper is still hot and waiting for us on the table).