the man i don’t want to see for the third time

I don’t know his name. I don’t even care. But since I’m gifted with a functional brain, I could still remember his face even without the picture. But since I purposely took his picture without his knowledge, then perhaps I’m admitting that I’d better memorize his face, even in side view.

This is a vignette dedicated for this person with whom I felt a sense of contempt, and of disgust. This is the story.

I was riding the jeepney going home when this man happened to be the driver’s “kondoktor” (a driver’s noisy assistant who takes charge in collecting the fares of passengers and who prolongs our agony of waiting for more passengers by pushing them towards the vehicle – I was one of their many victims but that’s another story). In one of those stops wherein he called for passengers and led them to the vehicle, he tried insisting that the jeepney could still hold one more passenger before finally driving off. However, one of the passengers, a female, exclaimed and said to him, “It’s already too full for one more person. We can even barely move our butts here!” The passenger said this with an irritated voice. She was right anyway. This man still persisted but to no avail.

Finally as the jeepney rode on, this man showed his arrogance, grumbling out loud probably because he was pissed off by the female passenger who argued with him. He would roll his eyes away from that woman, or stare at her with a look of scorn and disgust. i could feel his hot ears burning in madness.

I was observing him, and right at that moment, I just wanted to kick him off from the doorway so that he’ll fall off the road and then get smashed by a speeding truck. He was on the verge of disrespect and it angered me that he reacted that way; he didn’t want ot be corrected.

The second time I saw him was when I and two of my classmates were riding a motorcycle. He was the driver. I’m glad nothing happened though but the memory of our first encounter came back to me and i felt that same disgust I had that day in the jeepney.

I just wish I won’t see him the third time.

a sweet, neglected moment in a crowded jeepney

Perhaps, the most interesting thing that could happen inside a jeepney, besides waiting for long hours during traffics, or wiping your glazing forehead, or fanning yourself with your hand and muttering curses under your breath, is when your legs get too close with another’s, and then realizing that all the legs you’re seeing are actually doing the same thing. And you can’t do anything about it.

It’s funny how I realized that just lately. Everyday, I ride the jeepney going to school and back home and it’s when heading home that I usually experience riding in a very crowded jeepney wherein even half of my butt sits while the other hangs helplessly until, if fortune does not come, I arrive at my destiny with my knees shaking and tired. Even legs, I realized, can tell a bit of who their owners are. There are some who prefer showing their smooth, bare legs while other choose to hide theirs. Others have huge ones; some, lean ones.

I think it’s the sweet part of riding jeepneys, even though some of them are too old already and run very slowly, or better, when their covers still shine under the sunlight and have cool surround-sound speakers attached inside. Even though it’s hard looking at this very minute, sentimental detail, I’m glad I’ve seen it anyway. At least I’d have the leisure of looking around different, colorful feet, then up to the varying sizes of legs, and all the way up to the different, blank faces of these strangers, and then mutter a simple thanks for the opportunity of appreciating one of life’s simple, irritating experiences inside crowded jeepneys. Yes, instead of finding myself swearing secretly in my head and hoping that I’ll soon arrive at my destiny.

the choice to write

The idea didn’t come too sudden. I never knew then that I would end up inside a creative writing course, or that there was one either! Ridiculous, really. But whenever I think about the decision I made, I knew this one was a different path, unnoticed upon first glance, and I chose to tread upon it.

Choosing this subject took me a year to think whether I’d really shift from Communication Arts to this course, or not. Honestly, the first thing that struck my mind was the idea that there was no Mathematics inside its prospectus. That reason was the core of my decision. I felt I needed to escape from solving equations and the only way to do it was to risk myself in enrolling for this course. Finally, I was accepted.

It took a year and a few months for me to figure out what this course offered. I started to get to know it, slowly assuring myself that the decision was worthwhile. I was introduced to British literatures, Shakespearean plays, Classic Criticisms – few of the major subjects. I tried hard to condition my mind that I’ll become a writer soon, you know how wannabe writers think. We’re ambitious in our own private ways.

Then the idea that I really wanted to write started forming inside my mind. And there’s that perpetual love of stories, of letting my imagination wander through the beautiful weaving of words. Stories were themselves fascinating; I never feel bored reading and imagining them being played in my mind. That feeling solidified my first reason for shifting, and they are still, so far, the reasons I know why I chose Creative Writing.

Right now, I’m still getting to know the course more.