Sa Lugar Lang 10/28/08

Sa Lugar Lang

By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

I was certain I'm standing within the perimeter of the yellow line; no more reminders from the blue boys this time. The last time I tried my luck in commuting home on a PUJ, I pissed off an auxiliary police for waiting on a no loading and unloading zone. I guess it would have been either I needed to consult an ophthalmologist or the yellow paint on the road was just coming off much earlier than expected. The latter proved to be true since my vision is not that far off from a perfect 20/20. My right arm stretched out in the open almost involuntarily and the turquoise Mandurriao jeepney submitted to my whims and came to a stop. My arm muscles trembled in hopeless surrender while heaving two huge textbooks that I just bought from a bookstore along Calle Real. I sat on the far end of the jeepney, placed my Pathophysiology and Pharmacology textbooks on top of my unfortunate lap, gripped the handles for safety and set myself for what seemed to be a twenty minute ride.

A cool afternoon breeze disrupted my normal melatonin cycles leaving me drowsy on the first half of the ride. But just as my eyelids were about to fall into a tight shut, a resounding giggle from three grade school kids gave up all my hopes for some ten minutes in peaceful dreamland. They were chitchatting on how disgustingly unfashionable their teacher's two-inched heels looked like while munching on a stick of sweetened banana. I couldn't help but chuckle with them in unison. I shifted my view to other passengers and got hold of the thought, that inside the jeepney was a multitude of unique personalities, a gathering of various lifestyles, a blend of diverse philosophies, all fused into one aggregate. A simple community bounded by a common jeepney fare worth 7.00.

There was a teenage male on the front seat, hugging his electric guitar as he dozes off with headphones glued to his ear, presumably listening to punk-rock tunes. He might have been burned out from a whole day's worth of band practice. A grandmother was sitting some two seats in front of me; she was with her timid grandson whose eyes are akin to the marbles he's grasping inside his little fists. Both of them might have shopped for a week's worth of groceries, the two yellow plastic bags looked just as heavy as my textbooks which at that very moment were crushing my thighs in agony. There was a well-dressed woman probably in her forties, who couldn't let a second off her cell phone. She might have been from her routine hectic office work by the looks of her numerous wrinkle lines.

I was enjoying myself in delight while guessing the background of each passenger that I have already forgotten what seemed to be an unmanageable drowsiness. I felt as if I was in one of Agatha Christie's novels applying the great Detective Hercule Poirot's psycho-analytic abilities of people watching. At that moment, I figured out forensic science could have been a fun course for college, but my super spy fantasies faded into a blur as the loudest of the three grade schoolers almost shouted right to the driver's ear, Sa lugar lang. My smile widened as he went down, he might be doing his Math assignments soon right after he helps his mother with cooking rice for dinner. One after the other, the passengers gradually emptied the turquoise Mandurriao jeepney and lingering thoughts entered my head. The amateur teenage guitarist, once he arrives home, I'm guessing he'll run straight to his bedroom and dump his drowsy head to sleep. The grandmother and grandson, once they arrive home, I'm guessing they'll start placing their groceries on their cupboards and cabinets with the other grandchildren rejoicing for a hunger-free week to come. The forty something woman, once she arrives home, I'm guessing she'll be preparing dinner for her children and finally loosen the tight grip to her cell phone.

Those passengers, they all came from different walks of life. They have different agenda, before they boarded the jeepney and after they reach their destinations. But during the twenty minutes we're all together in the turquoise vehicle we bonded into simple commonalities. We all paid our fare; we helped each other out to pass the coins and bills to the driver; we listened to each others stories (if ever it was loud enough to be heard). It was a simple experience that I had, but it truly made me realize how all of us live the same journey with different routes and paths, but still the same adventure. My stop was getting nearer. I heaved the two huge textbooks and made sure that I paid the fare. I stared at the driver and offered him a smile, telling him that we're both on the same journey. I am not sure if he got the message.

He just smiled back.

It was my stop.

Manong, Sa lugar lang.