August 17, 2013
5:00PM
One month after planning for this day with friends, I get on MRT 3 on
my way to Cubao to watch Bamboo and Yeng Constantino’s much-awaited concert. I
don’t get to ride MRT that much since I live in Makati and just a few
kilometres from where my office is located. Thus, I was surprised that there’s
also a lot of commuters at that time and on a Saturday. As my usual practice,
to get a comfortable seat, I do a round trip, riding a train (“standing room
only”) heading South first towards EDSA-Taft station and then wait for the
travel back North. Then at Taft station, I would sit at the edge near the door
at the East side of the train so it would be easy for me to get off at my stop.
At Magallanes station, a girl got on the train and stood beside me and
I realized when we were at Taft station that she was also going for a round
trip. When majority of the passengers
got off, the girl also sat at the East side of the train near the door, but
with a space enough for one person before the edge. I asked her if she didn’t
want to take that seat to which she said no “kasi masasagi ako mamaya”. So I
transferred there and waited for the train to leave.
Ayala MRT station is only the third station from Taft. But as soon as
we got there, the train got crammed with passengers. Much more when we reached
Buendia station where I could see that the passengers, especially those who
were standing up, were almost tangled with each other. As the train goes further
North, the train gets more crammed with passengers with those inside already
shouting “Wala na! puno na!”, “Dun ka na sa sunod!” I, myself, was also getting
unintentionally and lightly “crushed” by people standing around me (the girl
beside me was right, I realized). Normally, my old taray-self would react
disapprovingly with a bit of yabang. Either I would move my arm away from the
one beside me and brush it disgustingly because of his sweat, or I would look
sharply at the person on my other side who is unintentionally brushing her arm
or knee against mine. Or I would say in a low voice “Ano ba…”
But then my conscience reminded me that I should not complain since it
was my decision to take the train instead. I heard my own voice in my head
saying to myself “Vanessa, ginusto mo ‘yan e.” So I just closed my eyes and
took deep breaths to calm myself and prayed that I would arrive at my
destination sooner. Then the pork barrel scam popped into my head. Still to be
proven, but I still can’t imagine… Ten billion Pesos… How much money is that? How
many zeros does it have? How many office workers, teachers, carpenters, masons,
engineers, technicians, plumbers, call center agents, machine operators, etc
etc had to work overtime, had to work on weekends, have to get crammed and
crushed into MRT to come up with 10B? How many hours do we have to work and to
stay away from our families to pull together 10B? How many work so hard only to
get sick and hospitalized (another deduction from their “take-home”) just to
learn that their hard-earned money goes to the pockets of our ever dearest
public servants, yes pun deliberate, who, some of them, do not even meet the
standards they themselves set. I don’t know the answer. What I know, at the
very least, is that all of us in that MRT train contributed to that 10B.
No, it would be too arrogant of me to be irritated with the woman in
front of me who was crushing my feet and my knees. I do not have the right to look
sharply at the man, also in front of me, whose sweaty hands were almost
touching my face. I do not have the right to complain to the guy who used my
back as the “table top” of his bag. I do not have the right to complain to the
others for forcing themselves into the train even if they already knew that
there was barely enough space for them. Most of them just wanted to go home and
rest from their strenuous jobs, and probably forget for a while that their
hard-earned money was pocketed by the very people they trusted. I do not have
the right to be arrogant. I am in the same boat with them. All of us are victims.
After a few minutes, I got off at Cubao station. I forced myself to
think positively, to look forward to the concert. After all, two of the
Philippines’ music icons would be performing. I imagined myself screaming at
the top of my lungs cheering for these artists. After this, the next time I’d
scream at the top of my lungs would be to call for a significant change in our
beloved Philippines.
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