The long, tiring commute
What will it take for it to be enough? That’s the question of which I’m certain many of those who live in Metro Manila ask themselves.
Let’s take a glimpse at how this situation feels in my shoes. Allow me to paint you a picture.
It’s 5:45 p.m., our homeroom class has just ended and there’s a frenzy for the elevators. Many students have opted to just take the 11 flights of stairs either down to the second floor where they can cross to the other street, through the University of Santo Tomas’ España Boulevard walk bridge, or to the ground floor where they can wait for a ride along the curb where a bus stop is located.
It has been a long day for me and an even longer one for some of my peers. I walk a little bit from our building’s exit and crossed Cayco Street. The golden light of the setting sun filled my senses as did the scent of street food. The sound of blazing horns and dated jeepney engines matched the distress and exhaustion I felt.
I caught up with some friends buying food from a cart nearby. Then I looked over to the road with some uncertainty as the buses, jeeps, and UV Express Tamaraw FX vehicles that passed seemed already full. Dread came over me as I saw bus after bus, and jeep after jeep still full. I contemplated whether or not I should hail a taxi instead and spend about P250 from my school to home, probably even P300 because of the traffic. The waiting got a bit longer and the billowing smoke got heavier.
Then a gleam of hope. Finally, I saw a Buendia-SM Fairview bus that was almost full, but luckily had a space for me to sit! I evaded an oncoming wave of motorists that occupied the bicycle lane as my tired legs pushed me to get on and up the bus door steps because this one had air conditioning. I’d only have to pay P20 as a student.
I sat down near the aisle and looked out the window. Beyond the dust and grime that caked it, I saw people that lined the sidewalk waiting for their ride, wearing the same tired face I wore.
People were packed suffocatingly tight in that bus. People clutched their bags and tried to make themselves as comfortable as they could on seats that could barely fit them. Shoulders tight so as to not occupy too much space, trying to grab their wallets to pay the fare as the conductor made his rounds.
It is roughly a nine-kilometer trip one-way. The bus made its way along España Boulevard and Quezon Avenue, cutting through lanes and passing drivers who angrily honked their horns. My senses were always on edge as the driver stopped in precarious locations to pick up more and more passengers.
Eventually, it got to a point where even the aisle was filled with passengers and the unlucky people at the back had to squeeze through a maze of equally exhausted passengers to get out. These passengers were standing, hanging on to the bars above, and probably had to stand for a long ride ahead.
I checked my phone occasionally to update my family on where I was. I distracted my mind from the ensuing boredom and chaos of the situation outside as well as the discomfort I felt by listening to the bus’ radio. Before I knew it, I was arriving close to my stop near the National Housing Authority.
The bus passed by Quezon City Hall, I got up slowly and snaked my way through the tight space left in the aisle. My left knee, which was recovering from a tear, felt very weak. This made it hard for me to balance myself as well as my school backpack, which I removed from my body so that I can maneuver through the awfully tight space.
I saw the look of the passengers that I passed, trying my best to avoid hitting them. Some were in deep thought, looking outside. Some were sleeping, some watching on their phones. I saw in their eyes that what they wanted, more than anything, was to get home.
The numbing lights of the bus, most likely flickering because of age or poor maintenance, added even more to my disorientation. One thought ran through my mind, much like what I saw in the other passengers’ eyes: I just wanted to get home. I have to be in school before seven the following morning, and I needed to get as much sleep as I could.
Finally, the bus came to my stop and I was greeted by the sight of yet another line of people waiting to get on another bus, jeep, or FX. I worked my way out and almost slipped because I couldn’t see the dark steps. The exhaustion grew more and I recollected my energy to make the 350-meter walk home.
I know too well that I am not the only one who goes through these difficulties. For too long this has gone on and no solution seems to be in sight. Resilience is admirable, but it won’t be long until things become too much to handle.
I left that bus feeling like a caged bird finally spreading its wings. I look inside myself to find the will to face my days with strength—because I and my fellow Filipinos have to do it all again tomorrow.
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Juan Rafael Fernandez Legazpi, 17, lives in Quezon City. He is a Grade 11 student at the University of Santo Tomas Senior High School. In his free time, he takes pictures and posts them on his growing portfolio on Meta.
