A kind of daily exercise
The only time I rode a bus that had no air-conditioning was when we got stranded in the middle of the road on the way to El Nido. All of a sudden this Ro-Ro air-conditioned bus that should have been our ride to El Nido got one of its wheels’ screws unstuck. When one takes the North Luzon Expressway daily, it is normal to see those smaller buses fashioned to have open windows. There are no window curtains to shield you from the glaring sun, so that it would be useless to comb your hair before you ride in them. They are called “killer” buses, because they careen and swerve all throughout the expressway. Upside is, you’ll probably get to where you want to be fast. Downside is, maybe they really do consider heaven as one of their stopovers.
I have been mildly curious about those killer buses, sparing a second or two to look at them and their passengers whenever they are nearby. Still, I’m relieved that I don’t have to take one to the metro. Now what I am not is a driver. I can’t find it in me to remember the right turns and left turns. When people ask for directions, for instance, I half-panic because I may give them the long cuts. Magnifying reality, I thus resort to imagining myself as someone who prefers to get lost, to trudge off the beaten path, hoping to discover a magical wonderland along the way. What I have always been is a commuter-slash-passenger.
Every morning at around 7 a.m. patience beyond normal is manifested by the queues on Edsa to the MRT North Avenue station. The peak days are usually Monday to Wednesday. It seems people become less into work come Thursday and Friday. Looking at the lines, my dad and I will go into this recurring act: He will express his intention to drop me at the station to let me get a taste of real life. Para maranasan mo ang tunay na buhay. However, I am not martyr enough to deliberately experience this reality of life—as pointed out by my dad—when I can avoid it. I will get defensive and retort that he forgets I take the MRT, a bus, and—when it gets really late—a jeepney in going home because we live in the mountains. Hey, I’m not altogether clueless on the quintessence of life according to my dad.
This commuting is the shadow work—a term I read in one of Prof Randy David’s columns in the Inquirer—that the workforce has to do in order to get to the actual workplace. I try to see my shadow work as, in a way, my daily workout, so that I have no need for those gym subscriptions. When, for example, I must walk up on an unmoving escalator to the MRT platform, this particular thought of shadow work as a gym substitute is encouraging. Challenge accepted.
I also take the time to observe people, but this proves to be a bit challenging because one does not actually move much when inside the MRT. You can’t twist your neck and move without worrying that the most awkward moment with a stranger may ensue—e.g., you may suddenly face the face of a stranger and see the pores, sweat, and hair strands up close. So, almost like a ninja, you observe as far as your eyes can see without moving too much. You then notice that people nowadays are using their phones more than ever (to play Candy Crush), compared to when you were younger, and you also witness the varying hurt and adamant facial expressions when, from each station, a swarm of people try to squeeze themselves into the train. Sometimes, when you’re in the mood, you empathize with your fellow passengers by giving them that resigned smile. Going further, you listen to the uncomfortable conversations between strangers and then you catch yourself, so you try to divert your mind to something else. In rare times, you get lucky: You see someone you know at the end of the ride, maybe your mom, and it turns almost all right.
Yet it is dangerous to completely resign oneself to this kind of shadow work when one knows he or she deserves better (kumbaga, may hangganan din ang pagtitiis lalo na kung abuso na siya). It is dangerous to be all-out accepting and passive, a dreamer of nothing. I believe in that much-quoted line which stresses that a developed country is where the rich opt to take public transportation, meaning that mass transportation has become efficient, comfortable and safe. This vision of development is still a far cry from where we stand but, with the economy having “strong macroeconomic fundamentals” and with optimism all over the place, I am beginning to hope.
For starters, I wonder about the general opinion of the passengers. How far can passengers’ willingness to pay stretch in lieu of comfort and efficiency? Start with the trains. I am paying P12 for a ticket, and I think I can shoulder more for less crowded train coaches. I also wonder whether passengers will generally be in favor of privatizing the railway systems so long as their demands will be better met: Will they be pragmatic when it comes to this, meaning that they do not care much whoever owns it as long as they get the comfort and efficiency they so long for? On the other hand, can the government reduce its red tape and try to be better in administering the public transit systems?
Whichever it is, I dream of an organized but not profit-hungry handling of the mass transport systems. Is this possible? The advantage of private-public partnerships (PPP) is that, in theory, the public and private sectors can work together, think of those checks and balances happening in a democracy, to come up with better service. They can have a great symbiotic relationship, checking and helping each other.
There’s a lot of moving and shaking these days. The government’s infrastructure spending is up and will likely increase in the future. Some PPP urban projects in the pipeline include an MRT-LRT closing loop, additional MRT coaches, Cavite LRT extension, and NLEx-SLEx connector road (looking forward to this one), among others. I wonder when these projects will really come to fruition. I hope sooner than my pessimist or maybe realist side thinks. I understand that precautions must be made, that everything must be carefully reviewed, but I am at the same time shortsighted and see that in the long run we are all dead, and surely I am not the only one. Right now these projects are just noise.
In one of those mornings on my way to the office, I distinctly remember this street-sweeper greeting me good morning, to whom I respond by smiling. And so, meanwhile, I am being distracted by the killer buses, the gym-substitutes and the people.
Angeli Grace S. Juani, 21, works as a research associate.
