New Rants

Maybe this is due to the unbearable heat. Maybe it's the series of difficult events that have happened to my friends and me. I just felt like posting two questions that have been bothering me for sometime now:

1. Why does Road Watch and all other traffic updates on the radio broadcast live with that irritating beat in the background? The traffic announcers sound nasal and scratchy - think A.M. mono effect - and given that unnecessary background music slash noise, who can understand what they're saying? A motorist stuck in traffic, tired from work, late for work, or out of patience? The announcers also mouth their updates at the speed of light, and seldom do I catch what I need to her when I need to hear it.

2. Why do Shell gasoline attendants ask me if I want full tank V-power even before I can speak? Is it because of my old Velocity sticker? Or is this SOP? It irritates me when I'm rushing and just need a quick pit stop and there they are, offering me a product I cannot afford.

I try not to be masungit anymore. I am grateful for many good things. I just needed to vent.

For All the Lives You Lead

An advertisement for a cellular phone struck me when I saw it because of its claims of superior multitasking capabilities. As an eternally restless kid, I thrive on carrying multiple roles that require results in rapid succession.

One time, I was eerily reminded of the ad. It happened on a Saturday morning, which was not my sharpest time of the day and of the week. I had to attend a seminar at the law school, and I was specifically told to wear business attire as my picture will be taken for the Faculty ID card. So I took out my favorite power suit, blow-dried my hair, and carefully applied makeup.

I always store workout clothes in the car just in case Nike the goddess of fitness decides to descend upon me and motivate me to do some rounds in UP campus. Workout clothes, Skechers walking shoes, check. Check.

I was going to meet my friends at Mr. Jones after the seminar so I packed casual weekend clothes as well. I was going on my first round of Christmas bazaars so I packed my updated 2009 Gift List too.

I also keep a spare pair of flip-flops in the car for floods, pedicures, and other eventualities.

I zoomed from Quezon City to Makati and miraculously made it on time. When I got to the Lyceum parking area, I stopped the car, and as had been my practice since ruining two perfect leather shoes early this year due to driving, reached for my black pumps to replace my Crocs. To my shock, my shoe bag was not where it was supposed to be. It was inside the bag containing my Saturday shopping clothes. Both bags were, unbelievably left in my bedroom.

In my haste and confusion, I arrived in business attire from head to… above the foot. I pictured myself entering the august halls of the LPU library, with my colleagues admiring my corporate appropriateness, eyeing me from head to… Crocs! I panicked. I contacted all my friends in the general Makati area, and at 8 a.m. on a Saturday, I knew I must have deprived some of their beauty sleep. I needed office shoes that would fit my feet and my outfit, and I repeatedly banged my head (lightly) on the car window for my stupidity. All the Crocs, Skechers, and Havaianas in the world could not fill my need at the moment.

Finally one of my BFFs woke up and generously offered to lend me a shirt (for later) and the requisite shoes. Thank God she’s almost my size. I would have worn a size 7.0 if that was the only pair available. I had to drive to Taguig to fetch the loaned goods, however, and thus missed the first part of the seminar. My priorities showed, but shoes complete the outfit!

Later, I credited this confusion to my desire to lead many lives. I had two jobs and three phones, two home computers and an office computer, multiple email addresses and blogs, a virtual life and a real life. I realized that I had to pull myself together and be consistent, since perfection was obviously unattainable.

A high – profile lawyer told me a couple of days later that she left her heels at home and was grateful she had left her weekend shopping shoes in the car, and that they happened to be black. The shoes went well with her suit and I complimented her for it. I did not tell her of my similar, in fact worse, experience. But I had to smile that I was not alone in making that mistake. The only problem is: she’s about thirty (30) years older than me.

I therefore conclude that this multitasking thing is speeding up my aging process. I had better get grounded and organized. Soon.

Blind-Sided

There are times when you are in the mood for a fight. As long as it's a good fight. Like a car accident, for example, with an irresponsible bus driver and a drunk bus operator as the objects of your wrath. You sit in the rain, wait for your adversaries, argue with all your might, and get what you want. You then go home exhausted but fulfilled, because your concept of justice had prevailed. You fought for your rights, and you won.

Then there are times when you are preoccupied with thoughts of saving the world, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and doing your job when BAM! Your car gets hit and the other driver starts blaming you and takes advantage of your confusion. You are led to believe that it was just a scratch, that no harm was done, and that since both of you were at fault - something you could have easily disproved had you been so inclined - you would be better off leaving the scene of collision to pay for your own injuries.

You then go home to find out that there were a couple of dents, not just an ugly scrape. Your father starts asking questions but you are not prepared to say that you had met another road accident just as you still suffered from the trauma of the previous one. You sit in silence and ignore the dents and the scratches and seethe inside.

Life happens. You can take the car to the shop quarterly and try to be the best defensive driver but there will be times when you will be a victim of other people's stupidity.

You can plan your day, your week, your month, and your year down to the details of your wardrobe and accessories, but you will never be prepared for all eventualities. There is no insurance that covers everything.

You can be the best friend any person could have, treat people with respect, conduct yourself with honesty and integrity, yet BAM! Life can and will still surprise you. You can fight each battle and lose all your blood, or you can just walk away with your dents, scratches, and tears, and pay for the consequences of others' actions. And you will keep your head held high. Others who cheat and hurt, deliberately or carelessly, will get what they deserve in time.

C'est la vie.

Shameless Plug for Jollibee :)

I passed by Jollibee before going home to claim some freebies courtesy of my BPI Credit Card (ayan may free advertisement pa ng aking paboritong fastfood at paboritong bangko, Proudly Pinoy). I meant to eat something on the way home as I had anticipated that the rains would cause streets to be congested all the way to QC. I was right.

I was snacking on the regular fries while waiting for a taxi outside Robinsons Place Manila, my newest hangout due to its proximity to my office, when a man, who must have grown old begging, held out his palm to me. I stopped chewing mid-fry and handed him the packet of fries that still had a good amount of potato left. The man eyed my Jollibee bag and said, "Tinapay!" (Bread!). I shook my head and said, "Para po sa anak ko ito" (This is for my child).

I didn't know what came over me. I didn't have any children. What I had was pasalubong for my parents and my balikbayan aunt, and I guess I was looking for gratitude in the man's eyes. I didn't see any. Then he said, "Barya na lang" (Give me coins then). The lady standing on the taxi lane before me interrupted and said, "Manong, binigyan ka na nga ng pagkain eh" (Brother, she already gave you food). The man walked away, sad.

I was saddened by that incident, without knowing that I would later on give the Double Yum with TLC in my bag to someone else: the cab driver.

The Taxi Lane was not moving, and irate shoppers were picking on the mall security guard for allowing people who did not fall in line to get the cabs that refused to stop in front of the designated space. I already had enough bad experiences with cabbies to know that I might have to wait for an hour in that kind of situation. So I did what I had to do. I called my regular cab company, Reno, the garage of which was just five minutes away from my house. They never refused passengers who wanted to get to Don Antonio, as that was their home base as well. I was at ease with their drivers, since they knew that I knew where they worked and could thus report any undesirable behavior.

Anyway.

I waited for ten minutes in front of the Padre Faura exit of the mall, away from the taxi lane so as to avoid having to "fight" for my cab, and when I saw the plate number I was given on the phone, I hailed the cab, and the driver saw me. It was a rainy night and the end of a very long work week. Before I could get in, a man (in black) also hailed the cabbie. I saw the driver motion with his left hand that he was answering a client's call and was not available. As I was taking my seat, I heard a loud thud and immediately saw another man (in white), apparently the companion of the one who hailed the taxi after I did, violently hit the hood of the taxi with his bare hands.

Man-in-white shouted to the driver, "Pulis ako!", and proceeded to hurl expletives at the driver. I gathered that he thought the driver was just being picky, so I attempted to talk to him and explained that I called the taxi company and he was just fetching me as scheduled. Man-in-white refused to even acknowledge my existence. He looked drunk. He then twisted the radio antenna of the car, and the driver protested. They had a heated argument, and man-in-black intervened. He closed the door of the cab, but man-in-white opened it again, all the time shouting expletives at the driver, who was regally defending himself.

Eventually we were out of danger. Or so I thought. The driver could not get over what happened, and made a U-turn to drive directly in front of the men-in-uniform, but a mall security guard stopped him, thinking his passenger (who was me) was alighting, and asked if he could let the "man from Immigration" ride the cab. The driver asked the guard for the man-in-white's name, but at this time said man already flashed the dirty finger to the driver, and they exchanged another round of obscene four-letter words.

Now, I had had a rough week. Month. Year. I was in a car accident last week. The day after, my vertigo struck as the cab driver wound his merciless way around the streets of Manila. Worse, I could not contribute much towards the hosting of my aunt from the States as I got sick with the flu over the weekend. My work was stressful enough for ten people, and I had all the stress-related symptoms ever invented. I was just diagnosed yesterday as having Impaired Glucose Tolerance (IGT) or being in the pre-diabetic stage, and was given medication, and was studying a new diet and exercise plan more suited to my situation. Two weeks ago, I kept a close friend of mine company after her car accident. I had yet to see my first government paycheck for this position. The actual list of whines is much longer. You get the point.

My natural reaction would have been to panic at the scene played in front of me. But I could not afford to panic. I tried to calm the driver down and to dissuade him from courting disaster. He kept saying he could get any policeman dismissed from the service, as he had done so in the past, when his rights were similarly trampled upon. This man, he said, was not even a real policeman! He was not afraid! His taxi company would defend him! He had a witness: me! He had a defender: Tulfo!

I had to agree with him that he did nothing wrong and to utter other words of assurance that he was victimized by a government employee who was on a power trip. I then reminded him to flag down his meter because he had completely forgotten it, so engrossed was he on thoughts of revenge. We had a very long discussion as traffic was bad (usual Friday rainy night stuff), and to cheer him up, I offered him a Jollibee yumburger.

He unwrapped the juicy burger and quickly bit into it while he was driving. He said that he didn't realize that the incident had left him hungry. At last, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was only then that I ate my favorite Jollibee hotdog, which I had been wanting to sink my teeth into ever since leaving the mall.

It was a scene straight out of a Jollibee commercial. Comfort food. Pampalamig ng ulo. Pag may karapatan, ipaglaban mo. Mag-Jollibee muna tayo. (Sorry, there simply is no appropriate translation for that.)

I got home safely and paid the driver the usual fare, even though the taxi meter showed a much lower amount, since our drive from Faura to Quiapo was not registered. I still had a Jolly hotdog and a Cheesy Bacon Mushroom to share with my family. I wasn't able to tell them about my eventful night because they were engrossed with the last episode of Tayong Dalawa. Yes, this entry is so Pinoy!

Tomorrow, or sometime this weekend, I will write about two office outfit disasters that eventually turned into blessings. Safety pins and shawls are involved. ;)

By the way, I am not getting paid for this by Jollibee. But if the people behind it chance upon this blog, a two-piece Chickenjoy meal will do. For me. For cabbie (I can get his name from the company). For man-in-black. Even for man-in-white (Cabbie is going to research his identity). Might change his ways, who knows.

Shaken, But Not Stirred

Since I can't sleep anyway, I might as well write.

I got hit by a bus. The car I was driving, I mean. I'm fine, and the car will be fine after repair, but it was another harrowing experience.

Is it just me, or have bus drivers, especially those plying the Fairview-Manila route, worsened in their blatant ignorance of all traffic rules and regulations? I must have been thinking of them too much and getting affected by their snake-like driving from Commonwealth to Taft Ave. that one night, I just found my car being slowly hit by a bus.

It was a rainy night, and rush hour traffic was moving slowly. I knew I was sticking to my lane, however narrow it was due to the inexistent lane division on that part of Quezon Ave., when all of a sudden I felt the collision, and to my utter horror, the bus driver did not stop. It only meant that he did not notice that he was already about to run over an entire car. He was oblivious to my car's blaring horn. He only stopped the bus when he heard a loud, scraping sound, and I don't know, maybe his passengers who had better eyesight and awareness of their surroundings noticed what he was doing.

I was all alone, and no matter my 10 years of practice, I still could not compose a single lawyer-like sentence to defend my rights. The driver, his conductor, and ten million other uzi (Pinoy term for people who like to ogle during the oddest and most inappropriate times, like accidents) proceeded to my side of the car. Driver insisted that it was my fault, because, if he had been the one at fault, I would have suffered greater injury. Then he asked me to move my car because his passengers were being inconvenienced. I felt my blood rising.

I should have thanked him for doing a Chavit! (Chavit Singson is the notorious "state witness" who told on his ex-friend Erap, thus starting his impeachment case, and who recently told the media that his lover and her new bf were lucky that he only hurt them and did not have them killed, after he caught them in the act of making love). Oh, thank you bus driver, that I only suffered that injury!

I told him instead that it the vehicles should not be moved until the police officer had had the chance to inspect the scene and make a sketch of the collision. Well, maybe in not that clear a manner, for I was in distress and close to tears. I willed myself not to cry in anger and frustration. I had to think.

It was hard to think. I could not focus. It was dark, it was raining, and I had been in that situation before, but for some reason - tiredness, maybe, or panic - I could not think straight. After a couple of minutes of quick prayer, I told myself that I had to pull myself together. I called up my family and friends to ask for help. I was so helpless and alone and I needed a lawyer, a policeman, a family member, and a friend.

I got what I wanted. They all came at the same time. The traffic police came first, and he was very efficient. I trusted him on instinct, and he was nice to me. I don't think it had anything to do with where I worked. He must have seen that it was the bus driver's fault and I was the victim, for he walked me through the entire ordeal and made me feel safe, that everything was going to be alright.

My brother was in a meeting, but he sent my sister-in-law, who immediately took photos and assured me with her presence. I wanted to cry when I saw her, but stopped myself again. She accompanied me to the police station, and only left when my friend, the lawyer, arrived.

My lawyer was no stranger to car accidents, having herself been in one last week, where I played the role of lawyer. She was the calm one while I tried to control my anger, and came up with a wise strategy that solved my problem for the night. She advised that we aim for a cash settlement outright. The policemen were very, very helpful. They did their job well without a single centavo from any of the parties. There is hope for this country. Goodness still exists underneath the rough exterior of people.

After a long, restless wait, the bus company operator arrived and the dreaded negotiation began. I tried to recall everything I had learned about those situations, but no concept or idea came to mind. That was what TSP was there for. She assisted me when I began arguing with the obviously drunk operator. The policemen let us come up with an agreement before they came in. They too were surprised that the owner/operator paid in cold cash, although his hands were shaking while he was counting the money.

This experience woke me up to many things, but one thing I know, is that when trials hit one after another, instead of complaining, I should be grateful, that God provides the means to triumph over them one by one. Worst things could have happened, my parents said when I related the story. I could have been hurt. My nephew asked his mom to tell me that he was glad that I was not hurt and that he loved me. I had wonderful friends who were praying for me and who offered help even though they could not be physically present.

Ironically, it's the bus operator's statement that summarized the experience. "Nobody is perfect on the road," he said. That's right. I realized that if accidents happen, as they sometimes do, there are much more things to be grateful for. As I told a friend when he asked me how I was after the accident, "I'm shaken, but not stirred." It was a bad thing to happen, but good things came out of it.

I close with the psalm for today that I read this morning before going to work:

I will give thanks to the LORD with all my heart in the company and assembly of the just. Great are the works of the LORD, exquisite in all their delights. (Ps. 111, 1-2)

For what can I say? He answered all my prayers tonight. I will sleep with that comforting thought. I will bring the car to the talyer this weekend. No driving for me for a few days.

Will also pray if it's time to move.

My Ideas That Have Not (Yet) Seen Print

Since my last post, I had wanted to write about:

1. The Cory magic, and how I observed the week of mourning for her. I have some shots from the queue outside Manila Cathedral. Never found the time to write that piece.
2. The beauty of the City of Manila and how I want to clean it up. (I even have a blog title: My Giant Feather-Duster).
3. The presidentiables and the state of Philippine politics.
4. The worsening traffic problem and the undisciplined drivers of Metro Manila.
5. The things we learned in school that have yet to be applied in real life.
6. The moves to change the name of my alma mater, Manila Science High School, to Cory Aquino Science High School (CASHS?). We love Cory, but we love our name too. I'm looking for a way to talk to Mayor Lim. If you have suggestions and connections, do let me know. Thanks.

My thoughts are too scattered at the moment. I wrote this list down so I won't forget my ideas. If I don't get to write them, ask me and I'll share my thoughts with you when we see each other. Over coffee. Preferably at some beautiful place like Cafe by the Ruins in Baguio, or Bag o' Beans in Tagaytay.

Things I Don't Get v. 2009

This is me being real.

Things I Don't Get v. 2009

1. Why PAG-ASA predicted a super typhoon that is three hours late already, and why Storm Signal No. 2 was prematurely raised today, thus costing students another school day.  Not that they are complaining.  I just wish PAG-ASA would be more accurate and more consistent.
2. Why MMDA or whoever is in charge assigns people to clean flyovers during rush hour.  I pass through Commonwealth Ave. everyday at about 8 a.m., and motorists have to slow down to avoid side-swiping the street sweepers and/or their big brooms.  Precious minutes are lost easily.  I can imagine people in a meeting somewhere, so used to doing things as they have been doing for decades.  Let's try to consider the safety of the workers, and the schedule of the commuters.  
3. Why, for that matter, road repairs are not done off-rush hour so as to avoid delaying working people.  I've blogged about this before.  It irritates me no end to find that the cause of traffic jams is a group of workers painting the (Libis-Katipunan) underpass.  I don't care if it costs more to pay workers the night-shift differential.  Productivity is a greater value, and a stress-avoider (for people like me, most likely).
4. Why little local politicians have the gall to splash their faces on all manner of banners and streamers.  Happy Father's Day from Mayor's Son-in-Law So and So.  Puhlllease.  Feed the hungry, get my vote.
5. Why a lot of Pinoys ignore pedestrian overpasses and lanes, and choose to cross where they shouldn't, and have expressions of glee and excitement as they jaywalk.  Are they cats that they have nine lives?  Do they trust that all cars, buses, and jeeps will have proper brakes?  
6. Why some drivers feel the need for speed at inappropriate times and places.  One morning, I saw a gasoline truck speeding at about 80 kph from the QC Elliptical Road going to Commonwealth, cutting across several lanes (swerving is more like it), and I caught a glimpse of the driver.  He looked thrilled to have all vehicles avoid his truck - the one that says FLAMMABLE - so early in the morning.  I wanted to revoke his license.  What was that man on that morning?!
7. Why some radio DJs are given shows at all, when they have the capacity to churn out useless information, or worse, promote the wrong concepts to the youth.  I don't find their morning shows funny.  I believe in their freedom to express, and in my freedom to tune out.  I find myself saying often, "Stop talking.  Play music!"
8. Why a nation of intelligent people still elects inept leaders.  I am not a social scientist, so I count on those who know how to teach the next generation how to use their heads.

There is more where that came from, but that's enough ranting for now.

My Unexpected Passengers

I was late for mass, coming from work, and I was so lost in thought, when I heard a tap on my car window, passenger side.  I was stuck in traffic along Old Balara, near U.P.  I saw two boys gesturing if they could ride with me.  

I rolled down the window, unsure if I heard them right.  

"Pwede po pasabay?" they said in chorus.  I was curious at this new mode of transportation.  I asked them where they were going.  They said they lived near the basketball court near Ayala, which was just a few meters away.  It was past 6:00 p.m. and alarm bells were ringing in my head. 

I had never allowed total strangers to ride in my car before.  I stared at the boys and asked for their names.  They gave it to me.  They were both 11 years old and were studying at "Balara Filter".  They were in school uniform, carried backpacks, and reminded me of my nephews.  

Traffic was really bad so I had time to interview them.  They said they did it everyday as they had no money to pay for jeepney fare.  

I should have been scared and just driven off.  But I wasn't.  I let them in, put the seat belt on the first boy, and carried a conversation with them.

I even forgot to lock the car doors immediately.  I was just curious if their parents were aware of that practice of riding in strangers' cars, and the boy sitting at the back (is it obvious I have forgotten their names already?  I'm bad.)  told me that his older brother taught him the trick.  I kept looking at their faces to see any mischief or malice. There was none.  They said they tried to avoid heavily-tinted vans.  They said really kind people let them ride, and they especially loved riding on the back of motorcycles.  I warned them that they should always wear their helmets and that it was not the safest vehicle around (for I had just seen, a few nights ago, two men lying unconscious along the Quezon Avenue underpass going to Circle, after the motorcycle they were riding on hit another vehicle).  

We talked about school and family, in that ten-minute ride.  The cars were moving at a snail's pace and so I was able to talk to my young passengers.  The one beside me wanted to be a civil engineer and the one at the backseat wanted to be a computer programmer.  I encouraged them to study hard as there was no better feeling than graduating with a degree in the course of their dreams and being able to help their respective families.

I dropped them off at the basketball court and they thanked me.  I will never forget their reply when I asked them how they chose the car to hitch a ride with:

"Naghahanap po kami ng matatanda at mga babae"  (We look for old [can I say older here, or would it be inaccurate?] people and women).  I'm not sure, I will take it that they chose me because I was a woman driver.  Hah.

"Takot po kami sa balbas-sarado"  (We're afraid of bearded men.)  I said not all bearded men should be feared and not all shaven ones should be trusted.  I added that they should take care and study hard always.

I did not make it to mass at all for the traffic delayed me as usual.  I went straight to my scheduled confession, as that was one of the reasons I was rushing home in the first place.  I had a feeling I encountered Jesus even way before I arrived at the Parish of St Benedict.  

In case you're wondering, I did check.  My wallet, which was lying beside my young friend in the backseat, was untouched.  My two cellphones, within easy reach of my little front seat passenger, remained intact.  I had no reason to be afraid.  They just needed a ride.

I just wished the world was a safer place for young students, and that I did not have to check if anything was taken from me.  

I wished we could trust more people, and be trustworthy.  Then oh what a wonderful world this would be.