Still

Other than the floating slash flying sensation I occasionally experience when I dream, I have not been anywhere close to any actual out of body experience. However, last Friday changed that when I embarrassed myself by taking a dive on the sidewalk as I walked to the train to get home from work.

I was between two colleagues, talking about the recent construction of a building we were just passing by. Intent on spying on the development of the project, we were all looking up straining past the walls separating us from the construction site, when the ground ‘neath me, for a split second, vanished. It appeared a second too late and I saw myself careening onto the pavement, flailing arms and legs and all. I tried desperately to soften the impact of my fall and I fell on my left side first, bruising my palm and knee. Apparently, gravity still wasn’t through with me and I took a second severe dive to my right. All this time, my mind was silently shouting, “Shit! Shit! I’m falling! Do something!!!” probably the same words, only in Mexican, that Eric Morales must have muttered as he was forced to take the last fall in his final match with Pacquiao. In the background, I could hear the mortification in Ate E’s voice as she called out my name. E watched paralyzed and helpless. He could only assist me as I got up from the pavement, feeling mugged, beaten to a pulp and bloody. Gawd! 28 freaking years old and I still am not exempt from a toddler’s catastrophe!

I must have looked like a fright. I did a quick inventory and found all limbs are still intact. No broken bones, no sprain. Other than, my right elbow was sorely bruised with a major wound, my right hip sported an ugly scrape and whatever was left of my ego flew across EDSA and was run over several times by oncoming vehicles, I was alright. Shaky, yes, but okay. Thank God my face didn’t hit the dirt! Yay for me!

I felt like crying because of the pain, but I found myself unable to. Not because I was too embarrassed. I meant at that point, I guess ate E and E would have excused such reaction after being terrified. But no tears would fall.

Over coffee, hours after that incident, I told E that I wanted to cry but just couldn’t. And he said that it was okay, and at this age, we were prone to cry more because of emotional hurt than the physical beatings we take. Whoa. E, is that you?

During the whole ordeal, at the back of my mind, I could hear my mom reprimanding me from such stupidity --- funny how you are able to hear your mother’s voice above the noise of life. Don’t get me wrong, my mom loves me. But when I was a kid, she’d always go ballistic if I get bruised, wounded or hurt. Making sure I was well cared for is top priority. She’s actually worried and it materializes by her venting out on me her frustration of being utterly helpless to watch over me and protect me 24/7. I guess that goes for all moms.

I remember that when I was still learning how to ride a bike, I’d get lots of bruises. In order to avoid the wrath of my mom, I’d be in my PJs when she gets home from work to cover up the marks.

So here I am, age 28, wounded, living in my own house far from the lectures of my worried mom. Still, there’s no escape. She’s still the voice in my head.

The Long Commute

I know I complain too much about the long commute. Maybe I don’t recite my lamentations for everyone to hear but my thoughts about commuting have spilled over to pages and pages of word documents or my phone memo pad.

Truthfully, commuting is no problem for me. It’s really the traffic that I loathe. Take away traffic from the commuting equation and I will be fine. Yes, the length of time is still a concern but through the months, I have found things to fill my idle time.

There’s Sudoku. To save on money with me buying inquirer daily just to get to play Sudoku, I bought the game book. Armed with pencil and pens (whichever is working), I try to answer a difficult puzzle in a trip. Unless the constant jolting movement of the bus makes me dizzy, finishing a puzzle or two is no problem.

There’s the mp3 player. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my sponsor, who I will call Stranger, who took pity on me and gave me an mp3 player. Thanks so very much! Music helps calm me down and makes the trip less stressful.

If you have a bathroom book, I have a commute book or reading material as well. Reader’s Digest is high on my list. It provides a buffet of topics from health to adventure to laughter to drama.

Watching Deal or No Deal. Yup. I get to catch the news, telenovelas and fantaseryes on the trip home. Deal or No Deal is by far the most entertaining, no-brainer show on TV today. Just pure fun. At least I don’t get frazzled with the traffic while I silently cheer, “Lower, lower” for the stressed-beyond-belief contestant. You have to hand it to Kris Aquino and the mysterious banker who has a fetish for chinitas.

To escape it all, I can always catch some zs, which I do often when going to work in the wee hours of the morning. I just make sure that all my stuff is tied to my arms in hope that no one loots me off.

Commuting alone also taught me to have courage. It strengthened my belief that I can be alone, and I can be okay. I know it’s not a life-altering experience but with commuting, you set yourself out for a lot of variables beyond your control --- the unpredictable traffic, attitude of fellow commuters, the time you can get a ride, the weather and your state of mind. You only have your disposition and your judgment to get from point A to point B. It’s no picnic commuting on a rainy night when the traffic is so bad with me nursing a fever.

But you know, each night, what greets me is the night sky bursting with thousands of glittering stars. Maybe He placed me here in the suburbs because He knew I would always appreciate the awesomeness of His creation. He just needed an audience.

The long trip is worth it. The stars are worth the wait.

Lucky Coin

"Penny, penny give me luck 'coz I'm the one who picked you up..." or so the line goes...I chant this line silently to myself every time I chance upon a coin on the sidewalk.

One morning as I rode the bus to work, a family with two kids sat across me. The little boy couldn't contain his excitement when he found a one peso coin on his seat. He showed it to his mom who couldn't care less and scoffed at him. I watched their exchange amused by the scene... the jaded mom and his hopeful son.

I can't help but smile thinking of how genuine, how real the joy of the son in his treasure. I remembered that I too just the other day picked up a peso on a jeep. As it turned out, that peso was a blessing when I was a peso short of my fare. Life's little blessings indeed.

Now that I'm older and supposedly wiser, I find that I have less moments of simple joys. My life seems distracted and uncertainties seem to hang over me like a dark cloud that I fail to see it's beauty. How wonderful it would be to see beauty in the eyes of the child in the raw. Unpretentious. Unintentional. Accidental.

Oftentimes, the longer we process what we see, our critical self takes over, taking apart the totality into tiny pieces--- judging each piece by piece until we can no longer appreciate it.

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