“Exact Fare Only.”
On the far end of the pedestrian lane, stands the entrance to the LRT station. It is a dome housing two food stalls, a phone loading area, and stairs that lead to a dark hallway, full of people lining up and security guards investigating every bag. There is a different line for both genders. Men lined up at the right staircase while women lined up at the left. I began to muse. Why should the men and women not have the same line?
I seemed to have stopped for Mom tugged my right arm and motioned me to move faster, the whistle just blowed. We headed towards this hallway where a woman, middle aged, mechanically and (quite disheartening) grumpily squeezed, as if feeling, my Mom’s leather brown shoulder bag and peered into my pink backpack. I watched in awe at her white and blue uniform and at the rectangular patch on the right side of her chest with “L. Maligaya.” She must have been so proud of her job.
A man rushed by me. Mom yet again pulled me towards her.
Do not slow down, do not stop, she said. If you go on like this, you wouldn’t reach your destination unscathed.
Thus, we squeezed our way out of the entrance queue only to find another queue of people in the ticket window. Near it are yellow machines that supply tickets for passengers with only the exact fare. Mom forgot to bring coins, another whistle blows, and we have no choice but to join the pissed people lining up the ticket window.
What do children do best? Seeing what adults fail to see.
Cubao
“Please do not leave your valuables unattended.”
There are only two kinds of time in the LRT. First is normal time when certain seats would still be left waiting for people from the next station to occupy. Second is rush time when seats would be fully indistinguishable from the mass of people standing, looking like human sardines.
We managed to ride a train, although a little bit later, a little bit more unpleasant (for Mom) than expected, and at the most exciting time in the morning.
Commuters squeeze their selves into the LRT to reach their destinations on time. Normally, people in this country do not move until it is late or nearly too late. But this monster waits for no one. The LRT taught them a valuable time lesson.
We joined most of the crowd in clinging to anything they see in the train, even to visible wallets. I clutched the silver pole in the middle that mom also clutched, so that somehow, we would be connected. She stayed on my right side, looking as if something might get stolen or lost any minute.
I heard mom say we are going to, the train growls, Cubao. Or was that Recto? Then the door in front us swung open, I see some brown dog the size of me at the other side while people walk out. Amused, I hastily went out, obscured by denim pants and legs, looked for any trace of the dog while people dispersed ahead of me, heard my name being called out faintly, decided to go back inside the train (unoccupied seats rest before my eyes), and again cling to that same pole. I looked to my right, and Mom was gone.
What do adults do when they see a brown fluffy waist-high dog? They feign oblivion. What do children do when they see a brown fluffy a-bit-larger-than-them dog? They follow it.
To Recto
“Allow passengers to alight first.”
A whistle blows. I still am standing right there. It dawned on me gradually that my Mom was nowhere beside me. Every now and then the train doors would open, some people come in, and others go out. I ramain standing there, holding that pole, where everyone can perfectly see me and where yet everyone continuously ignores me.
For every stop, some voice over would say the name of the station which I would repeat to myself and forget altogether because of nervousness and insecurity. I ransacked my brain for morbid possibilities that may well occur. I might get kidnapped; get robbed; trip, fall, and get run over by the train.
Right there and then, on that pole strategically placed at the center aisle, I promised myself to never rest until I find Mom. To Recto, Here I go.
What do adults do when they lose their way? They ask. What do children do when they lose their way? They get confused (to ask or not to ask strangers?).
Recto
"Para sa inyong kaligtasan, iwasan lang po natin na tumapak o lagpasan ang dilaw na linya."
"Para sa inyong kaligtasan, iwasan lang po natin na tumapak o lagpasan ang dilaw na linya."
Again the door flings open and everyone goes out, including me. This is probably the last station. This left me no choice.
The gray-blue building has an austere atmosphere. The tiles on the floor, although looking sophisticated, had a dark gray screen on them, marks of haphazard mopping. I stayed at the corner, trying to look invisible to curious people and thanked God when the dome again fills with people, which means the train is going back.
I waited until two trains show up on either side. I entered, took a seat, and placed my pink backpack on my lap, imagining how I and my Mom’s reunion would go later.
What do adults do when they feel drowsy? They drink coffee, time asleep is time wasted. What do children do when they feel drowsy? They sleep.
Santolan
“Please avoid sitting on the wall panel/stainless railings”
The sound of a very loud whistle plus screeching here and there signaled another stop. How many minutes or hours have I been dozing off?
I realized I have fallen asleep. And I still am unsure of where I am. This moment of uncertainty, of not knowing what I will see when I open my eyes, although scares me, also becomes my every reason to wake up, move, and find Mom again.
I opened my eyes and stood, just in time to see all of the people, except me, scrambling out of the train. I decided to join them. I feel small in this large mass of people.
I looked around the station and notice the same monotonous aura that each tile, wall, ceiling, banner, dirt, and dust emanate. Even the larger-than-life photograph of Enchong Dee, looking so contented with his new Jollibee float, could not mask this place’s dullness.
A unique sadness embraces me. I am considering just ceasing the quest that I have promised to tread a while ago.
The place yet again fills with people. Another try to Katipunan? Yes, please.
What do adults do when they are unsure of what to happen? They ask. What do children do when unsure? They dream.
Katipunan
“This is the last station. Thank you for patronizing the LRT”
The dotted line diagram just above the door, inside the train, having seen it only now that no people obscure my view from the pole at the center aisle, suggests that Katipunan, if I were from Santolan, is only another ride away. The girl voice over agrees to this.
A while later, the whistle sounds. Again, the train door opens; and I see Mom, talking to security guards, sobbing. I could not help myself from crying “Mom” out loud again and again while I ran towards her, gave her a tight and securing hug (assuring myself that I am safe), thanked God for bringing me back, and mused about all that happened today.
I used to think only babies cry.
What would adults do when they realize their lives are a mess? They run around complaining and feeling miserable. What would children do when they realize their lives are a mess? They run back to their parents.
