My Daily Commute

My work entails traveling from the city where I live to the far end of another adjacent city. This is about an hour’s worth of commute (on a typical rush hour). On those few lucky days when hubby’s schedule is not so tight, he drives me to work (and then he braves himself against a tougher jam for about an hour and a half more).

On most days though, I have to use public transport. I take the FX (sort of like an airconditioned jeepney but much more cramped, in my opinion) because taxi cabs are just too costly (except when it’s really late or when I’m really late).

The funny thing is, though I whine about hubby not being able to drive me to work as often as I’d want to, my daily commute has become a time of solace. It gives me time to pray, to say hi to my mom or sister (via SMS), to ponder over my future and the future of my kids and to plan the rest of my day (say, what to order for lunch).

Strangely, it is also the time when I feel very much one with everyone else. I, together with other average human beings on this side of the metropolis, become one people, waking up and bringing ourselves to wherever it is that we need to be…school or work or market. It offers some consolation that I am not alone; we are all in the same boat.

On a different note, my daily commute is usually the time when I feel more fortunate than most people. I see the FX driver, doing his best to dodge those equally reckless buses and jeepney drivers, just to meet his boundary and place food on the table. I see the woman selling vegetables on the sidewalk, eating puto for breakfast. I see the MMDA standing in the middle of the street, sweating it out, breathing in all this pollution. Last but not the least, I see these countless beings, sitting by their shanties, breastfeeding their babies, talking with one another simply because they have no job and therefore, nowhere to go. True, there are times when I wished I had an MP3 player so I can escape from that awful music blaring from the radio or from those dreadful conversations one can’t help but overhear. Most of the time though, I feel blessed.

I find it strange that I only “see” these things when I take public transport. As if sitting in my hubby’s car gives me some sort of shield from the ugly but real facts of daily life.

My list of life goals include owning and driving my own car. Apart from worries about parking space, my mind says life would be easier when I stop taking public transport. Will this make me feel detached from my fellow commuters and turn me into a less grateful person? I hope to find the answer to this… soon :)