PNR Schedule and Route

(re-blogged from gubatpark)

A friend forwarded a blog site to me that talks about this Philippine National Railways project. The pictures of the new trains are really interesting, so I thought I should try them out. To the best of my abilities in searching the internet, I looked for the schedule of the trains but unfortunately nothing seemed to be helpful. I tried them last Monday, took some pictures and wrote down the schedule of the trains from the two stations where I got into.

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Unconditional

I'm convinced that sometimes life plays out events with undeniable cohesion just to make a point come across to you as clearly as possible.

It was another one of those I-don't-know-how-we-got-to-this-topic conversations over dinner with a friend of mine. We were talking about parental love. We were talking about how easy it is for a parent to love a good child. It's when they love the problematic ones - the ones who consistently screw up all time - that proves how much love parents are capable of. And we could only surmise the depth of that kind of love. I've been told I'll never understand it until I become a parent myself.

Later that evening, I was waiting for the FX to be filled with passengers when a father, his two kids, and a yaya clambered up the backseat with me. The dad was in his early to mid-thirties and he spoke English when he addresses his kids, a toddler son and a pre-school daughter. He called his son "mahal ko" and his daughter "ate".

The children were loud. No, make that: the children were LOUD. And restless. And quarrelsome. And loud. Did I mention they were loud? The dad gave them a warning at the start of the trip. "Don't misbehave, guys, ok? We're not the only ones in the backseat." But after the kids exchanged mean words to each other and a number of poking at each other, the warning ended up unheeded. And also - do kids really have to repeat every line they say? I mean every line. Twice. At the least. The girl, who was a little older, was somewhat manageable. But the boy was everywhere. Standing up, twisting on his seat, pulling at everyone's clothes. It's amazing how many things a three-year old can do in that cramped space.

The dad took a phone call on the way. I couldn't help but overhear the phone conversation. It was a business proposal. Mr. Dad was politely declining any networking endeavor since his time is divided between his day job and his family. And besides, he said, he was more inclined to creative work than in sales. The kids continued to wreak havoc in the backseat while he tried to get on with the phone call. And not once did the dad tell them off. I was awed at his patience. Ok, maybe I was more incredulous he didn't find it annoying to conduct a conversation above the ruckus.

After the call, he quietly tells his son, "Mahal ko, you have been extraordinarily naughty today." The kid who was sitting on his lap, looks up to him with wide eyes. The dad kisses him on the forehead and says, "But I still love you."

The boy falls silent and after a few moments says, "I'm sleepy, Dad. Sing me 'hush now'."

The dad began to sing a lullaby unfamiliar to me. With lines like, "Hush now, my darling child... into a place where there is no harm... with cuddly clouds..."

The FX atmosphere experienced its first moments of silence. And I find myself thinking, "I get the point."

Alice in Trafficland

Her name's Alice. I heard her mother calling out to her when she wandered a little too far from the FX queue. Alice is about three or four - curly hair, pouting mouth, and very intelligent eyes. She's easily noticeable, not only because she's a very cute kid, but more importantly because she loudly whimpered while she extricated her mother's grip from her hand. Kids - they never want to be held on to.

Alice was with her mother, older sister (around six years old), and her grandmother. When we boarded the FX, they occupied the middle seat. And seated on the front, I heard Alice calling out, "Mama? Ate? Lola?" Everyone had to answer her before she settled down. She had to do a roll call, apparently.

When the FX drove out to EDSA, the MRT was incidentally passing through from above. All the passengers were treated to hysterical shrieking of, "TRAIN! TRAIN! TRAIN!" It turns out, our resident toddler has a thing for this form of transportation. When her grandmother told her to stop shouting, she whispered audibly, "Choo-choo... Choo-choo..."

I was so amused with the kid, that from then on, I tuned to all her verbal observations. When we passed the Rivermaya's Bagong Liwanag billboard, she shouted, "Rainbow!" - referring the the band album's logo. And when we turned to Guadix Drive, I had to turn around to see what she referred to as "Castle! Castle!" - It was the facade of Asian Development Bank. Yeah, what a castle indeed. What I would give to be able to work in that fortress. Haha...

Across the street was a launch party or something. With loud music and party treats. "Balloons!" I could feel her pleasure over seeing those inflated orbs. But when we made the u-turn and sped away, she quietly said, "Bye, balloons..." At that moment, I wanted to get off the FX, grab a freaking balloon and give it to Alice. I hoped that the Christmas decorations of the Meralco compound would cheer her up. But when we turned into its street, she was distractedly looking out into the opposite direction. "Look to your left, kid," I said to myself, "Look at the blatant display of extravagance by the power company who charges us with expensive utility rates."

It paid off, because when Alice turned around, she gleefully shouted, "Lights! Lights! Lights!" Yeah, that's what we pay 'em for, kid. =P

This is why I like kids. Because it makes me think about what it was like to be a kid again. To be amazed with the simple things. To be unburdened of the realities of the world. Give them some blinking lights and the world is a great place.

I was snapped out of this reverie when Alice pointed out to: "Cinderella! Castle! Cinderella! Castle!" I'm not kidding, this kid likes repetition. Just to make sure everyone heard her. And the castle? Iglesia ni Cristo church. So what comprises a castle? Imposing facade, I guess. At this point, she was leaning forward on her seat that her face is practically touching my shoulder. I turned to her and said hello. She didn't mind me much, but continued to look out the window, although she touched my hair a few times.

The traffic was stagnant for a while. Alice was seized with a sudden compulsion to count from one to ten again and again. I eventually figured out that she was actually counting the moments when it was the FX turn to move in the traffic. "Ready, go!" And she did it with such good timing that I was so impressed.

Along the way, she also sang her version of "Doe - a deer, a female deer. Ray, a drop of golden sun..." But it sounded like a German version because she still couldn't enunciate every word. What authenticity - sung like an Austrian Von Trapp.

She almost got into a tantrum when she insisted to her mom that the old EMBC bus that drove past us is a "train". She didn't want to say "bus" because for her, it is a "train". So what comprises a train? Long vehicle body, I guess.

When we were heading towards the uphill roads of Antipolo, Alice would yell, "Wheee!" but when we turned to unlit parts, she'd whisper in a low voice, "Mama, it's dark..."

The best part of riding in the FX with Alice was when we reached the plaza. Today is the feast day of the Immaculate Conception and they set of fireworks just when we were nearing the church. Aww, you should've seen her excitement. "Fayerks! Fayerks!" (It's a newly learned word for her, I assume) She was actually standing up and pointing out the window.

I got off the FX and turned to walk away, wishing I could be touched and affected like a kid again. What made me feel worse is that I realized that I had my camera with me and I totally forgot to take pictures of the "fayerks".

Whee.

Mang Jhonny

Araw-araw akong nagtatraysikel papunta sa sakayan ng FX. Malayo ang tinitirhan ko mula sa opisinang pinapasukan ko. Madalas, isang oras akong nagcocommute. Kung tatanghaliin ng gising o kung mamalasin at matrapik, minsan inaabot ako ng dalawang oras.

Trese ang pamasahe mula sa labas ng subdivision namin hanggang sa sakayan. Halos doble ng minimum fare, kaya matatantya nyo na kung gaano ito kalayo. Nagiging pamilyar na sa akin ang mga mukha ng mga traysikel drayber sa araw-araw kong pagsakay.

Isa si Mang Jhonny sa madalas kong makita sa paradahan. Ganyan ang pagkakabaybay ng pangalan nya, ayon sa rehistro na nakasabit sa traysikel nya. Matanda na si Mang Jhonny. Kulubot ang balat, maitim, kulot ang buhok, at hindi matangkad. Madalas manipis na kamiseta ang suot nya at magrasang shorts. Butas-butas na ang goma nyang sapatos. Sa TODA terminal, pumipila ang mga traysikel para makakuha ng pasahero. Habang naghihintay, dispatcher rin si Mang Jhonny.

Una ko syang napuna nung minsan sakay ako ng traysikel nya at nagpakrudo sya sa isang gasolinahan. Kakataas lang ng presyo ng gas ilang oras lang ang nakakalipas at dismayadong dismayado si Mang Jhonny sa balitang ito. “Anak ng ... Taas ng taas ang gasolina, di naman kami pwede magtaas ng pamasahe, lintik na buhay ito, oo...”

Laspag na ang traysikel ni Mang Jhonny. Kalawangin ang mga bakal, tagpi-tagpi ang upuan at nirecycle na trapal ng mga advertisement ang bubong nya na tumutulo kapag umuulan.Kung nakaparada ito sa isang tambakan, hindi mahirap isipin na baka pwede na itong ipatimbang sa junk shop.

Pero kahit naghihingalo na ang tricycle ni Mang Jhonny, mabait naman sya sa mga pasahero. Sa katunayan, namumukhaan nya na ako at di na kailangan pang tanungin kung saan ako bababa. Di nya rin hinahayaan masingitan ako sa pila ng mga ayaw maghintay ng kanilang pagkakataon. Kapag ginagabi ako ng uwi at konti na lang ang mga traysikel sa pila, pinipilit nya ang mga drayber na kunin akong pasahero kahit di na nila ruta. At sinasabihan nya rin akong tandaan ang numero ng traysikel kung sakaling may maiwan ako, gaya ng isang ale na minsang humingi ng tulong sa kanya sa naiwang wallet. Daig pa ni Mang Jhonny sa pagiging maasikaso ang maraming mga empleyado sa pampublikong tanggapan.

May isang araw na di si Mang Jhonny ang nagmaneho, kundi ang anak nya, siguro mga disi-syete anyos pa lang. Sakay lang si Mang Jhonny sa likod habang nagbibigay ng mga utos. "Tingnan mo magkabalang gilid mo. Maging alerto ka sa mga dumaraan. Wag na wag kang magaalinlangan sa interseksyon, tuluy-tuloy lang at nang di ka mabitin sa gitna."

Pagdating sa gate ng subdivision namin, inabot ko bayad ko sa kanya, sabay sabi ng, “Salamat po.”

Madami akong natutunan sa mga simpleng kapwa tao na nakakasalimuha ko araw-araw. Di lang trese pesos ang halaga niyon.

Commuting Thoughts

I encounter the most interesting people during my commute. Last week, I was in queue at the FX terminal with an elegant middle-aged woman. She was tastefully dressed in a crisp white shirt with denim pants and she was carrying two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. The most remarkable thing about her - no disrespect to the donuts - was her facial expression. It's a cross between a terror Math teacher and a strict nun principal from a Catholic school.

It's as if she was in on a secret, a terrible burden of truth, that happiness is nonexistent. Her mouth actually formed a downward arc. And her eyes tell you that she is not a person whom you would want to cross. At all. Not even a tiny little bit.

And of course, I was stuck with her in the front seat of the FX. I often find myself in these tricky situations, you see. She held the door before boarding and told me, "You go in first, I'll take the outer side." It wasn't a request but an imperative statement. And I'm quoting her verbatim. So cross out that description about the Math teacher. She could have been an English teacher. Or a CAT commander. Whichever.

I was trying not to doze off during the whole trip. I didn't want to lean against her accidentally. How uncomfortable was that whole traffic, can you imagine? When the FX finally pulled over at the Antipolo terminal, Mrs. Don't-Cross-Me held out a hand and tapped the driver in the forearm. "Where are you going to end up? Are you stopping here?" The bewildered driver didn't answer right away, I'm assuming he doesn't get to be tapped and addressed in English very often. He eventually said, "Dito na lang po ang babaan." And I finally got off (unscathed, thankfully).

I thought about how horrifying about it would be to end up having someone like that woman as a mother-in-law. Think of all the cold stares, the disapproving eyes. Whew. The horror. As far as I'm concerned, another reason not to get married. That topic's a whole other entry by itself. Heck, it could be a whole book. ;P

Passengers

Early mornings, you'd find me in queue at the FX terminal. Another employee on the way to work. Another commuter battling the challenging world of public transportation. Just another sleepy soul, trapped in the routine of daily life. It would be excessive to say that it is almost like a community, that long queue, because it's not. It's just a group of people whose faces are familiar to each other, but they're not there to make friends. A terse nod when asked if this was the end of the line is the most interaction that can go. Each other's presence is incidental, an irrelevant detail in the travel from point A to point B.

Those days when shuttles take long to arrive and my mind is not preoccupied with my other thoughts, I practice characterization for my fiction writing. You take boredom, a need to stay awake, and the long wait for the next FX -- and you get me, the casual observer. It helps if you have your earphones on. It lends a sense of disinterest in the process of observation. You can stare long at someone without making them feel like their personal space is being intruded. The earphones give you the benefit of the doubt that although your eyes are fixed, your mind is actually elsewhere. I lay a disclaimer here. Don't use my tip for stalking. Please. I have enough of my own guilt to worry about.

There are those students from UA&P. With their youthful and perky outfits and air of their parents' money. Two of them are friends who are freshmen (I can tell by their age and their textbooks). One always comes in late while the other saves a spot on the line for her. I sometimes want to tell them that it's unfair for the ones who arrived earlier, but I let them be. It's too small a thing to worry about. Besides, they get enough piercing stares from the more irritable passengers.

The middle-aged lady who always carries a book with her. For a couple of days, it was a copy of the Sherlock Holmes short stories collection. It amused me since Holmes is one of my most favorite book characters of all time. I wondered if she was enjoying it as much as I did when I first read the stories in high school.

There's that good-looking pair of mid-twenties corporate professionals. Who look like they stepped straight out of a yuppie magazine. Guy's tall dark, and handsome - . Girl looks like a doll with porcelain skin, with hair always made up and clothes that reek of Cosmo. When I see them, I sometimes wonder if I dress too casually for my age and profession. Oh, well.

And there's the old couple. They're probably around sixty years old. The old man is frail looking with hunched shoulders; the woman has a kind face. He carries a leather briefcase and his wife just keeps him company in the queue, she doesn't get on the shuttle. They talk quietly while waiting and sometimes she asks the manongs at the terminal if she could borrow one of the monobloc chairs for her husband to sit on. She just waits with him, stands beside him. And when the shuttle arrives, she straightens his polo, kisses him on the cheek, helps him inside the front seat, and waves him goodbye.

Once, in another seemingly normal morning, I find the old couple in their usual place. But after a few minutes, I discerned some agitation in the crowd. I took off one of my earphone pieces and realized that the old lady was asking for help from those standing nearby. Her husband was apparently feeling ill and they had to call a trike and help him inside and rush him to the hospital.

I honestly did not know how to react, what to think. I was somewhat a long way off from the commotion, but I felt the tension. I feel like I'm having a crash-course of self realization. Here was a real life couple. Apparently, with deep love for one another. How do you find someone you'd be willing to do anything for? How do you never get tired of loving each other? How do you ever get to that time when you're willing to just stand beside someone patiently, talking quietly, until it was time to say goodbye. Until it was time.

I find myself actually trying to listen to the music from my earphones. Consciously. Drown in music these thoughts and questions I have no answers for.

FX Aftereffects

It was already a bad indication when the FX driver ignored the “No U-turn” sign along J. Vargas Avenue. What made it worse was just after he turned; a traffic police who apparently saw him commit the violation pointed at him and motioned him to pull over. Uh-oh.

But the FX driver seemed to be unflustered. He placed his hands on his back languidly – there’s no other way to describe it. And I had the sense of foreboding that this could not be good. True enough, I have another reason to believe that I have psychic ability because the driver did not pull over but sped past the officer. He made a run for it. At this point, I took off my earphones and looked disbelievingly at the driver. You’ve got to be kidding me. He overtook car after car and recklessly swerved in the road to gain distance from the officer who mounted his motorcycle and had started chasing the FX.

I turned to my fellow passengers. Surely, one of them would share my sentiment that this was terribly, terribly wrong. But they seemed to be oblivious to everything. It’s as if they were riding a totally different FX wherein their driver was not snaking his way in full speed along St. Paul road while a traffic police was pathetically trying to keep him in sight. I wonder whether I could have just said that I needed to get off at the nearest corner so I could get off the damned FX and the officer could catch the errant driver. I doubt if that would’ve been a welcome twist to the whole incident, though. For the driver and other passengers.

The chase ended in Meralco Avenue. Mamang Pulis was unable to catch up and was lost somewhere in the turns and Manong Driver even got off the vehicle and looked around during a stop sign to make sure that he was clear. I got off two blocks later. Thankful that I need not be part of that horrific ride anymore.

And that was not the end of my horror commute for the day. On my way home, a pair of men was occupying the front seat of the FX. They were loud and annoying and arrogant. Everyone was forced to hear their conversation. One of them works at a construction project and told his friend of how he miscalculated and cut a cable five meters short than expected. He then continued how he and his coworkers skillfully take supplies from the construction project. They do it regularly and with organization. No remorse whatsoever! They were robbing their employers and they were proud of it because they do it so well! And I thought to myself, an incompetent and a thief. Perfect. Employee of the year.

Not to be outdone, the FX driver displayed his own alarming behavior. He opened his cellphone inbox while waiting for traffic to move (not a very good thing to do, for starters) and made an angry call after reading a message (worse thing).

Here’s how the driver’s phone conversation went almost verbatim (worst thing). Imagine him talking in a VERY loud and angry voice, enough to overpower the incompetent thief in the front seat.

“Di ba sinabi ko sayo na itapon mo na yan?! (Pause) Di mo pa tinatapon? Anak ng tinapay! (Pause) Pagdating ko dyan, wala na dapat yan! (Pause) Anong takot-takot? Sinasasabi ko sa iyo itapon mo na yan!” End call.

Images of a dead body being disposed played in my head. And can you blame me? How else can you interpret that? I discreetly paid my fare to the driver and kept a low profile. Heck, he could be a homicidal maniac, for all I know! Whenever he cursed at a red light or at a slow car in front of him didn’t help in dissuading me otherwise.

Public commuting is such an adventure. Horror adventure.

Boom De Yada!

jeeps sometimes have eccentric decorations personalized by their drivers/conductors. the typical knickknacks usually consist of rosary beads, sampaguita garlands (bought out of guilt), Sto. Niño, small running LED lights, sometimes a TV if the driver's being fancy. i got on this jeep in Cebu that surprisingly had running electronic text, much like the ones in Radio City Music Hall or in Jollibee. not really that impressive right? but to my surprise, the first words that scrolled out were "Boom De Yada!" followed slowly by "I love the oceans". what the what?!? the driver or conductor know of the Discovery Channel ad? i was at the edge of my seat, anticipating a misspelled lyric or a wrong line, but the words came out perfect. what the what?!? i was smiling inwardly the whole time. it was late afternoon on a weekend, the sun was shining but the wind was cool and at that very moment, it felt like everything was right in the world, there was still hope for my country, we weren't so dumb after all (on the average) and we're going to choose the right person to lead us, etc. etc. i imagined that the driver and conductor probably ad libbed while singing the song in their spare time, adding "i love driving and conducting" in place of "i love tornadoes".

after the song ended its run on the marquee, then came the words "brought to you by<ad agency here >. to place an ad, call <ad agency no.>". and just like that, my optimism got zapped into that black hole of capitalist agenda. to top it all off, the driver wanted to go through a shortcut and dropped me a long way away from where i paid to get off while the conductor laughed at my vehement insistence of "nag-ingon lagi nga naa'y asilo!" Boom de yada!

Toys in Traffic

stuck in traffic with nothing else to do and think and daydream about, i looked towards the person to my left just to check out how my potential pickpocket looked like. he was old, maybe around 50 with glasses and had a worn-out duffel bag. like me, he was looking over the guy to his left who turned out to be playing bejeweled with his blurry-screened ipod touch. i immediately thought that ipod-guy must be crazy carelessly brandishing his toy like that, in a jeep, at night. ipod-guy was a yuppie for sure - nike free 7.0 shoes, polo shirt, a black sling bag and his toy. his game was a little sluggish, missing potential points and with a score still at 1000 even though traffic has been at a standstill for almost 5 minutes. just then, i felt a slight movement from old guy as he fished out his fare from his right pocket. he was no longer paying attention to the game and was instead talking to the driver re: details of his ride like where he will get off and where he came from. i suddenly got busy and with the other passengers, kept sticking my head out to try to check what the hell was keeping us from moving. the next thing i know old guy had his 3310 out playing Bantumi. he had the initials CM tattooed on his wrinkly hand in that space between his thumb and forefinger. so then i thought, old guy = badass.