At Gunpoint

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Ever had a feeling of premonition just right before something bad happened? Well, guess what, it happened to me just this evening. 10 minutes before I was about to go out I had this certain “thing” tugging in the back of my mind that I have to leave behind my wallet and my cash at home. Now I understand the reason behind that peculiar moment.

I went home tonight riding a jeep from Quiapo. Feeling impatient of waiting for an FX or a bus to come along I took the first jeep that stopped before me. Luckily my favorite spot, which was the passenger seat beside the driver, was free of one person and I sat there and grabbed hold of the bar beside the side view mirror as the driver rolled off zig zagging along the highway with a speed that’s definitely inhuman.

I was thinking it was smooth sailing going home tonight. Too bad I was wrong on that account.

Just after we passed through Banawe st. along Espana road we stopped in front of the Chow King restaurant to wait for a passenger to come in. There was this one guy who just hangs onto the entrance of the jeep as if waiting for something to happen. He was a small lean guy with a face that still looks like a student and wearing an orange shirt and brown slacks that’s a bit too tight for him. He was carrying a backpack behind him which he was holding with his left hand. A frown was painted flatly on his face.

I never really noticed him that much after entering the jeep as I had thought he was just the typical average guy along with the rest of us. Never would I think he was capable of doing something malicious with that face of his (the frown I suspect was from stress of a day’s honest work or something along that line).

And then it happened.

Actually I was listening intently on the savage beating of the drums of Slip Knot’s “Before I Forget” at that moment. You’d think you would have time to prepare for such things but then again these kinds of circumstances can never be predicted at all.

The guy whipped out from behind his back pack a .38 caliber pistol and aimed it at a girl who was using her cellular phone to sent text messages. “Walang kikilos” he said “Holdup up eto. Akin na iyong mga cell phone!”

A holdup. Aw great… Just my luck.

I looked at the mirror in front of me to see the reflection of what’s going on behind the jeep. The guy was still hanging from the entrance while aiming his gun at the girl with the phone. The poor girl was too terrified to react let alone give her cell phone to him. Once again he shouted profanities to give him all our cell phones and aimed the gun at the head of the girl.

The guy beside me was starting to get paranoid. He was shouting hysterically that it was a holdup and he was willing to give up his cell phone just as long he gets to keep his sim card (He was bigger than me, mind you, and you’d think he’d react in a different sort of way). Frantically he opened his cell phone’s casing and took away his sim card then dropping his phone afterwards on the jeep’s passenger compartment.

The jeepney driver now pulled over along the side of the road since he was too witless to carry on his destination onwards with a thug holding a gun behind his back. The other passengers were all quiet now except for the guy at my side who was screaming at me to let him pass through the door so he can jump out of the jeep. Lucky for him the guy with the gun was also shouting and screaming at the lady with the cell phone to even notice what my fellow passenger was planning to do. Me, I was still looking at the guy’s reflection at the mirror wondering if he would fire that gun or not. I barely even noticed the guy pushing me away from my seat let alone his screams.

Looking at the gun gives me the shivers. It was as if Death’s tool of destruction, which was right in front of me, would explode at any minute.

Miraculously, the man with the gun stopped waving around his piece when he took the girls cell phone away from her. He then ordered the driver to start the engines and move forward telling us never to look back. I don’t know whether it’s because he is afraid like the rest of us (must be his first time) or he was just happy he already took one cell phone away from the group. He never even asked us to take out our wallets nor our jewelries (not that I have any haha!).

As we sped away I looked in the mirror and saw the man cross the other side of the street probably finding another jeepney to victimize on the opposite route. He was probably doing it all night long unless somebody would have stopped him.

In the movies situations like this lasts a lifetime with your life hanging in the balance. In reality this all happened in just a span of 5 minutes tops and you’d still think it was a lifetime. You never would have the ample time to think everything through with all that pressure.

After the man disappeared everyone began talking in single unison, each telling his own account and other past experiences like this that happened to them before. The driver confesses that this was the umpteenth time his vehicle was robbed.

The guy beside me told me, that once, the jeep he was riding was held up by three men with knives, he also jumped out of the running vehicle.

Force of habit I guess.

Oh well.

Scramble

Sunday, July 30, 2006

A funny thing happened on the way home tonight. As I would usually commute nowadays because of my car being in near retirement (and that’s just putting it mildly) I’d usually take a tricycle ride home to the subdivision where I live.

A ride in a tricycle would be a total bore if not for the person handling it. Typical of a pinoy driver, people handling tricycles are in everyway the same as those of taxis, jeeps and FXs which, except for the smaller contraption that they are handling, are veterans of the highways; being able to swerve gracefully and run amok along the streets while making sure that their passengers are on the verge of fear and anxiety. They’d be praying to whatever deity they worship that they’ll be able to arrive at their destination safe and sound.

It’s no wonder everyone was hanging on to dear life at the steel bars of the tricycle that we’re riding tonight.

I tell you that guy’s a maniac!

If I were a cop I’d halt him for road rage, and speeding, and swerving and whatever there is there for him to stop. Too bad all the Police I’ve seen tonight are either lolling around in their jobs or getting a drink at the local store. There’s nothing to save us from getting 10 years growth out of our system.

And to think people are wondering why I have a lot of white hair in my head. Go figure.

Alas for our trusty driver his perennial good luck has come to an end. A taxi started to get too close to him for comfort resulting in an angry gesture from our man and a little pat on the hood of the taxi (did I say little? More like a hand slam from the taxi driver’s point of view).

If I’d make a guide to Manila’s driving etiquette the first rule I’d make is that whenever someone tries to challenge you in a drag race you’d be obliged to follow suit. As if on cue, the taxi driver lounged ahead and cut in front of us. Not one to be taken lightly our trusty hero did his best to overtake the taxi but it was like a snail challenging a turtle in a race: No matter what you do you’ll see his big shiny shell in front of you stupid. So our man tried to zigzag across the traffic hoping he can elude Mr. Bigshot in front of him.

Funny thing about being responsible on the road is that you’ll have to be aware of your surroundings especially of other vehicles beside of you. I guess our hero forgot to keep that in mind as he crashed with another motorcycle on his right. With a large thud and a bit of a yelp from the other guy on the motorcycle our man came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street.

It seems that things have come for the worse and I was in the middle of it all. I was thinking this is going to be a loooooong night one which would probably last for a few hours at the least. Sure enough, the two drivers were yelling at each other. All that’s left for them to do was to strangle each others throats.

To top of it all Uzis (a personal term I use for gawkers or uziseros) started to appear and surround the scene of the crime. Traffic began to build because of other drivers looking at us and shaking their heads. Cars were at a standstill for half a mile along the road.

Kids and other tambays were coming from god knows where just to look at us and make comments to each other. With all the commotion around you’d think someone had died. I’d shudder to think if someone did this place would have been in chaos.

I felt like the monkey at the zoo being stared at by everyone who passes by.

Yep, I thought again, it’s going to be another long night.

But miracles of miracles, the tricycle and motorcycle drivers had come to a bitter conclusion. After a few grunts and guffaws from each side they had come to a mutual agreement. One of which they end (surprisingly) with a little bit of brotherly hug. I was flabbergasted at that sight and a little bit touched but mostly shocked (my thoughts were swarming around that of a little brokeback gesture) but I guess all’s well that end’s well. With a little help from the observers we took apart the tricycle and motorcycle from each other and went on with our separate way.

Having arrived at the front gate of Filinvest 2, our man was greeted with assurance from his other tricycle buddies that it really wasn’t his fault (at the least). But we all know he was the cause of it all. But who wants to say that at that time? The guy’s swelling with moral justification at the moment.

Tired and weary the other dazed passengers started to walk away from the tricycle shed and off to their respective homes. I stood there for a little bit thinking that with the entire ruckus that happened I forgot to pay the guy as he sped off the street and into the night.

Oh well, I guess I’ll probably see him again one of these days.

Hopefully after a year or two, that is.

Continuation of the Past

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Well, here I am again writing in another journal.

I remembered always keeping a journal ever since first year high school which was inspired by an Archie comic book story aptly named Jughead’s Journal.

For all those comic book fans out there you’ll remember that this series was one of Jughead’s turning points in his life where everything went into topsy turvy starting with his girl relationships (imagine being torn apart by four girls all at once and he’s a woman hater!), his wacky highschool adventures and ultimately his point of view in life. The story depicts of him relating his story thru his journal: his hopes, his fears, his anxiety and all the other feelings swirling around him.

Typical of an Archie comic, in the end the story reverted to what Jughead was back before everything that happened to him (all the girls left him except for big Ethel who’s still running after him) although I would assume that he’s more mature and wiser now than before. That’s probably why he chose to become a psychiatrist in the story arc Archie: 15 years and back again (it became a live movie and was featured in HBO a few years back)

But that’s another story.

Anyway enough talk about Jughead. If I keep rumbling about comic books this entry wouldn’t end and you, dear reader, would either keep reading for the whole day or stop from being bored to death.

As I was saying, I’ve been keeping a journal ever since highschool. Although the entries were written on different notebooks over the passage of time, which incidentally, is scattered around my room, I’ve written all those pages with what I’ve ever felt and experienced about in my dismal mundane life. Recently, I’ve uncovered two of my earliest journals, one dating back to the year 1995 to 1996 (That’s over 11 years old!) and one, and probably the last entry I’ve ever made, dates back to the year 1996 to 2003. The final entry depicting what I’ve felt on the summer after the graduation of my friends in college.

It was tear jerking as usual as I usually make my entries with the flair of the melodramatic.

As I reread all the entries of my past life I’ve realized that I’ve grown somewhat but, in a way, I’ve still retained some of my past self. Like I’ve said in one of my former journal entry “some things never change especially some of our old habits.” 11 years from the oldest entry that I’ve ever written and I can still see my old self right now from what I’ve read.

Here’s the first entry from the oldest journal I’ve uncovered (along with the wrong spellings and grammatical errors haha!):

07-31-95

“Journal,

Hey! I’m back!! This time with a vengeance. Ok, so I’m already 2^nd yr. And I’m still here in Hwasiong living in the dorm. My love life, “zilch”, “nothing”, “kaput”. I mean, nothing really happens anyway. So forget about my love life, there’s nothing to talk about anyway. Also, I’ve too much responsibilities this yr. That’s because I’m not anymore a newcomer so they expect much from me now. Like I’ve been forced to become the contestant of our class as a English declamatory. It happened on July 22 and I came out fourth. Not bad for a inexperienced guy. And, oh yeah, I gave an essay speech last Saturday in our dorm and I came out 2^nd out of five dormitories. Well, I’ll start telling my experiences tomorrow so good night…

- today’s Ate Jen’s Birthday!!!”

Here’s another excerpt from the year 2003. My last entry before I stopped writing altogether:

April 07, 2003

“They say life starts at forty when you got the cash and the time to enjoy life.

I doubt it.

I think life starts with your teenage years. When you start to experience things the first time. When life shows you what it has to give. Smacks you hard with its lessons right in the middle of your chest. Sure, it hurts, but the pain is what makes us alive. Makes us realize we’re human.”

That paragraph is the first of a very long entry that I’ve made. Although I’d like to share the whole story I don’t think I should because of some private matters that shouldn’t be read by anyone at all.

It’s funny reading the past written in your own words. You can relive the feeling you felt at that time like it only happened yesterday. The happiness and excitement of doing things the first time can be felt with just a paragraph of your life story. Not to mention the pain and lessons you’ve learned along the way will surface to haunt you as well.

In a way, I’m grateful I’ve made those journals back then. It’s a reminder of what I was and what I’ll ever be in the coming years of my life.

Here’s to the continuation of the past.

I guess some things never do change.

P.s.

I remembered from all those years that I’ve ever written in my journal there’s only one person that I’ve ever shared it with (with the help of a little nagging of course). Hopefully she won’t tell anyone about what I’ve written (not that I don’t trust her haha!). Although to her I’ve bared what’s inside my heart and all of my feelings. Only a few people has that right and that made her special.

So to that person, if ever you are reading this, I hope you have a happy and memorable life so take care always.

You’ll always be special to me.

Scramble

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

A funny thing happened on the way home tonight. As I would usually commute nowadays because of my car being in near retirement (and that’s just putting it mildly) I’d usually take a tricycle ride home to the subdivision where I live.

A ride in a tricycle would be a total bore if not for the person handling it. Typical of a pinoy driver, people handling tricycles are in everyway the same as those of taxis, jeeps and FXs which, except for the smaller contraption that they are handling, are veterans of the highways; being able to swerve gracefully and run amok along the streets while making sure that their passengers are on the verge of fear and anxiety. They’d be praying to whatever deity they worship that they’ll be able to arrive at their destination safe and sound.

It’s no wonder everyone was hanging on to dear life at the steel bars of the tricycle that we’re riding tonight.

I tell you that guy’s a maniac!

If I were a cop I’d halt him for road rage, and speeding, and swerving and whatever there is there for him to stop. Too bad all the Police I’ve seen tonight are either lolling around in their jobs or getting a drink at the local store. There’s nothing to save us from getting 10 years growth out of our system.

And to think people are wondering why I have a lot of white hair in my head. Go figure.

Alas for our trusty driver his perennial good luck has come to an end. A taxi started to get too close to him for comfort resulting in an angry gesture from our man and a little pat on the hood of the taxi (did I say little? More like a hand slam from the taxi driver’s point of view).

If I’d make a guide to Manila’s driving etiquette the first rule I’d make is that whenever someone tries to challenge you in a drag race you’d be obliged to follow suit. As if on cue, the taxi driver lounged ahead and cut in front of us. Not one to be taken lightly our trusty hero did his best to overtake the taxi but it was like a snail challenging a turtle in a race: No matter what you do you’ll see his big shiny shell in front of you stupid. So our man tried to zigzag across the traffic hoping he can elude Mr. Bigshot in front of him.

Funny thing about being responsible on the road is that you’ll have to be aware of your surroundings especially of other vehicles beside of you. I guess our hero forgot to keep that in mind as he crashed with another motorcycle on his right. With a large thud and a bit of a yelp from the other guy on the motorcycle our man came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street.

It seems that things have come for the worse and I was in the middle of it all. I was thinking this is going to be a loooooong night one which would probably last for a few hours at the least. Sure enough, the two drivers were yelling at each other. All that’s left for them to do was to strangle each others throats.

To top of it all Uzis (a personal term I use for gawkers or uziseros) started to appear and surround the scene of the crime. Traffic began to build because of other drivers looking at us and shaking their heads. Cars were at a standstill for half a mile along the road.

Kids and other tambays were coming from god knows where just to look at us and make comments to each other. With all the commotion around you’d think someone had died. I’d shudder to think if someone did this place would have been in chaos.

I felt like the monkey at the zoo being stared at by everyone who passes by.

Yep, I thought again, it’s going to be another long night.

But miracles of miracles, the tricycle and motorcycle drivers had come to a bitter conclusion. After a few grunts and guffaws from each side they had come to a mutual agreement. One of which they end (surprisingly) with a little bit of brotherly hug. I was flabbergasted at that sight and a little bit touched but mostly shocked (my thoughts were swarming around that of a little brokeback gesture) but I guess all’s well that end’s well. With a little help from the observers we took apart the tricycle and motorcycle from each other and went on with our separate way.

Having arrived at the front gate of Filinvest 2, our man was greeted with assurance from his other tricycle buddies that it really wasn’t his fault (at the least). But we all know he was the cause of it all. But who wants to say that at that time? The guy’s swelling with moral justification at the moment.

Tired and weary the other dazed passengers started to walk away from the tricycle shed and off to their respective homes. I stood there for a little bit thinking that with the entire ruckus that happened I forgot to pay the guy as he sped off the street and into the night.

Oh well, I guess I’ll probably see him again one of these days.

Hopefully after a year or two, that is.