immovable.type

(Disclaimer: I am not, nor will I ever be a Pacquaio or a Boxing fan. Give me soccer or swimming anyday. I mean no offense to all Pacquiao and Boxing fans. We are all entitled to our own opinions.)

————— 

What is it with Pacquiao matches? I just don’t get it.

He may be World Boxing Champion, World Featherweight Champion or World Whatever Champion, but I cannot see the point of the hype. I cannot see the essence of it all.

It’s as if the country has no other sport to be proud of. I never saw this much enthusiasm with Miguel Molina and our swimming team…It didn’t even make two consecutive front pages. Never saw this much passion for the Philippine soccer team, not even for our basketball team which, during the ASEAN games, was relegated to the Sports section of the Inquirer.

I never saw this kind of support for Efren “Bata” Reyes, a man who, like Pacquiao, came from modest beginnings, but unlike him, chose to shun the limelight of fame…Maybe that’s why.

We got our new House Speaker Nograles over there watching live with his entourage. Tell me, did that come from his own pockets, or will it be put on the House’s tab?

It’s as if this country’s leaders have nothing better to do but squabble over technicalities and watch games to “Keep the Pinoy Spirit Alive.”

Please. If you wanna keep our spirit alive then you guys should start doing your frickin jobs. 

…and support real athletes for a change. Let’s start with the renovation of our sports complexes.

On the bright side: ZERO CRIME for a day. But that’s just for today.

Will we ever learn to stop missing the forest for the trees?

I may be political. But I do not write about politics all the time.

The last blog was not about the Philippine mass transit system per se, but rather about an issue of Hope.

The last blog was not about whether or not mass transit systems are a solid reflection of the economic stability of a country, but rather it used the said concept to convey a message of hope in the midst of hopelessness.

The last blog was not about the MRT. It was about the country. It was not about the country’s transportation, it was about the country’s heart.

It was not about the train, but about the people.

It was about us. It was about our Life.

Politics and economics may be an issue in the effeciency of the Philippine mass transportation system, but it is certainly not the main idea of the last blog.

Sometimes, people just miss the forest for the trees. {Are you missing it again now?}


Now then: Can we still Hope?

They say a country’s mass transit system is a reflection of their economic stability.

I say it is not just a matter of economics, but of political, social and moral stability as well.

A northbound MRT train broke down yesterday evening just after leaving the Buendia Station. It caused a chain reaction that stretched from North EDSA to Taft Avenue and back. Commuters were left stranded on the platforms that were rapidly piling up with people. And the trains that did get to load and unload passengers were crammed full… and commuters were still struggling to fill the tiniest available space in between already shoulder-to-shoulder bodies.

I was thankful not to have been on the northbound trains. Otherwise I’d be suffocated silly by the people trying to get home from work. I was on a train bound for Taft: the last train, methinks, to have left Quezon Avenue undelayed and uncramped. Like the generation leading the country today is the last generation that would experience a certain kind of stability…a fleeting one. And my generation left to overhaul the constantly-breaking-down train that is the country.

A country’s mass transit system is a reflection of its stability…

I look at the passing trains and I see not a symbol of a robust, equitable economy, but a symbol of an economy whose benefits are concentrated on the few privileged and the upper middle class. I see not a symbol of progress, but a liability and a reflection of the country’s dependence on foreign investments and imports, as if we cannot do any better.

I feel the air conditioning system turned on too high. And sometimes I feel nothing but warm air to complement an already sweltering afternoon. And in between the cold and the warmth, I feel not the airconditioning, but the deep sense of instability and uncertainty that maybe, just maybe, the train would break down…the country would break down.

I walk through train stations: crowded, in need of a fresh coat of paint, in need of an upgrade — restrooms in dire need of cleaning and graffiti removal, some stations even forcibly laid out so as to accommodate the existing structures beside it, elevators slow enough for a turtle to win a footrace over it. Walls blackened by auto exhaust. I walk through train stations and I see not beige tiles and steel escalators and blue bathroom partitions, but a reflection of environmental ingornace, Philippine politics and political will… or lack thereof.

Congress nearly full of overweight, overage, windbag millionaires who supposedly represent even more so the interests of 4.7 million Filipinos…or more living below the poverty line.

I bump elbows, rub shoulders, walk past commuters: haggard from work, fresh from home, going to school, oblivious to the lone observer examining them with his eyes and mind. Some push and shove to get on a cramped train. Some wait impatiently for the next, others sigh in frustration and walk out of the platform. Some just stand apathetic.

I can hear in my head voices of commuters in the northbound trains muttering curses and grumbling “no more space” under their breaths. Some shout in frustration. Others silently allow the tide of humanity to take them to the middle of the coach. Others just stand in the doorway, unmoving.

And I see the commuters on the southbound line: indifferent towards the plight of those going north. Grumbling impatiently as our train stops in mid-station and the driver announces a delay caused by one of the trains. I hear gay men across me gossip about their latest “papa” prospect. I hear the ladies beside me gossip then stop and cross themselves by EDSA Shrine then gossip again.

I see them, yet I do not see them. For what I see are people crushed by apathy and disillusionment toward a government they think does not care. I see people struggling to get on the fast track, to get a job, to go to school, to feed a family but are unable to do so because there are too many people with the same concerns and theirs is just one in a myriad of others. I see people already stable but without passion, without drive, going only where the tides of fate take them. I see people trampling upon other people to further their self-serving motives.

I see people struggling on one side of the tracks. And on the other side: people of the same stature, impatient only for their needs to be met. People who have achieved success but are unwilling to reach out and lend a hand — some because they are incapable to do so: a barrier exists, some because they just don’t want to. People frustrated with the way things are going that they just want to leave. I see people who say one thing and do the other: unabashed hypocrisy, hidden bitterness and carnal desire…a loss.

I see people whose lives need to be filled with purpose and hope.

Then I remember seeing a child by the escalator on Quezon Avenue Station. Tattered clothes, hand out for a handout. By the stairs a transient mother with a baby, lying on a piece of cardboard she calls a bed: eyes pleading: “Help.”

I see hopelessness. And yet I see hope. I remember the child’s look after I gave her a Hen Lin siopao and iced tea. The mother I was not able to see. But the child: a smile.

A random act of kindness. But the memory of that is fleeting, and once more I am back on the turnstile of Ayala Station. Bonus last ride. Hooray. I see people shamelessly asking for dole outs…all because they think that’s the long-term solution to their problem.

So I go home and enter the security of our suburban two-storey, raving about American Idol. And right there… I forget what I saw.

I do not want to forget again: the apathy, the disillusionment, the frustration, the instability, the hopelessness…

The hope. The Hope.

They say a country’s mass transit system is a reflection of its stability.

Someday, the MRT will have more trains, great trains, longer trains and wider coaches, cleaner coaches, greener coaches, cleaner stations, energy efficient facilities, restrooms that gleam in the fluorescent lights and disciplined commuters. Someday… Someday.

//EDITED: 03-08-2008 1935H
//EDITED: 03-09-2008 1730H

(Originally posted in my Multiply blog, March 7, 2008. I felt this a fitting start and model of the usurpations to the status quo that shall be written on this journal.)

———————-

They say a country’s mass transit system is a reflection of their economic stability.

I say it is not just a matter of economics, but of political, social and moral stability as well.

A northbound MRT train broke down yesterday evening just after leaving the Buendia Station. It caused a chain reaction that stretched from North EDSA to Taft Avenue and back. Commuters were left stranded on the platforms that were rapidly piling up with people. And the trains that did get to load and unload passengers were crammed full… and commuters were still struggling to fill the tiniest available space in between already shoulder-to-shoulder bodies.

I was thankful not to have been on the northbound trains. Otherwise I’d be suffocated silly by the people trying to get home from work. I was on a train bound for Taft: the last train, methinks, to have left Quezon Avenue undelayed and un-cramped. Like the generation leading the country today is the last generation that would experience a certain kind of stability…a fleeting one. And my generation left to overhaul the constantly-breaking-down train that is the country.

A country’s mass transit system is a reflection of its stability…

I look at the passing trains and I see not a symbol of a robust, equitable economy, but a symbol of an economy whose benefits are concentrated on the few privileged and the upper middle class. I see not a symbol of progress, but a liability and a reflection of the country’s dependence on foreign investments and imports, as if we cannot do any better.

I feel the air conditioning system turned on too high. And sometimes I feel nothing but warm air to complement an already sweltering afternoon. And in between the cold and the warmth, I feel not the airconditioning, but the deep sense of instability and uncertainty that maybe, just maybe, the train would break down…the country would break down.

I walk through train stations: crowded, in need of a fresh coat of paint, in need of an upgrade — restrooms in dire need of cleaning and graffiti removal, some stations even forcibly laid out so as to accommodate the existing structures beside it, elevators slow enough for a turtle to win a footrace over it. Walls blackened by auto exhaust. I walk through train stations and I see not beige tiles and steel escalators and blue bathroom partitions, but a reflection of environmental ingornace, Philippine politics and political will… or lack thereof.

Congress nearly full of overweight, overage, windbag millionaires who supposedly represent even more so the interests of 4.7 million Filipinos…or more living below the poverty line.

I bump elbows, rub shoulders, walk past commuters: haggard from work, fresh from home, going to school, oblivious to the lone observer examining them with his eyes and mind. Some push and shove to get on a cramped train. Some wait impatiently for the next, others sigh in frustration and walk out of the platform. Some just stand apathetic. 

I can hear in my head voices of commuters in the northbound trains muttering curses and grumbling “no more space” under their breaths. Some shout in frustration. Others silently allow the tide of humanity to take them to the middle of the coach. Others just stand in the doorway, unmoving. 

And I see the commuters on the southbound line: indifferent towards the plight of those going north. Grumbling impatiently as our train stops in mid-station and the driver announces a delay caused by one of the trains. I hear gay men across me gossip about their latest “papa” prospect. I hear the ladies beside me gossip then stop and cross themselves by EDSA Shrine then gossip again.

I see them, yet I do not see them. For what I see are people crushed by apathy and disillusionment toward a government they think does not care. I see people struggling to get on the fast track, to get a job, to go to school, to feed a family but are unable to do so because there are too many people with the same concerns and theirs is just one in a myriad of others. I see people already stable but without passion, without drive, going only where the tides of fate take them. I see people trampling upon other people to further their self-serving motives.

I see people struggling on one side of the tracks. And on the other side: people of the same stature, impatient only for their needs to be met. People who have achieved success but are unwilling to reach out and lend a hand — some because they are incapable to do so: a barrier exists, some because they just don’t want to. People frustrated with the way things are going that they just want to leave. I see people who say one thing and do the other: unabashed hypocrisy, hidden bitterness and carnal desire…a loss.

I see people whose lives need to be filled with purpose and hope.

Then I remember seeing a child by the escalator on Quezon Avenue Station. Tattered clothes, hand out for a handout. By the stairs a transient mother with a baby, lying on a piece of cardboard she calls a bed: eyes pleading: “Help.”

I see hopelessness. And yet I see hope. I remember the child’s look after I gave her a Hen Lin siopao and iced tea. The mother I was not able to see. But the child: a smile.

A random act of kindness. But the memory of that is fleeting, and once more I am back on the turnstile of Ayala Station. Bonus last ride. Hooray. I see people shamelessly asking for dole outs…all because they think that’s the long-term solution to their problem.

So I go home and enter the security of our suburban two-storey, raving about American Idol. And right there… I forget what I saw.

I do not want to forget again: the apathy, the disillusionment, the frustration, the instability, the hopelessness… 

The hope. The Hope.

They say a country’s mass transit system is a reflection of its stability. 

Someday, the MRT will have more trains, great trains, longer trains and wider coaches, cleaner coaches, greener coaches, cleaner stations, energy efficient facilities, restrooms that gleam in the fluorescent lights and disciplined commuters. Someday… Someday.