Just jeeps.

As one who’s never had her own car, public transportation’s been my way of life.

Buses, trains, taxis, tricycles, pedicabs… If it’s a way to get around a place, I’ve probably ridden it at least once. Jeeps, as much as I have developed distaste for riding them after the sun’s gone down, are especially unavoidable.

I had quite the traumatic experience almost a year ago and still, everytime another passenger sticks his hand into his pocket, a sharp intake of breath follows and in that fleeting moment, I prepare for the worst… Usually only to realize he’s reaching for coins.

So you can imagine my horror when I chanced upon a jeep that had, blasting through its speakers, a song with a chorus that went

‘Wag ka nang matakot

May nagbabantay sa dilim

May nag-aabang sa sulok

May hawak na patalim

(Roughly translated to: Don’t be afraid. Someone’s standing guard in the dark, waiting in a corner, with knife in hand.)

Which, for one thing, makes absolutely no sense. Why would you not be afraid if someone’s waiting for you in a dark corner with a knife ready? Unless maybe that knife was to slice a birthday cake he baked for you. I DON’T KNOW.

All I know is I have once again averted the dangers of nightly public transportation.

I succeeded in concealing the little bubbles of paranoia swimming in my brain ’til I got home. But now those bubbles are of confusion, trying to make sense of 4 lines in a strange, supposedly comforting song.

You.

You wake up, drag yourself out of bed, begrudgingly head to the shower, all while half asleep. Feeling closer to awake, you dry yourself off and you go back to your room. Sitting on the bed, wrapped up in a towel, you light a cigarette as you’re idly deciding what to wear.

You finish it up, forgetting. You light another cigarette, pretending you have a reason for stalling. You’re no longer thinking about what to wear. You are thinking of absolutely nothing and everything all at once.

And then, you light another.

And another.

And as you put out what you say will be the last cigarette and dump the butt in the ashtray,

Nothing. 

You sit there, knowing you have somewhere to be and things to do but you are unable to move, not wanting to think, not wanting to do anything, not wanting to fucking exist.

And you light another cigarette.

Everything & Nothing

Everything made sense with you.

And now that you’re gone, nothing does.