COMEBACK
TITLE: COMEBACK
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 15
DESTINATION: SAN NICOLAS
TRT: 15 MINS.
At the back of my head, it was just another tropical depression. This Milenyo might be signal # 3, but I was completely positive nothing would harm me. In fact, I stayed at the office after shift to go online and peruse my sadly forsaken inboxes. I turned down the offer for some beers. I was told it's too mahangin sa labas.
As soon as I have chosen my bus seat and snapped my earphones on both ears, I fell prey to the lullaby disguised as rock. This nirvana did not last too long; I felt my phone vibrate. It was my Mom, advising me to snooze at the office instead as Bacoor has transformed into a small town of soaring roofs (imagine the Angel of Tetanus in quest for her next victims) and she suspected I would face the inevitable deluge on my way home.
Too late. As I peered outside my window, I have realized Makati has transformed into Jumanji. The traffic is at its worst crawl. Some invisible force is uprooting trees and knocking signages down. And everyone on the bus was tense and impatient.
I managed to reach my beloved town in spite of our slow dance amidst Nature's suppressed wrath. I was down to my final jeepney ride. I was in Talaba and impatiently waiting to hail the next jeepney. Alas, the available ones were only bound to Zapote which means I had to have another jeepney to make it home. At this point, I was very unwilling to have a separate ride. As the clock ticks on, the Sogo signage just above my head is waiting to fall down and crush someone's skull. Not mine, I repeatedly whispered to myself.
Finally, my ticket to salvation arrived. A throng of people followed me climb the stairs. The sooner we got out of there, the better. The trip was more like an opportunity to view Milenyo's destructive visit. Everyone was a commentator, pointing and reacting to the flying objects outside. We welcomed the others' tales related to this tragedy. We were also glad that no flood threatened to make this heart-pumping trip all the more dangerous. I liked the part when one woman climbed down and attempted to open her umbrella to shield herself from the unspeakable powers. The people, in chorus, admonished her to drop it and brave the elements. It's fruitless and all the more fatal. It was as if we know one another for so long.
Reaching my village made me upheave a sigh of relief. Not until I noticed the pedicab driver was half my weight and realize the extent of the challenge he had to face. And not until I notice the other residents gawk in awe and suspense to the half-fastened roofs eager to break free then swiftly dart their attention to me. I felt like being watched if I'd make it alive. I felt like squeezing my eyes shut until I reach our garage but I just can't. Fortunately, the eternity finally came into a grand halt and, with all the energy that I can muster, I sprinted my way to my bed. I'm such a lucky bastard.
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 15
DESTINATION: SAN NICOLAS
TRT: 15 MINS.
At the back of my head, it was just another tropical depression. This Milenyo might be signal # 3, but I was completely positive nothing would harm me. In fact, I stayed at the office after shift to go online and peruse my sadly forsaken inboxes. I turned down the offer for some beers. I was told it's too mahangin sa labas.
As soon as I have chosen my bus seat and snapped my earphones on both ears, I fell prey to the lullaby disguised as rock. This nirvana did not last too long; I felt my phone vibrate. It was my Mom, advising me to snooze at the office instead as Bacoor has transformed into a small town of soaring roofs (imagine the Angel of Tetanus in quest for her next victims) and she suspected I would face the inevitable deluge on my way home.
Too late. As I peered outside my window, I have realized Makati has transformed into Jumanji. The traffic is at its worst crawl. Some invisible force is uprooting trees and knocking signages down. And everyone on the bus was tense and impatient.
I managed to reach my beloved town in spite of our slow dance amidst Nature's suppressed wrath. I was down to my final jeepney ride. I was in Talaba and impatiently waiting to hail the next jeepney. Alas, the available ones were only bound to Zapote which means I had to have another jeepney to make it home. At this point, I was very unwilling to have a separate ride. As the clock ticks on, the Sogo signage just above my head is waiting to fall down and crush someone's skull. Not mine, I repeatedly whispered to myself.
Finally, my ticket to salvation arrived. A throng of people followed me climb the stairs. The sooner we got out of there, the better. The trip was more like an opportunity to view Milenyo's destructive visit. Everyone was a commentator, pointing and reacting to the flying objects outside. We welcomed the others' tales related to this tragedy. We were also glad that no flood threatened to make this heart-pumping trip all the more dangerous. I liked the part when one woman climbed down and attempted to open her umbrella to shield herself from the unspeakable powers. The people, in chorus, admonished her to drop it and brave the elements. It's fruitless and all the more fatal. It was as if we know one another for so long.
Reaching my village made me upheave a sigh of relief. Not until I noticed the pedicab driver was half my weight and realize the extent of the challenge he had to face. And not until I notice the other residents gawk in awe and suspense to the half-fastened roofs eager to break free then swiftly dart their attention to me. I felt like being watched if I'd make it alive. I felt like squeezing my eyes shut until I reach our garage but I just can't. Fortunately, the eternity finally came into a grand halt and, with all the energy that I can muster, I sprinted my way to my bed. I'm such a lucky bastard.
posted by lornadahl @ 00:12
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