Gift Hunt

Five years ago, I was in sophomore high school then, I received a gigantic stuffed toy from a guy whose name I prefer not to mention. It was wrapped in blue and white, and well, you guessed it right. Blue Magic (and Bear Hugs?) was very popular way back and almost all the girls were so crazy to receive a life-sized bear. I was one of those girls, and well, I got one. It wasn’t a bear though but a white rabbit. And apparently, it wasn’t life-size because rabbits are not supposed t be that big, right?

When I think about it now, I realise how silly that was – getting all delighted by a big, furry, creepy stuffed animal. And my goodness, I was just commuting every afternoon and that stupid guy made me drag that stupid gift all the way home. It was messing up with all the other passengers in the jeepney, so I was forced to take a trike for my second ride.

So anyway, a couple of years ago, I was trying to make my room a little more spacious and the first thing I disposed was that rabbit. Since then, I curse men who give stuffed toys to their ladies. I think men who prefer giving stuffed toys are either lazy and short of time to find a nice present or clueless who their ladies are.

Through the years, I have collected a lot of stuffed animals from people. They would always say that it was never easy to find me a decent gift because I already have a lot of everything (which I wish to invalidate), so perhaps that’s acceptable. Besides, it’s always the thought that counts. Still, from the beginning, I had already advised, or more of warned, my man never to give me one of those. And well, he adhered to my advice and he just always surprises me with what he has to give.

What he gives me reflects how much he knows me. Turns out he knows me upside down. His gifts always have a personal touch in them which makes them extra special. They aren’t something you could find somewhere, anywhere.

On the first occasion we shared, he gave me a scrapbook. Yes, he made a scrapbook with all these colours and cut-outs and glitters and embossed shapes. He pooled all our camera-captured memories and wrote what he was feeling with colored pens. Today, when I flip through every page of the scrapbook, everything becomes fresh to mind ad it feels just so good.

Just last week, during my twentieth birthday, I received another special gift from him. He made me a 30-minute presentation with video clips of my most treasured friends. He looked for all of them and set an appointment with them to have their videos taken (Note: They are no neighbours.). For some, he really convinced them to send him the video clips. He went beyond what I expected from him. The first time I watched it, I sobbed. I was happy that my friends squeezed that video thing into their schedules. But, I was happier that my man is just too amazing. For him to be able to do that, his love must be way more than enough. And it is amazing. His love is amazing.

Road Rage

written last April 30, 2008

Don’t you just hate commuting?

For someone whose dad (or whose dad would always ask someone else to if he couldn’t) would always drive her to school, to the grocery store, to a friend’s house, or even to work, bus and jeepney rides are no fun. It’s not like I’m not used to going back and forth somewhere through public transportation, it’s just that it has been a long time since I had a 30-minute to an hour bus ride all by myself.

In less than two months time, it’ll be my fourth year in college, in LB, and I have commuted for not more than ten times only. And when I am there, I only live through almost four 5-minute jeepney rides a day. So you see, I am just kind of disoriented (or re-disoriented if there is such).

Lately, after work (as an intern), I have been commuting to our house, since my time of dismissal does not tie in with my dad's and my mom’s driver’s schedules. Just this afternoon, I hinted at a bus and it stopped 20 steps away from me. In my wanting to go home as early as possible, I walked the 20 steps and tramped up the bus. To my disappointment, all seats were occupied and a few more people were already standing. Again, I had no choice but to endure the muscle pain. But, that ride almost killed me. So I was almost enjoying the rumbling of the bus engines when another bus sped up and the two buses veered at each other. The passengers (and I, who was gripping really tight to the wing of the chair beside) were all in panic within a minute of the buses almost slamming into each other. The other bus took the lead and the drivers stopped acting like freaking madmen, at last. And so the stir among the passengers broke off. I thought I could already cool down until I saw a man checking out my behind. What the fuck was that?! Thank God, in a moment, I reached the terminal.

Yes, the terminal, which means I had to have another ride, a jeepney ride this time. So I thought the Bad Day part was over. I thought I would never have another encounter with ill-mannered people. But I proved myself wrong when the only passenger I was with handed me her fare, and I was sitting at the edge of the jeep, just right in front her!

These experiences I had are just few of the life-threatening and horrible experiences normal passengers witness every waking day of their lives. Every day, there are commuters who hurt themselves while they walk off the bus and the bus doesn’t even slow down; commuters who end up in the ER because of a drunk driver; commuters who are traumatized by the insults of drug addicts; commuters who <insert own experiences here>; and so on and so forth.

So, who hates commuting? I know, I do! The most reckless and the rudest people I have met in my life are the people I met in bus and jeepey rides.