Observing Invisibility

I distinctly remember it was the same boy: the same blank eyes, the same posture and procedure, the same face.

I take a jeep going home with a placard that says Angono, Antipolo Junction or Binangonan. Doesn't matter which jeep, but every time the jeep of choice halts to a stop light at the junction in Cainta, for those few seconds there is this boy whose estimated age would be four or five years old that would hand out envelopes to passengers. He doesn't choose passengers and he doesn't look them in the eye and he really doesn't hand it to them. He searches for available laps - people's laps in jeeps are usually occupied with bags so he places it on those. Sometimes it falls at the way he hands the envelopes and people don't care. At the thought that the child may well be part of a syndicate, I don't blame them. After handing about eight wrinkly envelopes, with illegible words on one side the boy sits by the entrance at the footrest of the jeep. He notices that I steal glances as I can see him adjust. I am seating by the entrance of the jeep so near to where he sits starring somewhere- maybe at the vehicle next to the jeep we were riding on, maybe at the traffic or maybe he stares at the very realization of what he is doing. Numbing himself at the expected void response of passengers when they hand him the envelopes or sometimes they don't and he's left to collect if by himself placed at their laps or on top of the bags on their laps and all are untouched and empty. He diminishes the negative thoughts but retains the blank facial expression. He thinks to himself that maybe if he would be given a chance he can become whatever he sets his mind to. He wants to be so much more than what he is doing now. At the change of the traffic light to green and almost in unison with the jeep as it moves slowly, the shoe-less boy hurries to take all the envelopes, the jeep moves fast inconsiderate of this boy's plight, scurrying off. The boy leaps off the jeep barefoot just before the jeep turns left.

He was the same boy. The same shoe-less boy. The same blank expression on his face. I remember distinctly.

 (May 19, 2011) -from my Tumbler

Typical Lunch with Barkada

Everyone was busy either eating, texting, worrying about TV production, cramming their names onto their brown envelopes, beautifying their penmanship when Lan said something. Barely no one was listening hence no one reacted. Everyone was preoccupied, or so I thought.

Letlet was eating rice with a viand of some sort when she began to laugh at what Lan said. Next thing I heard her coughing. Maan later said, “Uy may namamatay na.” I was like ,”Yey” and continued on texting our guest for TV Prod. After a few seconds Maan stood up and panicked to get water for Lets. Letlet was positioned in front of me and when I looked at her, she was all red in the face and was choking. Maan returned and said there was a long line so she couldn’t get water that time. Yana finally offered her water from her sports bottle. Everyone still went about their businesses after Letlet was finally able to breath. 

Letlet was teary eyed and still red while she accused us of not caring for her at her near death experience and future ones at that.

I told her, “well I thought you were just coughing and besides no one said anything funny for you to choke.”


Lunch break at MC. (June 28,2011)
from my tumblr