Primetime MRT flick
It was around half past four in the afternoon. Standing inside the second coach of the MRT bound to
In front of me was a young couple from my school (both of them wore IDs). They made a beautiful couple, like they were really meant to join each other’s hand in the first place. For a moment the pink runny mass inside my skull started recalling my sojourn in the wilderness which took me three months to realize that I was hiking on the wrong mountain. It was – how shall I put this – exciting but at the same time fatal, literally, for I threw and broke a deadly object – a tall glass from a coffee shop – when I found about the crop circles in my own territory. Anyway, enough of this crap. Going back to the couple, we three seemed to have something in common. You know, that shaky feeling of a relationship on the verge of going kaput, or at the very least a badly frayed one. I furtively watched them from my peripheral vision, lest they sue me with invasion of privacy. They were talking subtly and most people didn’t get to notice, but I was able to eavesdrop thanks to my excellent hearing.
The two were seriously discussing about some topic involving a certain text message that the girl kept on bringing up.
“Bakit hindi mo kaagad sinabi sa’kin?” She was wearing a black shirt, khaki jeans, and a pair of Havs. Keeping her hair fixed was a pony tail.
“Kelangan pa bang malaman ko ‘yun sa iba, at kay (name of a girl) pa ha!”
“Sasabihin ko naman talaga sa’yo ‘yun eh, naunahan lang ako ni (name of girl).”Dressed in navy blue shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of Chucks, he seemed to be very problematic. The guy was as thin as me, and he’s a little over 0.01% more handsome than the author of this blog who was wearing a white shirt with blue “90” print, dark jeans, and rubber shoes.
Intermittent silence as the three of us trudged along the rails away from the hustle of Edsa below. Occasionally I glimpse upon the humongous tarpaulins strapped on steel frameworks and wonder if those ads really appeal to the viewing public.
“Alam mo ‘yung text mo kanina, parang hindi ka sincere eh. As if you’re taking for granted all the efforts I’ve made to contact you. Grabe ka naman, konting consideration lang sa nararamdaman ko ang hinihingi ko from you.”I don’t know if the girl was fuming mad, but I can sense it nonetheless.
“…”The guy replied with remarkable enthusiasm.
A few days ago over Shaw Boulevard I overheard two people commenting on the upcoming Disney Pixar animated movie, Ratatouille (pronounced as ra ta tu’ wee). “Gusto kong mapanood ‘yun o,” said the guy at my near left. “Alin?” asked the girl beside him. “Ayun, yung RataTWIL. Parang masaya eh. Ano ba ‘yun, daga?” Somebody give that guy a Nobel Peace Prize.
Shaking her head, she turned to him and asked something like,
“Ano, kelan tayo mag-uusap? Bakit ayaw mong magsalita?”
“Next time na lang. Sorry talaga.”If I were just a good counselor I might’ve jumped in their very peaceful conversation. I was about to break into a spiel when the girl grabbed the book that was being held by the guy probably to awaken his senses and exclaimed,
“Mahal mo pa ba ko?”
Dead silence. I was watching a cheap flick that was so captivating I vow to bring a videocam to document future encounters.
“Ewan ko sa’yo. Bahala ka sa buhay mo. Kausapin mo sarili mo!”At which point I almost burst into a mad laughter. That scene was so very 19 months ago! I could see the guy cringing from those unsightly death rays. Before I could ever do crunches, I covered my mouth and tried to divert my attention by looking at more deadly billboards.
When I sneaked back to take another look I caught the girl rolling her eyeballs and uttering statements that gave me another irresistible urge to bray with laughter.
“Ewan ko sa’yo!” I stopped myself short and bit my lips.
The MRT arrived at