Commentary on One Day

One weird day deserves a post.

Last Wednesday was one of those days that you don't really know why they happen. It's not a stressful day, it's not a happy day, but rather, it was one of those days wherein I seemed to have fallen down a rabbit hole, and Wonderland looks exactly like reality. The whole of Wednesday felt like a trip down the Yellow Brick Road.

I felt like Gilgamesh, seeking the gods' realm.

It was my Experimental Psychology Lecture final exam, and I had arrived at the venue 5 minutes late. The testing room was at the third floor of Faura Hall. Although the building is the oldest and most decrepit of all the University's Halls, it housed the most modern and technologically savvy departments, namely the Information Systems and Computer Science Department, and the Department of Physics. The room which was the site of my final exam, had windows on three out of the four walls. I, being late, took the only available seat, adjacent to the largest window in the room. As I was taking the test, I could hear the birds chirping, perched on a swaying tree branch a good 5 inches from my face. I then noticed that a bird was staring at me, as if saying "What a curious creature." I then stared back, and for the first time in my life, I had locked eyes with a bird. The test was rather easy, and the perspiration beading on my forehead was stunted by the cool October breeze. I finished my test, and then got up to submit my paper. I glanced upon my classmates who were still busy scribbling frantically. None of them had yet finished the exam. Some of them looked up and stared at me with quizzical expressions on their faces, and I replied with a quizzical expression on mine. As I exited Faura Hall, I though that maybe my questionnaire had missing pages or some other sort of technical misdeed, but the proctor did check my answer sheet before signalling me permission to leave.

Ten minutes had passed since I exited Faura Hall, and I was now staring at the overpass I was to cross to get to my post final relaxation hub. The hub is on the other side of Katipunan Avenue, directly opposite gate 2.5 of the University. Most people call the hub "National Bookstore." I call it "Home." I bought a graphic novel with what little was left of my weekly allowance. The novel was one that not most people know about, and one that even those who know about it won't bother buying it. I had bought chapter 14 of Tsubasa Chronicles, also known as Chronicle of the Wings. I was browsing through the novel's pages, when suddenly a generic Katipunan child-beggar pulled at the scruff of my shirt. "Penge barya," he said. He was asking for alms. He continued the monotonous chanting of "Penge barya" for a few seconds until I replied that I had run out of coins to give, which was true. He then looked at the cover of what I had been reading. A smile then formed on his face. "Alam ko yan!" He said he knew what I was reading. "Napapanood ko yan sa bahay! Nasa Animax yan e!" He narrated to me how he loved watching the serialized version of the comic book on TV. This struck me as odd. It was uncanny how a child, who persistently begs for alms, is able to watch a TV show shown only on a cable channel which is only available to a cable network which charges 500 Pesos or more a month for service per television set. He has to beg for food, but he is able to watch cable TV in his own home. I stared at him, dumbfounded for a few more moments, before finally shrugging off, and proceeding to make my way home.

I had disembarked from the train I had ridden to get home, and I was waiting then along the infamous Rizal Avenue. Hordes of Jeepneys were racing madly on the road, and the surreal blur of a thousand colors, and odd sounding horns was giving me a migraine. The stoplight then turned red, and suddenly, all was at peace. While the Jeepneys were frozen by the red light, I decided to start looking for a Jeepney that would take me home. I looked at their front windows, where their destinations are posted, and I found one which would pass by my neighborhood. I then proceeded to ask the driver where the Jeep was headed, just to make sure. "Saan ho papunta?" "Quiapo City Hall," was his reply. I had no chance to board the Jeepney since the light had turned green. I now have such contempt for that color. I pondered on the Jeepney driver's reply, "Quiapo City Hall." Quiapo, which is another of Manila's infamous areas was on the other side of the city, and Manila's City Hall was in yet another corner of the city. He had either said that his Jeepney would travel from one end of the city to another, or that Quiapo is now it's own city, with it's own city hall. Either way, the signs on his front window were lying. The Jeepney would not have taken me home. I stood there, where the Jeepney had left me, thinking of how odd the day had proceeded. I decided then to eat my lunch before proceeding home.

As I ate my Siopao in 7-11, I remembered the incident in the 1970's where the Chinese restaurant Mamon Luk was supposedly using white cats in it's Siopao. They had supposedly found a sack of cat heads in their trash. I took a bite of my Siopao and imagined how they would have ground the cats, and how they had skinned the cats. If I were the person in charge of skinning the cats, I would be furious. Skinning cats is not easy.

I was finally able to take a Jeepney home. It was a long tiring ride, due mostly to the fact that although Jeepneys travel 40 Kph at most, it feels like you're travelling 100 Kph. Jeepneys always give me the feeling of wanting to vomit. We had come to stop at a red light near the National Museum. A shirtless 10 year old then boarded the Jeep, with two dirty towels in hand. He scanned everyone inside the Jeep, and then knelt on the Jeep's floor and started scrubbing at everyone's shoes. Most people didn't mind the kid, who just proceeded to scrub away, indifferent to the looks he was receiving from the Jeep's passenger population. He stopped when he got to my feet. I was wearing slippers, and had just gotten a foot soak. He took a second to reflect on what he was to do in times of slipper wear. I half expected him to take out a "Shoe Cleaner's Handbook." He then shrugged his shoulders and began to scrub my foot. He even took extra care in scrubbing my toe nails. I stared, mortified at the fact that a shirtless 10 year old was scrubbing my clean foot with a rag that was used to clean hundreds of filthy shoes. Did he even wash the rag after each scrubbing day? Did he store the rag in a hygienic place? Did he use it to wipe his ass? I pulled my foot back, and he put his rags in his back pocket. He sat down on the empty space beside me and put his hand out in front of me, as if demanding payment for his blatant mutilation of my foot. I stared back with eyebrows raised. He quickly then leaped up and jumped off the Jeep. Post-facto, I stared at my once clean foot which had now been buffed with the microbes of a hundred soles. I expected my foot to turn violet and fall from gangrene at any given moment. Thankfully, it stayed on.

I got to my neighborhood safely, and I glanced at my foot one last time before getting off the Jeep. "I had a weird day," I said to myself. "Everyone has to hear of it."

P.S. I got an 87 in my exam.