The Z

A train just left and I was first atop the LRT2 platform. I had its length all to myself and I walked slowly to the opposite end. And for those precious few seconds, I made believe I was in this music video to this song I was listening to from my mp3 player. I mouthed the words. My arms swaying in sync and I stepped to the beat. I immersed myself in the music. And I didn't care whether the people on the opposite platform could see me.

My side of the platform slowly filled up and I had to curb my bout of fitful fantasy. I felt the ever-present control society kept imposing on us settle on me. It gradually took hold of my body, making me move more stiffly. Less freely. It was a loss. And I felt angry with myself. Because even if I am more aware than most people, I still am not strong enough to completely resist that Big Brother-ish paranoia that we all must act properly when in the presence of other people.

We look askance at people who act differently in public. We frown at them, even if they are not really harming or annoying us. Dissect this behavior all you want I suppose we cannot deny that we respond to them in this manner simply because we have a need for everything to be uniform and normal. What we do, we want others to do also. Just because we're used to it being that way.

Half an hour later, I was riding LRT1. I ended up standing in front of this piece of "Berso sa Metro" and of course I read it. And after, I felt like I had to touch it. There was a picture of a hut in this particular piece that I read, and I wanted to put my finger on its window. It felt like the proper response. I did no such thing though, even if I knew that few would even notice me doing that and those who did would be puzzled but would forget about it in a few seconds. I felt angry at myself. I felt sad. And I longed for a society where such unusual actions wouldn't be so unusual.

I found an empty seat and promptly occupied it. Disparate men were in front of me, and briefly, I wondered about the stories hidden within them. I had this sudden urge to talk to one of them because who knew, we might just become friends. Who knew what impact on my life would come about from that simple act of reaching out. I did no such thing though. And I felt frustrated at how almost all of us leave this chance of enriching our lives pass us by. And I felt shamed that even if I am aware of this, I act no differently. And I felt more shame because maybe, some of those in front of me are thinking about the same thing and I've judged them wrongly.

A Muslim mother sat beside me, her young son in tow. And her child promptly knelt on the seat so he can face the window, just like I used to when I was of the same age. I remembered how awkward I felt, that first time when I realized that I was already too big to kneel like that. So I had to sit normally, like a grownup. And I had to settle for looking at the view from the opposite window. How sad that moment was.

The child was just learning how to read, and he was using the station names for practice. We just arrived at Vito Cruz Station. He couldn't read the sign, and he asked his Mom how to properly pronounce it, since he was having trouble with the Z.

And tears sprang up in my eyes because I remembered my innocence. And it would have been fine if I cried right then and there because it was such a beautiful moment for me. But I did no such thing. Because I am shackled into acting properly by this society.

There are so many songs that claim that we live in a crazy world. It had become such a hackneyed phrase, that we seldom spare a thought about it. But now I know how true those songs were.

We do live in a crazy world. And I could go on and cry and rant and write about it but I know that very few will see what I'm trying to say. Very few will bother. Very few will feel me. And that's... that's part of the reason why it's crazy.