Could have been just another morning.

This morning, I rode a jeepney to my work, just like every other weekday morning in the past 10 months that I have been part of my current office. And just like each of those mornings, I take out my paperback, read it through the ride or sometimes, when I have offered myself only five hours of sleep or less the night before, I fall asleep in between the novel’s pages. This morning was a hangover of that five-hours-or-less sleep. I was in the middle of my nap when I was woken up by a strong bump on the jeepney I was riding. I immediately learnt that we hit the tail of another passenger jeep at Philcoa. The driver and his wife, who was the kundoktora, said that our vehicle’s brake failed to halt it. She was explaining while she gave out the balance of our fare. Great, I whispered. Although I am not sure if my voice was soft enough for a whisper because the girl at my left looked at me, as if wanting to tell me “I know, right? This sucks.”

I was able to get to another jeepney right after I claimed my fare balance. While I was sitting in a jeepney, my mind was wandering.

This day would be remembered by me because something unusual, something out of the ordinary happened. I tried to recall any other mornings I spent on the road going to work. In a week, I have got five days for work. The product times four weeks, and then its product times 10 months. Oh! Minus around 20 days for non-working and my self-declared holidays. Roughly, I already have 180 mornings and among those days, I would able to remember just less than 8 mornings, because probably, something unusual happened to those as well. Like when it was raining so hard that I felt my feet already soaked in water, inside my favor shoes that I just wanted to cry along with the clouds. Or when I suddenly turned illiterate and not able to read well the placard showing Ever/Libis/Rosario and not Libis/Gate1–which eventually lead me to several road turns and made me found myself walking at the pavement of a street unknown to me. 8 mornings. It is like our minds have black holes which suck in every idea that we do not frequently use or any

My mind reminded me of something, an idea I have read in one of the novels I finished on the road. If we cannot remember everything that we do or everything that happens to us, could it still be considered that it actually happened? And say, it did in fact happen, well, what is the point of going through the heap of experience if you are not to keep it at least in your own memory?

I now wonder what is the point of all the happiness and hassles in life. I asked the driver to pull over at Aurora, since I will be transferring to a Libis/Gate1 jeep to get to the office. By that time, my brain has stopped inquiring and I started to appreciate the fact that I, along with about 19 other passengers, almost died from an accident had our jeep cruised at a higher speed with its loose brake. I started appreciating the experience that we could have died in the middle of the Commonwealth Avenue which is not a fab place to die at. We are all still alive, free from bruise. I went on with my day not knowing if I would remember everything tomorrow and if there is something special that I should tattoo in my head so that I will not forget it. Nonetheless, I would certainly remember thanking God yet for keeping me safe despite the mishap.