I was on my way home from work last Friday when I saw a massive commotion of passenger jeepneys, buses, and cars below the train I was in. Such a stressful sight.

I hate the traffic. It’s one of the gazillion things why I often opt to ride the electric train. I mean, who is pleased with the trouble of being under that human savagery?

These are the reasons why I hate the traffic:

1. Smoke. Smoke makes me feel dizzy and go puke. When I was a kid, I hated when Mama starts to lit a katol (mosquito coil) for us to prevent red and itchy spots from lamok. When I grew up and knew people who actually spend coins to inhale and exhale white smoke, life became a spell. Being immersed between two people smoking appears to be as painful as being munched by two big bears. Being caught in a traffic jam means inhaling all the black smoke and dust of Manila, and to me it’s hell.

2. The heat. I know the Philippines’ temperature is unacceptable. But I won’t dare experience the scorching heat of the sun at the busy EDSA. The traffic worsens the situation –cars spending much time on the streets means more carbon dioxide to emit.

3. The agony of waiting. I usually lose sanity upon knowing that the vehicle I am in cannot go forward because of the other vehicles infront, and discovering afterwards that my destination could have been done in a jiffy without the traffic. I admit that I am one of the most impatient people on the face of this planet, but I swear I am trying to work to change my attitude. But sometimes, I’m growing impatient of it.

Yet despite such pathetic sight, I still managed to maintain a good mood since the following day will be a rest day. I got off at the Quezon Ave. station, swiped the card, then rode a jeep bound to Welcome Rotonda. I handed the driver my pamasahe and decided to relax. My mind was set to rest so I didn’t notice the heavy traffic. I closed my eyes. I didn’t know how long I was under that state but when I opened my eyes to check where were we, my jaw dropped –we didn’t move an inch.

I wasn’t sure if the jeep cannot really move or the driver was still calling for passengers. I started to become irate. I really wanted to go home and my tummy was grumbling. I wanted to just walk but my feet were aching and my head was throbbing. Besides, I can’t take my money back from the driver. Nakakahiya.

I entertained myself from the long wait by observing the people inside the jeep. There were around twelve of us inside. Two gay children, singing some gibberish song, were sitting adjacent to me. Beside me were two middle-aged women wearing yellow shirts with “Herbert Bautista for Mayor” print, both typing text messages (I assumed they were campaigning). Three men were at the end side of the pew, half dozing. An old lady was rolling her eyes and ranting, her grandson was looking at her looking amused. The driver was wiping his sweat. His wife who was sitting at the front seat was barking at the passers-by, “Welcome, welcome!”

I stepped down from the vehicle and started to walk, inside my mind was the thought of making a blog about the most stressful thing man has ever invented.

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