My mom and my dad are like, the most mabait people in the whole world. I mean, like, they send me to a super nice school where like, kids are like, decent, and don’t have kuto. They give a hefty baon that’s more than enough for essentials like food, phones and parties. I have a gimmick wardrobe that can best be described as like, sooo super ganda. Just like me.
But I’m really asar; kasi on the days our only car is off the road because of that silly Bayani Fernando’s vehicle reduction scheme, they make me like, take public transportation. I threw a bitch fit when they settled on the idea that it would like, be a good way to give me a wider perspective on the world. Ha! Like my perspective needs expanding. Hello?! Like, I watch Discovery Channel, ‘no?!
But being the mabait daughter that I am, I half-heartedly agreed and it’s been like, three weeks since I’ve been a member of the jeepney-riding masa. I’m, like, really inis that my hair gets so gulo and some icky people make dikit their eww, pawis on me. But the most disgusting part of this commuter thing has been the tambay‘s I’m forced to see once a week.
There is this one mama — okay, he’s not that old — he’s like, my age lang — who is always at the kanto near my house. He’s always wearing a mangutim sando with his nipples popping out the sides. He has a blueish tato on his back of which I could only see the first and the last letters: J and S. I like, made hula na he was probably branded with the name of his kidnap-for-ramson gang when he was a preso or something. Worst of all, he always like, looks at me, like those nasty contrabida‘s in 80’s movies ready to make simsim my bango. The other day, I was super sungit after a particularly bad day in school, so I looked back at him from the tricycle, made-irap at him, and mouthed silently, “Pangit“.
The following week, I told the tricycle driver to make like Schumacher and drive really fast kasi the guy might be like, making abang for me at the kanto. But instead of avoiding my potential rapist’s post, the gago driver, who was obviously just out of tricycle driving school, cut the corner, bumped into the sari-sari store and turned the tricycle on its side!
I crawled out of the overturned death trap, dazed. Shyeet! My tombstone almost read “Lived. Loved. Died in a tricycle”! I felt my tuhod buckle from under me and a kind stranger’s strong arms lift me from the bangketa.
“Miss?” a mellow voice asked, “Okay lang po kayo?”
I like, expected to find some lost tisoy gentleman saving me from this situation; but instead, I looked up to be nearly blinded by a nipple behind a familiar mangutim-ngutim sando.
“Ako po si Jesus.” the tambay introduced himself. “Gusto niyo ho bang magpadala sa ospital, Miss?”
I looked at him intently and like, noticed how his nose was perfect, his teeth were Close-Up white and his hair moved like he conditioned it. And strangely, he wasn’t amoy-araw. He was, in all honesty, like, really, really pogi.