Get in line

We have a new work sked. Check in at 8:30 am and check out at 5:30 pm.

On color-coding day (Coding ako pag Tuesday… croon… croon), I checked out whether I could check in on time if I leave Marikina for Makati after 6 am.

It was only 6:30 am when I reached the commute terminal but the scramble for a shuttle ride to Makati was already unwieldy. There were already seven lanes of commuters and counting. I usually boast that patience is a personal virtue. So I waited patiently, for 30 minutes in fact. But I got giddy when the clock hit seven.

So I skipped the line and hailed a jeepney to Katipunan. I would just take the LRT to Cubao and the MRT to Makati.

Lo and behold! It was line galore that day. Get in line to get inside the station. Get in line to get a card. Get in line to wait for the train. The MRT Cubao Station was the worst. Commuters ---yuppies, hippies, and all --- ditched the line and wrestled their way through the next train.

I took the train to North Avenue just to find a spot inside the MRT cabin going back to Makati. I passed by Cubao again and saw eerily the same scene --- a lot of shoving and cursing.

Buendia Station was no different. Endless lines of people for a shuttle ride. Endless lines of people for a jeepney ride.

I remember a college professor who said that Filipinos disdain falling in line. She called it our racial memory of oppression. Deep in the recesses of our brains are imprints of the Philippines’ experiences of oppression from colonizers. Fall in line to get inside a Spanish fortress. Fall in line for a ration of porridge. The Bataan March of Death. Fall in line to die.

I don’t want to die. But I will still fall in line. Only when required.

In the meantime, I will clock in at 7:30 am and clock out at 4:30 pm.