And then a bus stopped.
by Andrew Orocay
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I must admit I felt hesitant riding a bus... and riding one actually felt scary.
Off from the Beermen’s loss last night, bus was the popular choice among the barkada. Pasay to Quezon City, we thought, is too much for a taxi. At twelve midnight, bus is the next best thing.
I just kept silent. My friends didn’t know how severe that bus explosion was. They just heard it from classmates and officemates anyway. As for me, the picture is very vivid. News reports, online postings, Twitter, and Facebook alerts - they’re all there – the January 25 EDSA-Buendia bus bombing. One simple afternoon that killed five lives and injured more than a dozen people.
The bus was then coming closer. Before it halted, I secretly checked if it’s a Newman Goldliner. Thankfully it wasn’t. We went aboard.
Funny. We seated at the sixth row.
As my friends were talking about the game, how the Beermen lost, what to do next Valentines, who to date --- all sorts of things were running in my mind. Things like: could there possibly be a bomb underneath my seat? Where’s EDSA-Buendia again? What if we’re the next victims? Pictures like: the shattered bus, the bus driver testifying, the injured passengers, the blood splatters, the photos of Jhohansson and Kristel, the cries of the victims’ family. Dreadful.
I bet the passengers of that Newman Goldliner bus didn’t experience the same discomfort I had.
Jhohansson Reyes (or Jhay Reyes as his Facebook profile says) was with his girlfriend, Kristel Ausena. I can just imagine how sweet they were. Holding hands, girl’s head on the man’s shoulder, uttering sweet nothings, affirming love. Young lovers, young dreams – ironically faded young.
Irish Teniola was the fifth fatality of the bombing. Perhaps she was thinking of a possible new employment which can help her family. Now, all those plans are wasted away. Who could have thought that a small mortar shell triggered by a mobile phone can put those dreams to tragic memory?
Finally, after trying so many times. I fell asleep.
My friends were still chatting when I woke up. We were then a few blocks away before our bus stopped. Minutes later, I was home.
Jhay, Kristel, Irish, and I all rode a bus. The difference is... I reached home. I slept and faced another morning.
They didn’t.
Blessed us, we have another morning. But I hope now we’ll see each rising as a fight for peace. That we will rise up each morning proactively hoping that we as a people won’t be living in a world full violence, vengeance, and merciless doings. That we won’t be hearing another news of bus bombings; cops killed by rebels and vice versa; kids dying in the middle of a crossfire; and wars of Filipinos against fellow Filipinos.
I don’t know how. But there must be a way. There must be a way. As what U.S. President Barack Obama said in his State of the Union this January, “I’m not sure how we’ll reach that better place beyond the horizon, but I know we’ll get there. I know we will. We do big things.”
Maybe later I will ride a bus again. I just pray that I will still reach home. Reach home, and meet peace.
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I must admit I felt hesitant riding a bus... and riding one actually felt scary.
 |
| The bus that stopped... forever. |
I just kept silent. My friends didn’t know how severe that bus explosion was. They just heard it from classmates and officemates anyway. As for me, the picture is very vivid. News reports, online postings, Twitter, and Facebook alerts - they’re all there – the January 25 EDSA-Buendia bus bombing. One simple afternoon that killed five lives and injured more than a dozen people.
The bus was then coming closer. Before it halted, I secretly checked if it’s a Newman Goldliner. Thankfully it wasn’t. We went aboard.
Funny. We seated at the sixth row.
As my friends were talking about the game, how the Beermen lost, what to do next Valentines, who to date --- all sorts of things were running in my mind. Things like: could there possibly be a bomb underneath my seat? Where’s EDSA-Buendia again? What if we’re the next victims? Pictures like: the shattered bus, the bus driver testifying, the injured passengers, the blood splatters, the photos of Jhohansson and Kristel, the cries of the victims’ family. Dreadful.
I bet the passengers of that Newman Goldliner bus didn’t experience the same discomfort I had.
 |
| Jhay & Kristel: The lovers & their family |
Irish Teniola was the fifth fatality of the bombing. Perhaps she was thinking of a possible new employment which can help her family. Now, all those plans are wasted away. Who could have thought that a small mortar shell triggered by a mobile phone can put those dreams to tragic memory?
Finally, after trying so many times. I fell asleep.
My friends were still chatting when I woke up. We were then a few blocks away before our bus stopped. Minutes later, I was home.
Jhay, Kristel, Irish, and I all rode a bus. The difference is... I reached home. I slept and faced another morning.
They didn’t.
Blessed us, we have another morning. But I hope now we’ll see each rising as a fight for peace. That we will rise up each morning proactively hoping that we as a people won’t be living in a world full violence, vengeance, and merciless doings. That we won’t be hearing another news of bus bombings; cops killed by rebels and vice versa; kids dying in the middle of a crossfire; and wars of Filipinos against fellow Filipinos.
I don’t know how. But there must be a way. There must be a way. As what U.S. President Barack Obama said in his State of the Union this January, “I’m not sure how we’ll reach that better place beyond the horizon, but I know we’ll get there. I know we will. We do big things.”
Maybe later I will ride a bus again. I just pray that I will still reach home. Reach home, and meet peace.
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