Thoughts in Bus 062

Seated near the window in the back, he had a quiet depressed presence surrounding him. His tie was too loosened up, it almost seemed as if it was going to fall down any time the bus swerve to the right and then left...and right again. Cousin Nerie called him up at work that day, bearing all the bad news he could have imagined. It explained his early leave from work--he found out his dad had a heart attack and did not make it to the hospital. He was never close to his dad yet the news still left him dumbfounded, as if a giant slab of stone was put over his head, hurt, and worst, just suddenly proceeded into his throat. It had been hours since he took the bus 062 home although he had not gotten out and let the damning bus in circles... he asked himself: "When will it ever stop?"

Other thoughts wandered through his head "Maybe if I was a little nice to my old man, I wouldn't be here, feeling guilty. I don't know what to do. Damn it, Mario! Go home. Go see your old man..." and tears poured out, like rain in the middle of summer--profound, nevertheless, melancholic, coming from a man who was clenched to his collar, gasping for air.
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The same day, the same bus, an African-American old lady was seated in her wheelchair, up-front. She wasn't sad, she was thinking deep, her face, the map of the world. Grocery bags were assembled nicely in the floor, as she watched 'em moved gracefully with the engine. Happiness was questionable although her body language translated appreciation for the food she was about to bring to her six grandchildren. She found them, all diversed in their own means, under the bridge near her house one day, asking for some change. Out of pity but mostly annoyance, she decided to welcome them in to her humble house of crumbling walls and pictures of family she barely see twice a year. After 20 minutes of oblivion, she snapped out of her thoughts:

"What am I going to do with these kids? I am not getting younger or richer. I just hope they will learn how to own up to responsibilities soon. I am really counting on Alliyah but she's busting up so much with that loser boyfriend of hers..."

and realized that it was already her stop.
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"Ninguna suerte hoy. No quiero seguir viviendo como este. Ellos la gente blanca sigue tratándome como la suciedad. Sólo porque no digo su lengua, esto no significa que soy menos más elegante. Deseé que yo no debiera haber tomado mis posibilidades y sólo haberme quedado en México donde, aunque el salario mínimo yo ganara no alimentó mi familia correctamente, éramos todavía felices. A diferencia de aquí ... vida es lo peor. Debo seguir luchando...Dios mio!" Juanito's thoughts reverberated within. In the same bus, 062, he sat peacefully in the center, his legs moved back and fort, as if he could not wait to get off and be with his wife who was actually prepping some delicious carne asada at home. She had a 5 dollar raised from taking care of old people in a retirement home and gotten a big tip from one of the families who came visited that day.

Juanito on the other hand, was still puzzled how to get another racket, while he thought of asking one of his compadres if he could get a job in the Mexican restaurant he currently works at. He just wanted to have a decent job before career day at his son's school. The pressure had been bothering him a lot because, like any parent, he just want his kids to have a better life--better than what he was having. Hopefully, he thought, better than he'll ever imagined.
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Another person, seated near Juanito, looked too peaceful, as if he had no worries in the world. Ryan looked straight ahead, indifferent about everything that surrounded him; not the wailing in the back, anyway nor the noise outside. Deep down however, he was full of anguished. If he could have, he would have...ran out in the back and suffocated the wailing man in the back or robbed every passenger of bus 062. Nothing compared to a 23-yr old something guy who had emotions which ran deeper than the ocean. Stupidly, he decided to quit his job because of a tiny misunderstanding with one of the female managers on his "ex" company. Stupid perhaps since he had not had another job,

"How am I gonn pay for my bills!? Fuck..Fuck...Fuck... Stupid bitch! ..."

was all he could think of--all the cussed words seemed to apease his anguished and calmed him down for just a second. Although afterwards, he was back to an internal battle number 95672. If only he still had his xbox to keep him company, to ease the pain and frustration that's building inside and most definitely the hatred he had towards himself. He believed it's the closest he could get into his ideal reality: gang bangers, grand theft autos, and hello, HALO!
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A young couple, seated in the 4th sit near the front looked like a happy ending to a movie. The girl's head on the guy's broad shoulder, the guy's arm around her. Little smirks graced their beautiful faces; young love did not quiet look so promising as theirs. Dreamy sighs were exchanged back and fort and the disturbing sounds that surrounded them sounded like hawaiian lullabies to their grungy ears. Not a single word was said yet it seemed as if they understood each other with or without. The silence were meant to cause more hormonal love; they were attached to each other like siamese twins, cats, mind you. Thoughts were hidden behind amourous taspestries and only introduced by their inner selves, guilty, and deep inside more confused...scared?

The guy said "I hoped she doesn't find out about Kendra. I really...uuh...what's the word? Like? Love? ..I care for her."

The girl said "I am scared to feel it; because even if im not trying to, it is still too powerful...the feelings. I do not want to get hurt in the end. Maybe...hopefully...he doesn't hurt me. I am scared. Does he really like me?"

If only minds can talk out loud. If only, babe.
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Bus 062 did not run out of personalities that day. Another being, a girl with average hair that stuck out, sat behind the two lovers. She was smiling like a psychological muse, and she knew it too. A list of thoughts loomed in her head but the one thing that was memorable was the thoughts of food.

"I am hungry now... I want some Thai... to thai or not to thai? That is the question..."


We all have our different stories and as i have spent a good amount of my time riding the Orange Line, I have encountered people that I created my first impressions of. I could go on and on with this but I won't bore you any further. We're special, no doubt, but most of us, do end up worrying about our problems...we think about them, a lot actually and that's where "being special" draw the line. That is where we are not-so different from the others. We have our own stories but they're all the same stories under the categories of sadness, caring, hatred, love and sometimes just as basic as thinking about what kind of food to eat. WE THINK everywhere, even in a bus 062. I've just thought. Enjoy!

1. Translation: No luck today. I do not want to keep living like this. Them white people keep treating me like dirt. Just because I do not speak their language, it doesn't mean I am less smarter. I wished I should have not taken my chances and just stayed in Mexico where, although the minimum wage I earned did not feed my family properly, we were still happy. Unlike here... life is worst. I must keep fighting...

Labels: FICTION

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"Oh Sunrise..."

People pass by him as if he's a big slump of dirt glued in the wall of gleaming marble in the 4^th street building. Ironically, he is used to it—from passers by who look down and shake their heads upon smelling his stench and eventually avoid as if he is the twin of Frankenstein. Hopelessness still lingers through however, from head to toe and each core of his being. For him, life was not always misery and hunger. No, sir. He had dreams like you and I, maybe even farther than the stars. Yet, goodbye came too quickly as hello said goodbye effortlessly, which leaves where he is now, sitting outside in the middle of winter, frozen like Popsicles and almost freezer burnt like a slab of meat.

Owed his success to his parents, Mike decided to gamble his luck and invested for Urban Shoes. It was some good luck at first since after two, fruitful years being employed at the Company, he met what recalled to be “the one”. Like most marriages in this vast country of love and infidelity, their relationship seemed to be deem forever. After a year and a half of tender love and inexplainable highs, they already have three beautiful children who binded them even stronger than before. Good luck became his reality, where life became the vision he had in mind all along: glimmering like the Bay during a sunny day. He dreamt of taking over the Company someday, sending his children to prestigious colleges abroad while growing old gracefully with his loved ones and money by his side.

But such good luck took its toll for the worst, however. The company failed to met the quota for numerous deadlines and concluded to be fallible, in the end bankrupt, each single dollar was transferred to the bank. His dreams vanished as fast as the shutter of a disposable camera while his family, long gone, abandoned him with the gathered resources through out the years. It was not love that binded them; it was the money that kept them a family yet broken them apart. They savagely withdraw the savings, all 10,000,000,000 dollars of it and fled away to the shores of Mexico. “Worthless man” were the last words from the people who failed to be his support group.

He also lost his parents that year, about 10 years ago or so today. Plane 0567 is reported to suffer from internal machinery troubles and crashed amongst coconut trees and bushes in the blue island of Antigua.

His heart erupted and excreted vile feelings of total depression and madness, upon hearing the second round of bad news. One by one, all the purposes of his life came collapsing down, possibly worst than 7/11, or so he felt—as uniquely as his life experiences can be. For months, he hunkered in the living room sofa, nulling over the strong taste of wine in his tongue. Getting help, he believed, was not the answer but the improbable beginning of even more heartaches. He drank as if it relieved the pain—it only made it worst; he usually found himself crying in the morning yet intoxication continued until one day he just found himself outside, seated in the cold asphalt in 4^th street.

Mike did not entertain the idea of remembering how he got there looking as bad as he smells—worst than a dead, decaying crow in the side road. He knows he is use to the stares, to people pitying him yet not do anything about it, none at all, just warm voices who whisper “Awwww...” while they pass by. His day to day battle with the police also prevailed as they yell at him to “...go do something with (his) life or die painfully in jail”. Jail, he guessed was better than the sidewalk although they never took him in and lock him up. Damn police! They leave him there, rotting away like the winter trees: fragile, cold, and wilting away waiting for a tinge of light to come rescue him.

One, muggy, November morning along with the hustle and bustle that the city usually brings during this time of day, he woke up as always, with the blurry silhouettes of businessmen in their fancy coats and fatigued looks. Out of nowhere, he reached for his pockets like it could talk and told him to do so, when he found a 20 dollar bill inside and a tiny pill with a sun engraved to it. He concluded it must be some sort of children's vitamin or just plain candy. He squatted there happy and abruptly, he took the yellow pill in and sighed in “sunrise...” in which could be seen peeking through tiny spaces between buildings and hugging through atop smaller ones.

“Eeeeehh!!” he shouted in disgust upon tasting the pill as unconsciously, he swallowed it quickly, ruthlessly...disgusted. “So much for a fucking fantastic morning...” he said under his breathe. Twenty dollars clasped on his left hand, he started walking to the left, towards the big arch sign that says McFerrils, a cheap counterpart of the famous joint. Inside, he could smell the aroma of caffeine, the smell of baked biscuits, and frying sausages, a very different sight as he had not had a “good” breakfast since an old lady gave her 5 dollars and 2 cents...about 4 months ago.

"May I have some coffee...and.." he was interrupted by the person behind the counter.

"What size would you like sir?" she asked politely, unfortunately an obvious insincere one.

"The biggest one you have! Today, I'll have a feast like a king!" he said loudly, it scared Jona as stated on her badge.

"...Hold on, I'm not done. Let me also have a breakfast burrito, biscuits with bacon...uuuh apple pie...a cheeseburger and a chicken wrap..." he continued and stopped her from getting his coffee.

While enjoying his "feast" at a table near the window, overlooking the children's play area, his perspective changed drastically from feeling happy to even happier. All the meals he ordered had turned into gourmet meals--the ones you can order in some expensive restaurant by someone famous like Wolfgang Puck. The aroma was almost bearable for him and everything seemed more brighter & livelier...and were the McFerrils employers dancing to...Gold Diggers by Kanye West? He seemed more profoundly friendly to the other customers who just looked him with disgust when he approached them. While normally, he would feel worst than a stray dog when people ignore him, at that time, he never felt more confident in his life, he ignored the banters, took his food outside and danced his way to 4th.

Surprising, he did not huff by the sight of businessmen hoarded, walking in unison talking on their cellphones, yelling at god knows who and what about. It usually upsets him when he realizes that he could have been one of them too but that day was different. He offered them food as if they've been eating McFerrils everyday of their lives. The skylines towered over him as if they were god-given nature while the trees looked even prettier although its the middle of winter. His "home" which sits outside the noted "fancy" building looked like a big ball of warmth--just like what he used to have. "Life is not that bad...its fantastic!" he screamed on top of his lungs...in his head.

His perception became worst when night time fell. Christmas, that's how he called it that night all the lights twinkled, shined above his light head. He didn't mind the numbing, cold wind...he was just, HAPPY.

Until after sometime that everything wore off and he started yearning for the...SUNRISE. He realized that he was back to reality and self-control, self unworthiness...and even more so, misery and pain.

Labels: FICTION, reality, short story, XTC

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I was the little girl with a throbbing heart. I know they could not hear it, but my heart beats millions of a horse skip in the race track. The first time I got separated to my guardian, I thought I would stay in that place forever. I sat quitely behind my desk; the other kids have their mothers with them and I felt different that I had none. She left me for the market, she left me for a better life, she left and all I felt then was the unrecognizable melancholy of the tiniest soul. My heart kept throbbing as if it was about to burst out of my bossom. I remember cradling my chair, telling myself, like I tell myself now, that everything will be all right. I could see sympathy in her eyes; it did not let it bother me for if I did, I would have devastated their happy dispositions. Even then, I already knew what embarassment was and for some twisted reality, I did not want any of that, any of it... She told us to practice writing our name--"not outside of the lines, inside the lines," she said. My motor skills were unrefined; I wrote like our family dentist, with the slanted l's and the squiggly g's yet I've always wondered how he understood his when I could not comprehend mine. As days go by, spending my time in that little space with all the letters surrounding, danced to me like in Cartoon Network, my handwriting became more like a work of art for a 4 year old. Nobody was there to hold my hand and help me wrote my name. While the other children had tremendous help from their moms, I sat there with a throbbing heart, faced downward, concentrated on my pencil and lined paper. Although I cried my way home to my grandmother's house that hot day in June, I was happy I wrote my name without anyone's help.

Don't you wish achieving something so inadequate and making you deliriously happy was that easy again? Where is your inner child when you need it?

Photo Credit goes to me.

Labels: childhood, FICTION, inner euphoria, lost, nostalgia, unfictioned

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She felt defeated. She surrendered all her opinions away to the great unknown--beyond the suburban houses and to the setting sun as she let herself listen to the voice on the other line. The memory of Desiderata abruptly appeared in her mind along with the authority-like voice of Mr. Lazaro reading it as if she was put in a trial of life. "...listen to the ignorant because they too, have something to say" repeatedly echoed in her mind. She was not about to loose all control over her senses so she moved forward and recollected herself back to earth as she truly let her bestfriend's words sinked in to her like a veil.

Darkness had over-ruled daytime for 15 minutes then, yet the cold, misty wind and the sad reality of street crimes infamous in the area did not intimidate her to "go home" and accept the fact that the once good space she had for meditation and creativity is a polluted room she can barely unwind into. She, however, made herself comfortable in the pavement near the LA bridge; she curled threefolds while tapestry of thoughts loomed above her like overwhelming curtains in a very tiny stretch. Her soul and heart agreed: she did not do any heartache provoking yet issues still obstructed her persona. Thus, a war between her right and the anonymous, surprising wrongs that she had cause, according to the person on the other line, abided greatly as it remained long enough for considerable casualties like the 100-year war.

As impersonal as the phone can be and distressing perhaps to talk about such deep issues over it--in between airwaves and distant miles--she thought a great deal of some "what ifs" in her mind. Like: What if she die tonight and everything is unresolved above her coffin? What if the people she had issues with will spend their lifetime holding pain, misery, irrevocably, grudges, against her? The teardrops in her wake, the dripping sound full of tingling hatred but in the end happiness as, she is alas, dead? So, she insisted that they both will spend their night resolving the issues and tackling down the cemented wall between them; for her, under the star-studded sky and the sighs of passerbys...for him in the other end of spectrum, the rush of automobiles. People put off what they can do today for tomorrow in hopes that time will be in their side but she realized that evening that nothing and no one will remain here forever. If its stress and long bickerings with her bestfriend can resolve the problems then she thought, let stress over-rule and arguements exist.

The past couple of weeks, she spent making a mile-list of the things she needed to work on, in her life. Life had been nothing but favorable. Problems blended in perfectly with the changing ways of the weather. Smiles were given now and then but the cycle of life continued to bombard her with the never-ending arrays of confusement and deep thoughts that could have poisoned her whole body. However, she continued to live day-by-day trying to connect with the people she supposedly "missed" on since she 'had spend all her time with a growing, unknowingly promising, relationship. If only they knew...

She lives for them; she constantly yearns for the love her home life fails to provide!

And there she was seated out cold, coughing and almost throwing up because her gut feeling reminded that without her bestfriend, she would not have many things to live for, besides materialistic contingencies. There were many rights to what her bestfriend was telling her although she secretly took offense for him from disregarding the fact that she has been a good friend and one that would not do anything to ruin any kind of friendships.

In the end "We're going to be fine..." was said with awkward sighs and she truly hoped that they're "going to be" so.

Labels: FICTION, friendship, unfictioned

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Wednesday.

It was not love at first sight although when they accidentally brushed each other along the 25th NYC transit going to Queensbridge, the two, as if struck with a magical love spell, stood there between a diverse amount of weary faces, dazed, and more so dumbfounded. Magnetic glances were exchanged between the two strangers for a good amount of time; neither tried to initiate a conversation even though their irrevocable glance expressed too little, apart from the admiration of the other's amorous eyes. The two managed to give a faint smile after fifteen minutes, however. Although this action still was not enough for these two people to leave each others accidental company, happily...or even acquire each other phone numbers, until after they had yet again unboarded the train to the same door, at the same time. Came out laughing, the strangers, as they might have been that day, alas, rambled through and finally spoken--the stop at Queensbridge was their own start, as strangers who happened to think they have found their own fairy-tale of love at first sights.

Alex reminisced all of their memories: that day in Queensbridge Station, their three loving years together after that, and how now, everything must come to an end and part as strangers just like they were on that Subway. He profoundly let her go to be with someone believed she love, rather than lusted within an hour in a public transportation. At first, Alex was horribly heartbroken and resisted love's bitter reality while he attempted to win her back although after nth times of trying, he withdraw and accepted his love's destined calvary. Alex was sure of his affections and understand clearly that if he truly love her, he must let her go. And so that Wednesday, the same day of the week they met each other three years ago, Alex drove to the Queensbridge subway station to bid her goodbye. Jess didn't tell Alex where she was going; Alex on the other hand, didn't even bother to ask at all--he was giving her away freely and thought that was all that matter.

Lonely sighs both ruled them that morning. Nobody said anything as they stood there in the dimly lighted underground station, awkward, patiently waiting for the sub to completely break the three years of memories they have created. When the subway approached, Jess abruptly hugged him although Alex just stood there, like a zombie who just lost his soul, immovable, pale, although globes of water was tearing away. All along, Jess looked back before entering the railway despite how Alex was still as if standing outside, soaking in a pouring rain. After a minute or so, she was gone similar to a boxed of faded memories coated with dust, unabash.

They haven't seen each other then; it has been 5 years since they parted and it is just now that Alex decide to dig in deep through the box of memories they have had and read the letter Jess gave him that Wednesday, today, which also happens to be Wednesday. He is hoping to see a long, sentimental letter although only find this in the middle of a pink stationary unruffled with a sweet pea smell:

Labels: amour, FICTION, le musique

| An Oasis' Voyage.

You could hear the ocean waves even from afar. The sound is like that of a salt dispenser when shake very slowly back and fort. Its melodious serenity eases any worries and awkward silence between another being or a thought. The sound caresses directly and seeps through skin pores...the winds blowing your hair, there is no doubt of you giving in and falling for it in an instant.

Metaphorically, his heart get stolen by such large form. The never-ending body of water was like the giant of Brobdingnag and he was, as a contrast, a tiny person from Lilliput. The astronomity of the ocean, especially in the one he was acquainted to and mustered perhaps, didn't scare him, instead bewildered him more about the world in general. Maybe it nauseated him at first, a city-slicker like himself was not profoundly aware of the beauty that lies beneath the Caribbean. Times have elapsed, he more and more adjusted to the seclusion of the place he once thought will not give him its necessary justice and said, "I cannot inhabit this place, i am not cut off to such grand adversity".

It was not very clear what came forth to his decision of leaving the city--his comfort zone. When he was young, he dreamed of standing atop a steep rock and over-look the ocean but it never crossed his mind of actually giving up his fast-pace career to sailing the Caribbean seas. The large body of water and the waves that united to his travels did not alarm him at all; the thoughts of being alone however, did, greatly. Although well-adjusted, there were times when he had seek for companion to share his fortunes and short-comings with. His decision of sailing alone was a mistake but even with all the skepticism he had hold, he remained positive of reaching home safe and unchanged.

Every night, he stopped to little docks on towns unknown but continued his travel when the sun rise. He met acquaintances within these places although he never met the perfect companion he wanted to join his journey. After 2 years of sailing the seas roundabout Europe, he retreated to his voyage. He found the best companion was within himself, although he reached home safely, he did not remain unchanged. The grand calamity he managed to topple change him into a human capable of overcoming the fear of fear.

Labels: FICTION, Obviously, vague.

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