"Oh kasya pa sa kaliwa, usog na lang po!" This may be a commuter's nightmare especially during rush hour. When jeepney drivers squeeze every space; most especially if the said space is non-existent. They would let passengers occupy even the middle aisle if it were only allowed. Our number in the jeepney is suffocating
I’m tired from school, with hopes that I could sleep during the commute back home. But with how congested the jeepney is, I feel unlucky by the situation — mocked by faith itself if you will. “No sleeping, I guess,” I sigh heavily.
Still, no one dared to make a fuss. Maybe because all of them are too tired to complain, or they too understand the driver's reasons.
It's fascinating how quiet the trip is, in contrast to the variety of passengers. Some are dusty looking, their skin turned dark brown from a long time under the scorching sun. While others carry a burden under their eyes. With a heavy sigh, I, too, succumb to my tired body, like many of the commuters.
In my dream, I saw a piece of my motherland, engulfed in a dense ash-like smoke. From it, came upon a jeepney, with a "PDH" marking covering the entire vehicle. Its sides are crumbling, and the colors are fading, turning grayer by the moment.
From the outside, it was presented as a normal jeepney, worn down; but still working. Its interior however, stretches an endless row of passengers. One that even my eyes cannot see its ending point.
Inside, some are seated like normal, while some are more congested than others. Many are stuck in the middle aisle, tucking themselves in the space they should not be sitting on. Maybe they just wanna go home, and do not bother with the means of doing so. Maybe this is the last transportation, it’s late in the evening after all.
I looked into their eyes, one by one. Although how terrifying that they looked lifeless. As if their humanity had been sucked dry. Lowering my gaze, I saw all of them wore the same outfit. Many are skin and bones, barely surviving.
Printed in their shirt was "People Deprived of Humanity" with the last word being scratched out. It felt odd, but shrugged it off, nonetheless.
That's when it hit me; this isn't a dream, this is reality. In their lifeless eyes, I heard endless cries. Each passenger is a victim of injustice, their faces carved by time and cruelty. No one spoke. No one dared to look up. Perhaps silence had become their only freedom.
As the vehicle disappeared from the horizon, I felt the weight of their burden as I opened my eyes: heavy and tired. Their eyes begging for even a day’s escape from the hell they never deserved. And when the vehicle completely vanished, I too, understood the cruelty they endured under a system that mistook liberty and humanity as opposite sides of the same coin.
They are tagged as Person Deprived of Liberty, yet treated as Person Deprived of their Humanity.
I’m tired from school, with hopes that I could sleep during the commute back home. But with how congested the jeepney is, I feel unlucky by the situation — mocked by faith itself if you will. “No sleeping, I guess,” I sigh heavily.
Still, no one dared to make a fuss. Maybe because all of them are too tired to complain, or they too understand the driver's reasons.
It's fascinating how quiet the trip is, in contrast to the variety of passengers. Some are dusty looking, their skin turned dark brown from a long time under the scorching sun. While others carry a burden under their eyes. With a heavy sigh, I, too, succumb to my tired body, like many of the commuters.
In my dream, I saw a piece of my motherland, engulfed in a dense ash-like smoke. From it, came upon a jeepney, with a "PDH" marking covering the entire vehicle. Its sides are crumbling, and the colors are fading, turning grayer by the moment.
From the outside, it was presented as a normal jeepney, worn down; but still working. Its interior however, stretches an endless row of passengers. One that even my eyes cannot see its ending point.
Inside, some are seated like normal, while some are more congested than others. Many are stuck in the middle aisle, tucking themselves in the space they should not be sitting on. Maybe they just wanna go home, and do not bother with the means of doing so. Maybe this is the last transportation, it’s late in the evening after all.
I looked into their eyes, one by one. Although how terrifying that they looked lifeless. As if their humanity had been sucked dry. Lowering my gaze, I saw all of them wore the same outfit. Many are skin and bones, barely surviving.
Printed in their shirt was "People Deprived of Humanity" with the last word being scratched out. It felt odd, but shrugged it off, nonetheless.
That's when it hit me; this isn't a dream, this is reality. In their lifeless eyes, I heard endless cries. Each passenger is a victim of injustice, their faces carved by time and cruelty. No one spoke. No one dared to look up. Perhaps silence had become their only freedom.
As the vehicle disappeared from the horizon, I felt the weight of their burden as I opened my eyes: heavy and tired. Their eyes begging for even a day’s escape from the hell they never deserved. And when the vehicle completely vanished, I too, understood the cruelty they endured under a system that mistook liberty and humanity as opposite sides of the same coin.
They are tagged as Person Deprived of Liberty, yet treated as Person Deprived of their Humanity.
H
Written by Herwin Magbuo, Insight PH
Herwin Magbuo, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
