Lallie Udquin | Stoked Gypsy

“Pakisara na lang po ang kurtina. May nambabato. Baka tamaan kayo.” (“Please close the curtains. Someone might throw rocks at the window. You might get hit”.)

It’s not exactly comforting to hear those words just when you’re about to sleep. But I sleep. I sleep in spite of the squeaking more-of-a-rocking-than-a-recliner-seat. I sleep through the heavy snoring of a man in front of me and the competing cries of the baby a few rows behind. I don’t know if the grumble and tumble of the bus’ worn-out suspension system cradles me to slumber, but I sleep anyway.

I wake up from time to time. I turn my body from one side to the other, contorting myself to the most unnatural position, but I know my back will give out anyway. The buses on the other lane whiz by. The man in control of the ride I’m in must be doing something over 140 kph. I should be concerned, but I don’t think staring wide awake and pressing down on an imaginary brake pedal everytime I see the blasting headlights of an oncoming bus would slow the bus down. My only concern right now is the next stop-over. I drank too much water. Conveniently, even with my overflowing bladder, I can sleep til then.

I catch a glimpse of the sun peeking across the far horizon. I’m guessing it’s about 5 am. In the city, my body clock wakes me up earlier than this. I stare aimlessly at the empty scenery outside ; my seatmate, makeshift blanket drawn up to her head, still sits beside me, corpse-like. Deep in the countryside, past the deadliest road this side of the Philippines. Eight hours and counting.

Five more hours passed by. We stopped at two more places for urgent bladder relief and an overdue breakfast. My companions, bless their hearts, found time to busy themselves, hopping from seat to seat on a now half-empty 45-seater bus, taking group shots. In my head, I was awarding this one “The forever’s-not-enough bus ride”. I have given out quite many of those; this one’s right up there with the 14-hour daytime Tuguegarao to Manila, stop-over-all-you-want insane trip I had years ago.

I don’t mind it these days. My back will hurt like hell, and I probably am a good candidate for a urinary track infection but it’s easier. As with all things, practice makes it easy. Choose an aisle seat — it helps when you try to beat everybody at those rest stops. Bring your biggest sarong. Wear socks. Bring a liter of water, but don’t drink too much. Don’t nap before it to save your sleep for the lengthy bus ride. I do not advocate this, but if all else fails, cough meds help. I hear it works like a charm. Knock yourself out.

Perhaps foremost, a little fatalist attitude is required. What will happen will happen. Positivity is ideal; we will arrive at point B, all in one piece. But for the most part, there is resignation. My life is now in the hands of a maniacal driver whose methods of staying wide awake involves playing Air Supply songs and driving like he stole the bus. I will be carefree and that if I close my eyes now, fate would allow me to witness another sunrise when I wake up.

I’d probably punch your face if you wake me up to the blaring intro of “Making Love Out of Nothing At All” but on a provincial bus, that is the sound of being blessed with the first day of the rest of my life.