where the streets have no name

Because it's the new year, and with the new year should come new experiences, I commuted to Carriedo and Intramuros today. I used the public transportation system (if it can be called a system) for the first time in ages. And by public transport, I do not mean taxis and FXs -- I'm referring to the good old, sweaty siksikan of the LRT1 and jeepneys. And in Manila, to boot!

*clap clap*

I'm so proud of myself. It's amazing what two years of a Makati yuppie lifestyle can do to you. I feel like I've somehow reverted back to that convent-bred brat who didn't know anything masa and made tusok-tusok the fishball.

Yes, I can travel halfway around the world alone and brave the subways of New York at night, but I am seriously terrified of the old Manila area. Maybe it's a combination of me being directionally-challenged + my acute aversion to hot, sweaty crowds + me just being my praning self. Feeling ko, either mawawala, ma-sna-snatchan or ma-ho-hold up ako. But you know what? I actually experienced just the opposite.

I realized that there was actually some order to all that chaos.

I met a man with no hands playing a tune on a plastic harmonica, who chose not to beg for alms but to work for it.

I met a vendor on the street, who took time out from hawking her wares to teach me how to get to Intramuros from Carriedo.

I met a jeepney driver who gave me a kind smile as he told me, "Miss, diyan na po ang babaan sa Immigrations."

I met a government officer who actually served with a twinkle in his eyes, and entertained all my questions no matter how stupid or how many I asked.

I met a man carrying a palanggana along the edge of the Pasig River, and a woman with her two children sleeping on a pedicab, who pointed me in the direction of the MacArthur Bridge.

Okay, so they gave me the wrong directions, causing me to end up under the bridge instead of on the bridge. But then I met a guard who helped me clamber up the railings of the bridge (yes, it was the ultimate, wa-poise moment) so that I could reach Sta. Cruz.

And just when I thought I couldn't catch an LRT ride home because it was too full, an old lady pulled me into the train so I didn't have to wait for the next one.

It's the people like these who make me feel that somehow, there is hope for our country. And maybe, just maybe, it's worth it to stay in the country and wait for the day when things will get better.

Manila, my Manila. Either you love it or hate it.