What's your favorite memory of commuting?

This week at PasaHERO, we asked everyone to share their favorite memories of commuting. The responses we gathered were a mix of sweet, funny, and heartwarming-- all great reminders that there are still kind people and good things that are out there on the road.

Let's look at some of the responses, starting with this adorable PNR story:

We also have PasaHERO stories, reminding us that little acts of kindness go a long way.

Then we have these cute and funny responses:

Some memories led to reflections:

How about you? What's your favorite memory of commuting? Join our discussion on Facebook or submit your stories on Tumblr and help spread the good vibes!

PasaHERO Tales #1

by Adrienne Onday

art by Eri Santos and JC Alfonso

It was the 31st of July 2014.

I started the day in a sour mood; whether it was me waking up on the wrong side of the bed or the world being far too cruel before 12pm, I was not sure. I couldn’t have cared less.

I was complaining about how tiring it was to watch people try and fight the cruelty of the world when it was all so futile. You wake up and do the same old things. Sometimes, you come across a small thing that makes you feel worse or better, but even that doesn’t last long.

The 31st of July was destined to be a heartwarming day for me.

I was dropped off at UP Diliman, standing under the waiting shed near the College of Mass Communications and waiting for a jeep that will take me to Palma Hall. It was raining so hard, and the winds were so strong that a branch broke off a tree and fell in the middle of the road. Just then, a man appeared and seemed to be headed to the same shed I was under. With just an umbrella in hand and a shoulder bag slung over him, he was dressed casually and yet smartly. He was drenched, though, soaked by the rain that increasingly fell harder. He passed by the branch that fell.

With nobody else around, I watched the stranger seemingly taking his time walking despite the heavy rain. To my surprise, he stopped in middle of the road, pulled the branch out of the way with both hands, ignoring the rain completely, and tossed it in into the vacant lot by the road. Then, he went on his way to wait in the shed. We waited for a jeep together in silence.

We went on to hop onto different jeeps, but I was left thinking about that moment the rest of the day. I thought that it was really nice of him to do that. Most people would just ignore the branch that fell, because it was raining so hard. The man was not even driving a car so he should be barely concerned with the branch, but he went out of his way to keep the road safe.

For some reason, this really struck me. A random act of kindness with no one else to witness felt like a small space provided by the universe for some realization; or maybe it was a message specifically composed for me--my earlier bitterness with the world melted into understanding and compassion, not only for this stranger who stood by me quietly in the rain under the waiting shed, but for everyone else around me. That same morning I was just going on about how useless it was to be nice and good to others, but here was a man clearing a road with nothing in it for him.

I was so bent on thinking that the world was only consuming itself with malice and unkindness, but it always seems like the universe loves to prove me otherwise, loves to get my hopes back up; that humans still have it in them to be compassionate and thoughtful of others and that it is always worth it to keep fighting for all of us.

I have but one regret because maybe I’m reading into small actions too much: I never got to thank the stranger. But when you have just a few straws left to grasp on, you take it. And when the world shows you a man who tosses a fallen branch out of the way and into an empty lot, you thank him on behalf of everyone else.

--
Adrienne is a student of BA Sociology at UP Diliman and is the co-founder and co-owner of Ligaya Komiks

Eri is an artist, a writer, a lover and a friend. Everything else is subject to personal bias.

I Grew Up in the Train

by Donna Kay Salao

My first memory of the train was when I was four. I was standing on the platform, one hand held by my grandmother and the other waving goodbye to my grandfather who was trying to squeeze himself inside the already crowded train. When I was six, I used to kneel on the seat facing the window and wave at the passengers left on the platform as our train gained speed.

As a kid, I loved commuting. I was restless, always sticking my head out the window, reaching for the handles, and volunteering to pass the fare or insert the tokens. Everybody was always so kind. People offered their seats to me or my mom so I could sit on her lap. The security guards and drivers were always smiling. One time, some classmates and I even got a free ride home when the jeepney driver told us not to pay and instead, use our two pesos to buy candies. Even when my parents warned me about bad guys on the road, I always felt safe. I think I was as excited to commute as I was about wherever we were going.

I was 12 when I first took the train by myself. 13, I thought I fell in love with someone inside the train. I met the kindest person I know now AT 14 when  the train we were riding broke down. When I was 16, my wallet was stolen while I waited at the platform. 17, I unknowingly rejected the guy I liked while the other passengers listened in. I was 18 when I almost passed out inside the crowded coach because I forgot to eat anything that day.

It’s probably because of my childhood memories that I quickly romanticized the whole commuting experience. The jeepney ride was an excellent place for character study. The long wait for the train was a metaphor for delayed gratification. The train ride was a bonding experience. And walking was some sort of meditation. They were part of the journey. As Miley Cyrus aptly puts it, “ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side—it’s the climb.”

But I couldn’t ignore that commuting is not as fun when you’re older. People, as it turned out, were mean and inconsiderate. Some wouldn’t pass your fare but expect others to pass theirs. Some would take so much space in the jeep, sitting like they’re on their couch at home. Some would shove you off the train if they have to. Most of the time, people seemed to lose their sense of community and do whatever gets them ahead of everybody else, like wild animals fighting for their food.

When you’ve been part of this ordeal for several years, it can really drive you crazy.

By the time I was 19, I’d heard way too many stories of people jumping on the train tracks. At 21, I wondered what it was like to jump on the train tracks. Or push somebody off to them. At 22, I stopped taking the train as much as possible. Now I take the bus.

Excitement turned to frustration, and frustration to resignation. But even trying not to care gets old, especially when you have to get somewhere on time or just want to go home after a long day. I realized at one point that I couldn’t just stand there and watch chaos ensue day after day. I have to try something, anything to make commuting a little more bearable.

PasaHERO was born to try to remind everybody of our capacity to be kind and courteous towards others on the road. If we all talk about our personal experiences and lessons we’ve learned, we might be able to find a way to make it easier for everybody and to restore our faith in humanity.

I like to think that more than ten years of taking the train has made a huge impact to who I am today. I hope more of us can look at commuting this way and realize that in helping others, we are also helping ourselves.