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.