It was almost half past five, but luckily, I still managed to catch the bus that would bring me back to the bustling station in Ayala. As soon as my back laid rest on my seat at the very rear of the vehicle, I succumbed to the sandman's hands and drifted to sleep, even if my lower back complained because of the cold air bearing down on my upper back.
I was abruptly awakened by the noisy steps of the other passengers wanting to go home. My eyes could not bear the brightness of the light. I could feel the creases on my forehead furrowing even deeper, like the wrinkles on cheap velvet. I tightly shut my eyes to keep out the glare. But after a few minutes, my eyes regained composure. My face slowly straightened out to its normal, expressionless look. All the emotions of my face seemed to have been sapped by the tired appearance of my eyes. I could barely open my eyes to see if the train was packed with people or not. After squinting for the tenth time, it dawned in me that I was already inside the train, standing under another blast of air-conditioning comparable to that of the arctic cold.
As soon as the doors of the train opened in Cubao, the masses poured out like a tidal wave breaking the most impenetrable door. The people flushed themselves out from the chaos inside to the chaos outside. The smell of sweat saturated the six-thirty air as people drenched in their own and someone else's perspiration wiped their faces with whatever they had handy. I slowly treaded the stairs and avoided the weird heat emanating from the people clogging the way.
For the very first time, my eyes embraced the darkness with relief as the stairs were dark and gloomy. Apparently, the fluorescent lamp died out.
I climbed down and waited for a bus to take me home while keeping the darkness from that flight of stairs with me. I am tired of seeing the same things over and over and over again. I am worn out, seeing what other people don't see and from seeing things that I do not want to see.
Sometimes, I just want to go blind and live in the darkness of the night. Sometimes, I want to see nothing else but an infinite ebony sky; without stars, without hopes. Sometimes, I yearn to go back in time and remain under a starless night, forever wishing that my dreams would be carried across the sky.
It was just a short time until I found myself standing to alight the bus. However, the man in front of me was slowly walking his way towards the exit. He didn't look old or lame, but the conductor and the other passengers on board kept assisting him.
He was blind.
I helped him alight the bus since he was in front of me. It was then that he asked me with an unsure voice if I would be willing to be his eyes until he catches a tricycle home.
"Opo naman, kuya."
He placed his hands on my tired shoulders. His hand felt distracting, but at the same time relieving. Each and every step of his was a small victory in my sight. Each obstacle we overcame was a deep relief on my part. I held his hand on my shoulder and told him that we were almost there. I did not let go of his calloused hand until he was carefully climbing the tricycle to bring him home.
As I walked another distance, my shoulder felt light. The blind man was no longer holding it. Each and every step I took meant nothing, and each obstacle I avoided gave me no relief. I placed my hand on my shoulder and felt an emptiness: nothing was there but the strap of my bag.
It was about that time that everything became clear.
Or did it?
From the Tenacity of the Edge of Zweihander
May 12, 2009
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