TRUTH AND FICTION (“NOT ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD”)

[Originally posted on November 8, 2011 at 2:04pm]

                              

‘Twas a very tight gridlock last Friday night. I’s inside the bus on my way home. I saw vehicles of all forms and sizes from both directions pushing and shoving each other, each one raring to gain an inch in every opportunity at the expense of another. The heat was inexplicable. I guessed the aircon was full blast yet the coldness caused by that machine was no match for the collective warm bodies of the earthlings, each one eager to reach home early thus unmindful of the bus’s standing-room-only.

I was profusely perspiring at the time, hoping against hope I might catch in time my uncle’s dinner treat at the sea foods resto 300 meters away from my domicile.

I was fuming mad.  Irritated and impatient about the bus’ minimal speed. I refrained myself from urging to pull out the driver from his seat and drive the shuttle myself. Good thing as if on cue, he suddenly floored his right foot causing the bus to pick up speed. But likewise, my anger did still accelerate.

Then I saw the one, through a rear-view mirror, sitting at the right side of the driver, to be an extremely privileged and well-endowed individual. If you could imagine someone who is a cross between Catherine Zeta-Jones and Megan Fox then you know what I mean with that gal. I would’ve mistaken her for a Caucasian had it not for her St. Paul U uniform and natural tan.

Ah, St. Paulinian beauty, at one time in my life, you’d had me. 

You had taught me a lesson I would always remember. You had taught me so well never to judge a book by its cover.

I could still vividly recall that one morning when I rode a PUJ and sat right behind the driver many years ago. At the time, at something I was so angry also. Praying I’d beat the eight o’clock since I was still in my freshman year on the job or so. Thus, everytime the driver stopped to pick up every living thing along the street, I was tempted to slap the back of his head if not choke him for a minute. 

Then all of a sudden, a corn-haired St. Paulinian coed with a stunning angelic face embarked in Molo plaza. Right at first glance, I could sense in her the true sense of femininity of a well-bred traditional Filipina. Anywhere I looked at her, the way she moved and gave a Monalisa smile, I could describe her in only two words: prim and proper. Ah, the one thing of which a Filipina of old was known for: “Mahinhin,” super!

She was sitting right in front of me so I’s compelled not to take my eyes off her and her captivating beauty. She was holding her big nursing book close to her chest. The hem of her fine checkered skirt was securely wrapped around her knees. She firmly held her straight shiny long black hair to her right as if to deny an adoring male seatmate to her left to have a taste of the blossoming heavenly scent. 

As I tendered to the driver my ten-peso bill, I was tempted again to pay for her fare. After all, regular fare at the time was one peso per head while seventy-five cents were a student privilege. But of course, I cut the urge, lest I’d be misunderstood.

I was still in the middle of my adoration of her when she tendered her one-peso coin to the driver. Quick on the draw, I picked the coin from between her fingers that I myself would give it to the driver. When she smiled as she said “thank you” I wanted to think she was not a St. Paulinian but an Ivy Leaguer. Or someone who was bred in the 1950’s thus apt to be called with the “Golden Girl” moniker.

My heart was full with excitement when the driver handed back to me a twenty-five centavo coin change for the Golden Girl. And of course I swiftly received it and tenderly tendered it back to her. 

After she took it from my hand with her right thumb and forefinger while the other three were stretched out like a peacock’s feathers, she gracefully swayed back her hair, tilted her head leftward, and put the coin in her right ear.

That instant, another cliche was recalled: “Not all that glitters is gold.” 
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