|Photo from Disney Wikia|
It goes without saying that I was the first thing in sour that morning, and my mood can't be anymore "Fuck you" than that.
I was deciding on lighting another cigarette when I saw this trashy, green tricycle from afar. Like everything that was fastened together with chewed gum and staple wire, it was an uncomfortable vision. And then I heard it was as noisy as expected of a thing held together by chewed gum and staple wire. But it was vacant. It will answer. I hailed it. A truck of market vegetables passed me by, and it's dirty cargo of unwashed delivery boys shouted, "Hanep, punks!" Fucking muchacho tanzeros.
Meanwhile, I noticed that my trashy, green tricycle was driven by this plump-ish, bearded old dude maybe in his fifties. He had smiling beady eyes, streaks of black curly hair below his green and white cap, and his leathery face was punctuated by wrinkles mostly around the eyes. I queried, "Bagong Ilog po?" And he nodded that universal third world gesture of "Get in" that is common amongst tricycle drivers. I got in.
He blew me away as soon as I got myself seated in his most uncomfortable transport. Literally. What he did was an instant sunrise to my already sour morning. He shouted "Good Morning!" in this distinct loud and raspy voice, in the middle of all that morning hustle and bustle, in the face of my building frustration.
|Photo from Homemaker|
What the fuck, Manong?
It never occured to me that this old dude was tripping. That strange gesture arrested my attention. It was a "Good Morning!" that resonated in four different octaves. It was resounding. It was loud. It cut through everybody's noisy bullshit like a white hot knife through soft butter, yeah yeah. I liked it, and in spite of myself, it made me smile.
That ugly morning was cut short where I least expect it. A very loud and very polite tricycle driver? Life has the weirdest turns.