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Monday, October 10, 2005
Kuwentong tricycle
By Edgar Dignadice Cadiente
Cover Story
STRIKE a conversation with the driver. That's what I usually do when I ride a tricycle. Surely, the driver would tell you an ordinary story, a typical Filipino survival story.
You would meet a 16-year-old father forced by circumstances to eke out a living for a child and a wife, or a student who moonlights at night to support his studies, working students we call them. You would encounter a lesbian-driver whom you'd mistake to be male, who lives with a widow partner with four children. There's this lady driver who switched role with his husband left at home attending to their children and household chores. You'd hear a story of a 70-year-old man supporting an equally aged wife with no children tending them, or a 40-year-old widower with ten children to feed.
Stories are told inside a tricycle. Mundane stories. What makes these tales poignant is that these are raw, pure, and real vignettes of life; of Filipino existence. Journeys of ordinary people in extraordinary times. And ordinarily, this is part of Filipino life. Unless of course you are born in the Philippines to a family where luxury cars are a necessity. Probably riding a tricycle is the last thing on your mind. And you have never wanted to listen to these stories anyway. But you know what, these stories are not your usual telenobela plots that unfold before your cozy living room. These are unscripted toils told between bumps and humps of the road.
Sure tricycle rides are uncomfortable. Its only convenience is that you get to
your destination in no time. It is inconvenient compared to a jeepney or cab in terms of legroom. But I'm sure mas gusto ng mga lalaki na sinasakay sa tricyle and mga girlfriend nila or nililigawan. More intimate, kumbaga. Mas dikit, mas sweet. Well, what do you know. A tricycle is a representation of ordinary lives but it is also a cocoon where a love story begins, Filipino style.
This mobile constricted space is Filipino life in its simplest fashion. It is a Filipino culture icon. Next to jeepneys, it is the most widely utilized form of transportation. In the provinces, tricycles are a normal sight and a staple form of mobility. And if the jeepney is the king of the road, I'd say a tricycle is the queen because, like in a chess game, the queen can strike anywhere, in any direction, so muck like a tricycle. Tricycles give access to more rural or secluded areas which jeepneys or taxis cannot reach. From highways to mga lubluban, from rough to asphalt, as long as the road is paved, tricycles take you there. For short trips or distances, tricycles come in handy.
Jeepneys, as inspired by American GI jeep, evolved into a Filipino transport facility by way of Filipino creativity. Tricycles are a product of that proverbial ingenuity as well. First, they make a square metal framing, then encase it with tin sheets to look like a shrink version of the jeepney's body. They then splash its exteriors with colorful painting, install its interiors with upholstered seats, and line up tiny decorative trinkets along its moldings. The assemblage is then welded or attached to a foreign-manufactured motorcycle and voila, an affordable mode of Filipino transport is born. I'm not sure with this, but I think we are the only country, which has created such a little motorized human haulage.
How its physical make has evolved is a story unto itself. But beyond it, are glimpses of life shared during short rides. Stories unravel as tricycle travels. I am a tricycle rider. When I listen to the bio-sketches of these people, I smell the sweet sweat of the thing called survival. These people epitomize that people who are in the streets all day; ordinary folks who keep the city innards pulsating; regular citizens who ply the city's concreted nerves; they who face the sheets of rain 'til they get soaked; tenacious souls who dare the blazing sun 'til they smell like it.
I tell you, listen to their individual saga. These are as varied as there are tricycles, and characters as diverse. I may be glorifying the affecting part of this occupation, but I certainly reprove undesirable stance. For there are masusungit at masisiba as there are mababait na driver. Of course, you get enraged when you hail one tricycle for instance, and without even letting you finish saying your direction, brrruummmm, it speeds off, leaving you suffocating in black fume. Oftentimes, I get refused to be ferry, and every time, it infuriates me. Probably those are the kinds of drivers whose stories we should not hear. So take it as a blessing in disguise if you do not get that ride.
Stories told in tricycles are real. It is almost sad that the circumstances around its existence are also real. In almost all Philippine metropolis today, tricycles are being re-routed to inner subdivisions to declog city traffic. A move of this kind is underway in the city to give way to rapid modernization. It is just a matter of when. There are 4,751 franchised or registered tricycles apart from almost a thousand unregistered ones roaming around the streets. Such reservoir of stories.
Soon, tricycles will become extinct in the concrete cityscape. Why not catch a ride now before they are finally faced out and engage the driver to tell his existential tale.
The story you will hear might just be yours. Comments and suggestion are welcome. Email to my_eyeview@yahoo.com
(October 10, 2005 issue)
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