ON the eve of the 155th birth anniversary of the “Father of the Philippine Revolution,” I took Edsa lessons on history.

Last Thursday, Nov. 29, I left the Diliman campus at 9 p.m.; I reached home at 2 a.m. on Friday, Nov. 30, the birthday of Andres Bonifacio and the reason behind the long weekend that turned commuting into a classic struggle.

The buses plying Edsa that night seemed to be the stuff of “hakot” dreams (practice of politicians to orchestrate “people power” through busloads of paid supporters).

Naturally, I listened to other people’s conversations as we were packed intimately like sardines in a can. “Ano ba meron (what’s up)?” asked a young female voice somewhere to the left behind me. “May sale sa Trinoma (is there a mall sale)?” responded the green-complexioned creature tapping the smart phone resting on my right arm.

Walking along Edsa lined thickly with commuters, I overheard haters of the usual suspects: ungrateful relatives, unappreciative bosses, and unfaithful Jade (why does no one ever curse the men these women are unfaithful with?).

It was nearly midnight as the second bus inched to BGC. My bus mates were outsourcing workers in a complicated relationship with their gadgets. As with the Edsa buses, which reduce passengers to stupor with a cocktail of soap drama, gag shows, and misogynist local movies, the BGC bus was completely silent until a man boarded on the next stop.

The fellow beside me glanced from his phone screen. Desultory chat about the “horrible” traffic. Long weekend coming up? asked the newcomer.

My seatmate confirmed: it’s a national holiday. National hero.

My eavesdropping self was elated: History remembered. This one even thinks Bonifacio the revolutionary deserves the honor that the American imperialists conferred on the reformist Rizal!

When the young men moved to the bus exits, my former seatmate added: Did you see his movie? Same guy promoting skin-whitening on Edsa!

I almost leapt out of the bus to chase that fellow: Which hero? What movie?

From a gigantic billboard in Ortigas, an actor smiles languorously at those who dream of bleached skin. The actor played Gregorio del Pilar, a hero of the Philippine-American War but certainly not the Supremo.

History documents that Bonifacio signed with his own blood a compact with fellow Katipuneros to liberate Filipinos from Spanish colonizers. He chose as his secret name, “Maypag-asa.”

“Hope” is a strange weapon to arm oneself with in a struggle against all odds.

Did Bonifacio foresee that, more than a century after the Philippine Revolution ended, we would have to summon this as we wage battle with historic amnesia and its champion, a giant Edsa billboard selling bleached dreams?