It was raining when I left home at 6:10 this morning. There was no wind, just steady, regular water splatter from above to the roof, from the sky to the ground. Puddles have started to form on the road. Out of Southwoods Exit, the splatter became a downpour. Less than a minute later, all vehicles went high beam. Zero visibility.
Cars on the fast lane went 80kph, including mine. One or two dared go faster and took the other lane. Must be going to the airport or The Asian Hospital to give birth.
I started to entertain the grim: driving through waist-high flood, breaking down, being towed, colliding to another car - under the rain.
Until an illusion of dry asphalt road loomed. I blinked. It was real. It was dry land from Sucat to eternity! Has Moses just come a-visiting?
One doesn't question nature anymore. Acceptance of the odd, embracing the unexpected are the norms now. Freak of nature is passe, almost like the word itself.
Just when I thought everything has reached northeast and settled there, this brown Innova with plate number NIS 105 cut through my path a few meters to where the E-Pass lane separates itself, atop that bridge (that has no lake nor stream under it) before Villamor. My mouth hung open. Unbelievable! What an irresponsible, inconsiderate, reckless driver!
Down the slope, the cars lined up to the E-Pass only booth. An E-Pass would not work again and the owner was cursing everyone about E-Pass incompetence. E-Pass has turned E-Pissed!
The Innova that cut short my tracks was in neutral before me, held in traffic. I was giving his tires dagger looks hoping they would burst. What has he accomplished but my ire and this blog? Great feat indeed! The nincompoop doesn't deserve to use the highway nor drive a car. He is no different from the pedestrians crossing the long C5 Highway, no different from the tricycle drivers plying EDSA. He thought he could hide his caveman breeding behind the wheel in a car so tinted he is either afflicted with skin cancer or so ugly the world would puke seeing his face!
He could have caused me my life in an accident orchestrated by someone who has no regard for others, nor for his life. One wonders what kind of lowlife species he belongs. One no longer bothers to ask what pathetic excuse he has for living.
We don't question nature's whims anymore. I dread the day we no longer bother to get mad at freaks, the day we actually follow the rule of turning the other cheek. At Eastwood, the sun celebrates the morning with a smile and a shine. The coffee at The Bean tells me to remember poetic justice. The Salmon Scramble, the life thereafter.
The driver of NIS 105 must have had a bad schooling, sitting at the last row by the corner near the wastebasket.
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