THE EVENTS narrated here happened some six years ago but it will always be my Christmas story.
After I retired as Director of Animal Kingdom Foundation, I joined the corporate world commuting to the office at Bonifacio Global City every day on the Metro Rail Transit or the MRT. And that 20-minute or so train ride from North Station to Ayala Station was an interesting microcosm of people, their values and behavior.
For someone like Moi who is a keen observer of life, every train ride is a fascinating experience whether good or bad.
Take note, the first train coach of the MRT is exclusive for the elderly, pregnant women, families with little children, persons with disability and women. I qualify on two counts as Moi is a senior citizen and an open heart surgery survivor so the events here happened on the first coach only.
It was December, just a few days before Christmas. On my way home the train was quite full. It was the holiday season so people seemed to pop out of the woodwork. As it was full I was standing in the middle of the coach near the entrance holding on to the handrails for balance and support.
At the Guadalupe Station, I noticed some kind of commotion at the train’s entrance and saw an old woman try to lift someone from a wheelchair; it seemed that the people near the train’s entrance would not give way to an old woman and a person on a wheel chair so she had to lift the person just to be able to board the train and drag the wheelchair in.
The security guard pushed the wheel chair so it was able to get into the train, and there I saw an old woman crawling on her knees carrying a disabled teenager who had the same condition as Stephen Hawkins, complete with the shaking body and saliva pouring on the sides of his mouth. On top of it there was an oxygen tube attached to his nose and a tank the old woman was also trying to carry.
Nobody gave them room to move, not even lift a finger as they were literally on the floor of the train and the people around them looked like they were just going to step on them. That sight triggered something in me.
I started shouting at the people to give them room to get in, nobody responded so I literally pulled bodies, kicked them away and even punched a couple of people to give room for the old woman to move. When they were finally able to get in front of the seats, the people sitting there just looked bothered and never gave them space.
It was too much for me. I pulled people away from the seats so the old woman can finally sit and put her disabled son to lie down on the seat. The irony of it all was that a majority of the people on that train was mostly women in their 20s and 30s and they didn’t even care about the old woman and her disabled son.
The ones sitting that I had to pull away to give way for the old woman and her son were young women, you know, the teller, secretary, sales girl type complete with war paint make-up.
When I saw that the old woman and her son were quite okay sitting down, I moved away. I looked at the people in the train and they were all trying to avoid my gaze, in shame perhaps?
The old woman and her son got off at the Kamuning Station in Quezon City. As they were standing up to leave the train, the people who before ignored them started helping her get the boy into the wheelchair. As they passed by me the old woman touched my arm and said, “Sir, Merry Christmas, meron pa palang mabuting tao tulad mo,”
It was a good thing I was wearing my shades. Perhaps it was all too much for me, tears were flowing down my eyes.
Of course, aside from the usual apathy, there were also some random acts of kindness onboard the MRT. Several weeks later I was on my way home and the train was full as usual and Moi was standing in the middle of the train holding on to the hand rails.
Also standing in front of me was a young woman in her mid 20s with a big backpack. Eventually the crowd started thinning out and a seat became available. Being an old school gentleman I offered her the seat, and this was her reply, “Thank you sir, but I am a nurse and I can see the scar on your chest. I know you are an open heart surgery survivor, you need the seat more than me.”
At that time I was wearing a loose Henley type linen shirt with a couple of buttons open. I never realized that my scar was visible.
I took the seat and thanked the young woman for her kindness.
That random act restored my faith in the goodness of people. (brotherlouie16@gmail.com/PN)
