Round Trip To Memory Lane

I had to ride round trip that night. It was Westlife's concert at the Araneta, and the crowd was so dense that I couldn't even get near the sliding doors of the train. In my far right, there was the women's section of the MRT, and it was so full that they had to line up beyond that section. It was the first time I've seen that happen. In front of me were adult men who pushed their way forward. Seconds after I stood behind them, they had to take a second look at me, a seventeen-year-old girl who probably looked years older and pretty with her mastery of "barely there" make-up and an almost plunging shirt.

I lied to the guards and told them I had to go to Taft, which was on the other side of where I should go. I think they had an idea that I was about to ride round trip, but what can they do? So they let me in and out without having to swipe my card again. When I got inside the train, a seat was immediately available after one stop. All I had to do was sit and wait 'til I get to Cubao, which, according to my estimation, would be thirty minutes after the start of the show.

People around me began to leave station after station until we reached Taft, the last station. Only two of us were left, I figured that the other person wouldn't mind waiting long than pushing her way into the train. If it wasn't for the aircon, I could have concluded that the MRT was the modern day version of those trains used in Hitler's concentration camps. The two of us sat there alone for less than a minute before people started rushing into the train which was now en route to Monumento.

Less than a minute was enough time for a quick flashback of when I was years younger. I saw myself, a grade school student, sleeping comfortably and tucked in my dad's wide arms. I woke up to see for the first time the sad, barely lighted highway towards Taft. I asked him where we were and he answered. I can't remember the details, but I believe I did something wrong that night, and we had to go somewhere to do something, so he went with me even though it was very late. Then another flashback came to mind, still in the MRT. I was twisting my body a little less than 90 degrees towards the window to contemplate and watch the moving scenery before me. My brother did the same, since either my mom or my dad wouldn't allow us to kneel on the seats. My dad was talking about something called "round trip" and I couldn't understand it at that time, no matter how he and my mom explained it to me.

Now I understand. I have grown up and I'm able to ride the MRT alone. But I would trade my age to be able to be wrapped in my father's arms again. Screw growing up, because now, he has to go abroad to be able to pay for this laptop I'm using to type this thing, and he wouldn't go home since he has to pay for my debut and college education. Screw growing up, because the last time he came home, I opened my arms for a hug, but he settled for a quick peck on the cheek because he was hesitant to embrace a teenage girl who now has boobs. Screw conformity, because we rarely say "I love you" and it gets harder to do sweet things each day. Will there be a day in the future when my parents would cuddle me like they did when I was a kid, and neither any of us would feel uneasy? Will I be able to nap on afternoons again as my father stretches both his arms, my mother laying her head on his right arm, while I and my brother lay our heads on the other one?

I honestly don't know. And I'm dead afraid to say no. I was close to tears on my way to Cubao, but I had to shut my eyes so tight and shoo off my thoughts. I would not cry all of a sudden in that train. People would think I'm crazy! After all, I am growing up, I knew better. Perhaps I'll continue this wishful thinking some other time, preferrably when I'm alone. At least last night it was good to be seventeen. The concert started just after I got in. I've been dying to see this since I was a kid.