Not one of those one-tear-down-your-cheek because a heart string was pulled, but an honest to goodness cry. There was a puddle on my cubicle desk the size of my palm, because I was too shy to showcase my emotional agitation so I was face down on the desk.

I was listening to Dave Matthew's Oh, the only song which can make me cry spoonfuls of tears at any random moment. It was because I miss my mom, my old mom.

I hear you still talk to me
As if you're sitting in that dusty chair

The other day I came home to a glass of sugar water in the sink. This is frustrating as my mother is a stroke-patient diabetic. She can not move her left hand and can barely maneuver her left leg. A glass of sugar water is a death wish. Months of all this had deadened me, had this happened a year ago I would have been stark enraged. That night, I had simply let out a sigh and poured the contents of the glass down the kitchen sink.

It's cold and darkness falls
It's as if you're in the next room so alive
I could swear I hear you singing to me

Prior to her stroke, my mother is a lawyer. She braves long bus rides to provide to her four children-all by herself. She took beating after beating from my abusive father. I believe this had only made her more loving and protective. She is what strong should be. Looking at the four of us, I can sincerely say that we did not turn out so bad, however we are just subjected to the luck of the draw--or the severe lack of good luck in it.

I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell

This entry is for my mother, because she makes me cry on an almost daily basis. Despite all the neurosis, suicide attempts before and after her stroke, shouting matches, and defiance, I love her oh so well.

Riding the FX or those vans are a big part of my life. I spent a good two hours everyday inside those careening pieces of metal which traverse Mindanao Ave. Most times, I just sleep on it especially during the mornings. Days like this one, when I am wide-eyed and excited, I just sit patiently humming random songs from point A to point B.

Believe it or not, I like FX rides or commuting in general. I like long bus rides and train rides and public transportation (except for jeepneys but that's another story.) However, despite my declared love for FX rides there are, of course, exceptions and limits to my love. There are people in FX rides who irritate me to no end, I just want to smash their faces against the glass. Aside from the brutally obvious, like those who sit like they paid 10pesos more than you did, here are some of them:

• The Lovey-dovey couples. It is not that I am disgusted at PDA, I actually enjoy it myself, it is just that there is always a time and place for everything and that there is a line between tastelessness and romance. I do not mind seeing couples holding hands or even kissing inside the commuter van, however they should keep their conversation to themselves. I don't wanna hear them go cooing at each other. "Di pa poh. Gutom na nga ako eeee." OK, bhe, san tayo kakain, bhe?" "Eeee, hold hands tayooo, bhe" "I lovez you poh talaga poh." Motherfvck, get a room! Stop stroking his goddamn legs and crotch, and you, woman, I am not interested in your man.
• The DJ. I believe that there is only one person who should have a monopoly of the music to be played during the FX ride: the driver! No matter what he plays, you can not complain openly about it. I hate it when the driver plays weird Pinoy novelty songs, I'd hate it even more so if it is from a fellow passenger. These are those passengers who play their mp4 players so loud there is no room for you to guess what they are playing. "She moves her body like a cycloooone/ And she makes me want to do it all night looong." Keep your music to yourself, and stop polluting this sardine can with your bad heavily remixed pop R&B. Perhaps, blame it on the fact that I associate R&B with the worst kind of boys I ever dated.
• The Vanity Advocate. The commuter van is a closed space where smells and sounds are shared by every single one of those in it. No matter how bad or good the smells and sounds are, it is inevitable to smell and hear them. There are some of those who believe that the van is an extension of their boudoir and continue their morning rituals in the said ride. Wearing lipgloss and combing their hair and even a little make-up is fine by me. However, there are those who spray perfume, put on scented lotion, powder their faces like a geisha and assume that everyone is delighted by what they put on their bodies. NO. Be considerate. I hate the smell of vanilla perfume, I do not like dusty powder in my eyes, I get icked by that perfume, if you like it do it in an open space, woman.
• Those who came from Hell. It is understandable how, sometimes, aircon in some of those vans fail at giving the much needed refreshing burst of colder air. If you are suffering, understand that we are suffering too. So please be mindful that we all paid the same, commensurate amount of cash and DO NOT point the aircondition to just your direction. It is not my fault you do drugs, you ran around EDSA, or ate Lugaw just before you got here, learn to share. There will of course be some exceptions, however, the norm is to share.
• The Town Drunk/Manyak. I have had my share of bad van seatmates, those who can not seem to get any or those who get their kicks rubbing their hands in unseen places. My boobs are very small, thank you. My legs are very thin, so get your goddamn hands away from me and away from your crotch. I have hit someone too many times for this, and I am not afraid to do it again. No, pretending to fall asleep on what is very little of my chest is not accidental. I do not care if you throw up outside the window or hit your head on the seats, I am not accomodating. You are not my date, my boyfriend, my friend, my brother and I do not take care of male strangers who look like they can handle themselves better than I can.

I understand that there are more of them out there. There are many more characters to hate and assasinate in my head, however these are but some I encounter on an almost daily basis. I do not advocate hate, however I advocate consideration and understanding that FX/commuter vans are public transportation.

I feign surprise when I hear it, but hearing it too many times validates the idea to me. 

I avoid confrontation as much as possible, and flight is my default defense mechanism. I hate to talk about my feelings or a lot of things in general, only when absolutely necessary. Believe it that when I do delve in it might mean I am moving away from you. I have only successfully talked about my feelings once, but that was because I had the intention of disappearing and leaving things behind.

Today, I asked you a favor. I hate having to explain about these things or giving too much details at the risk of losing another friend's confidence.

While questions may be the a good way to come up with answers and to make sense of some things, there are just some things which has to be taken at face value, and that too many questions are not to be asked and/or warranted.