It could have been a horrible Saturday.
I was in the passenger seat. It was a bit raining.
Normally, EDSA gets on my nerves. That’s why I thank God for the MRT. I may have had more than my share of almost-raped mornings while on it but it’s fast and my flat and office are a stone’s throw from train stations. I abhor travelling across the metropolis if not on the train. Like that night.
That Saturday night, the traffic was more terrible than usual. I don’t drive but I know that EDSA is so not a driver’s paradise road. Wrong waiting lanes. Misplaced U-turn slots. Yellow lanes. Stupid pink barricades. Uncivilized people crossing the road when and where they’re not supposed to. Air pollution. Water pollution (Pasig River). Noise pollution. Bayani Fernando Metro-Gwapo posters pollution. Disgusting urinals. And buses. Fucking buses.
Fucking buses.
And it’s always dark. My Geology professors said that Manila is one of the darkest cities in the world. Aaaaah, I just hate EDSA. I hate it, hate it, hate it.
I hate it.
That Saturday night, bumpy EDSA was being its usual self. We spent almost an hour stuck somewhere between Santolan and Cubao.
But he was holding my hand the entire time.
And he kissed me.
Then he looked around and then turned his gaze to me. And he smiled. Looked away. Kept his eyes straight ahead. “EDSA is unusually beautiful tonight,” he said.
It could have been a horrible Saturday. But he made all the difference.