Waterworld
I should've known better: I live in Manila now. And when it rains, chances are, the streets are going to be so flooded blue whales can swim in the water.
Imagine my shock when, on a free Friday afternoon (free because classes were cancelled, thankfully), I settled business with the internet provider at UN Avenue, a 20-minute jeepney ride from where I stay. The irresponsible bloke that I was, I headed to the streets with no umbrella, hailed a cab, and waited for about half an hour in mid-traffic, watching cars detouring because this or that street was in deep water. Literally.
On my way home, I decided to take a jeepney that ran along Taft Avenue—yes, that dirty, third-worldish, claustrophobic highway where time seems to stand still because, more often that not, you'll reach your destination faster when walking than when riding a vehicle juxtaposed between two humongous buses.
The ride seemed to go on forever that I had nothing else to do but to stare at the other passengers' skin lesions and describe them in my mind—an erythematous papule on the man's left cheek, an atrophied scar on his elbow, and I won't continue this medical nonsense because I'd sound geekier than normal.
At one point, as the jeep traversed Padre Faura and Pedro Gil Streets, I asked myself how I was going to alight. Was there going to be the same degree of flooding in the next streets? The water outside was murky, clearly infested with microbes that could potentially harm my well-being, and the thought of soaking sneakers was just unbearable. Now I know how people in Waterworld felt like—an approximation, at least.
But the water level subsided at Nakpil where I got down, so that was something to be thankful for. I guess I have to get used to these things. After all, I live in Manila now.
Imagine my shock when, on a free Friday afternoon (free because classes were cancelled, thankfully), I settled business with the internet provider at UN Avenue, a 20-minute jeepney ride from where I stay. The irresponsible bloke that I was, I headed to the streets with no umbrella, hailed a cab, and waited for about half an hour in mid-traffic, watching cars detouring because this or that street was in deep water. Literally.
On my way home, I decided to take a jeepney that ran along Taft Avenue—yes, that dirty, third-worldish, claustrophobic highway where time seems to stand still because, more often that not, you'll reach your destination faster when walking than when riding a vehicle juxtaposed between two humongous buses.
The ride seemed to go on forever that I had nothing else to do but to stare at the other passengers' skin lesions and describe them in my mind—an erythematous papule on the man's left cheek, an atrophied scar on his elbow, and I won't continue this medical nonsense because I'd sound geekier than normal.
At one point, as the jeep traversed Padre Faura and Pedro Gil Streets, I asked myself how I was going to alight. Was there going to be the same degree of flooding in the next streets? The water outside was murky, clearly infested with microbes that could potentially harm my well-being, and the thought of soaking sneakers was just unbearable. Now I know how people in Waterworld felt like—an approximation, at least.
But the water level subsided at Nakpil where I got down, so that was something to be thankful for. I guess I have to get used to these things. After all, I live in Manila now.
Labels: daily
posted on July 19, 2009
1 Comments:
It's usually flooded on the other side of Taft Avenue (PCU and beyond). On your side (Nakpil, Orosa, Bocobo), only the Adriatico street is quite lower in elevation so floods are rare.
Hahahaha...the terms...very epistaxic!
jgg
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