He is in his 60's. This thin, frail and dark skinned man who I initially thought to be on TB medications. His equally shabby looking taxi had a malfunctioned A/C unit, car locks hanging in a thread and windows salvaged by tapes. As I slowly slid into the back chair, I told him where I was heading to then closed the door and stared away.
Taxi rides are my golden moments- moments where I had to carefully go through my one million and one neural activities...grieving and death, family problems, inconsiderate work colleagues, financial obligations, life's purpose, pursuits of spiritual calmness.
There was nothing too special about this day. It was a typical day until the driver opened his mouth. "Ma'am, siguro ang favorite figure of speech mo ay irony" (Ma'am, maybe your favorite figure of speech is irony). Then I retorted back: "Siguro nga po. Paano niyo po nasabi na iyon ang favorite figure of speech ko" (Maybe. But how can you tell that that is my favorite figure of speech). On his rear view mirror, I can only see that he momentarily grinned and continued his strong grip as he glided along Quirino Avenue.
It was weird to be asked that way and weirder to be asked by a stranger. On the back of my head, I thought maybe that was his generic introductory statement to all of his passengers. But with the way he delivered it matter-of-factly made me felt a bit eerie.
The driver then said: "Kasi Ma'am, ang tipo niyong tao ang mga mahilig sa irony, pakiramdam ko po bitbit niyo lahat lahat." (Because you look as one of those who like irony. I feel that you have been carrying everything).
On that week, I had been praying for a little bit of happiness- just a pinch enough to make me survive any given day. And in that day, I could no longer hide my depression. I could no longer wear that happy mask I conveniently wear in front of people.
I do not want to contest the driver because I know what he saw in me was true.
What he saw in that rear view mirror was the same face who I had been telling to smile more everyday.
The driver saw a face who had been trying so hard to please people at work, who had been sleepless for months filling up for other people's work but was misunderstood.
What he saw was that little girl who hoped that someday she could still ask her father's solutions to the most difficult mathematics problems.
What he saw was someone who feels alone and helpless.
Of all the figures of speech, the driver simply thought irony is my favorite because I looked depressed. And I say, he guessed right. I thrive in irony because you need to know the opposite to get the meaning right. You need to look deep to know the truth.
And in my case, you need to unmask that face to see that I am bleeding inside.
