Have you experienced riding a public transport with the same person over and over and over again? I have. And let me tell you this, IT WAS FREAKY!
So here is what happened . .
My class in the university belt starts from 7:30 so my usual trip begins with 6:00. I take the Cubao jeepney to get to the LRT.
Cubao jeepneys are found all over my place so there is no difficulty in spotting one. When I reached Countryside, a man in his maybe . . . 18 or 19 rides the jeepney I was in and sits across me. I did not pay attention to him.
The following week, same routine, I got into a jeepney. I sat in the farthest corner, beside the opening. My mind was elsewhere so it was later when I realized that someone familiar was with me again. Oh! There he was sitting across me like the week before. This time, I ceased the moment to study him. He was wearing a polo, like the ones UST students wear, but I doubt he studies there because his school logo was printed in the shade of blue. He has a semi-cal hairstlye and muscular arms. I was disturbed by his facial hairs so I couldn't tell if he reached the standard of handsomeness. After a minute or so, I began ingnoring him again.
The next week, I ran a little behind schedule. Shoot! I rushed to catch up the departing jeepney. I made it. When I reached the Countryside . . . yes, you guessed right. Ugh! There he was again, with his handbag and textbook like before. What time must I leave to avoid him? Tell me. Sigh. I tried not to look at him, I could see in my peripheral vision that he is. In my mind, he must have noticed our unusual encounter. When his gaze turned uncomfortable, I looked at him. The second our eyes met, he averted his eyes elsewhere. Yeah right, as if that move isn't obvious enough. Pathetic.
A week after that, I did not see him. I got irritated when I found myself searching the crowd for a semi-cal head. What the hell?! I must have gone crazy for a moment there. Ew. D.I.S.G.U.S.T.I.N.G.
A week later, damn, he was back! This time, he was completely and unheedingly gawking at me. And no, I am not exaggerating. No matter how much I give him a cold stare, his eyes stayed glued to me. Pervert, maniac, asshole . . . each of this word came across my lips in a hush tone, tasting the acid burning in my tongue. What does he think I look like? A musuem artifact! Ugh! I hate staring people.
The next Thursday, I took a ride with my mom . . .