writing as if no one could read my thoughts

Are we where we live in?

Yes, that's right. "Are we where we live in?" Somehow I'm not too sure if that's even grammatically correct but that's the question which popped into my head while I was on my way home from school today (or rather, yesterday, as it is already 12:46 am of June 18, 2008).

Stuck in the usual 8pm traffic jam along EDSA, I see wired fences used by the authorities to separate lanes and the gray concrete pillars which hold the MRT. I stare at the gray pillars a little longer than necessary and feel the roughness of the pavement as the car's tires moved lazily towards the tunnel's end. This is Manila, or a part thereof actually. But still, this is Manila.

From where I sat, there's nothing I could find which resembles romance or dreaminess. No feeling of mystique that the cobbled streets and ancient spires of Prague are able to generate easily among its travelers. No desire to French Kiss, Paris-style. No liberating sense of spirit and defiance that even the hustle-and-bustle nebula of New York can evoke. Just slabs of concrete along the stretch of EDSA and a stream of red lights before me, showing just how congested Manila traffic can get.

I look around and see pedestrians and commuters, all waiting for a chance to cross the street - unmindful of the jaywalking statutes, of the clumsily arranged barricades - or for a ride home. The drivers are getting impatient, as you can determine from the way they honk their vehicles' horns and how they trrry tooo incchhh theiirr carrs forward, to the left, to the right in the hope of escaping this traffic jail.

Nothing romantic there too.

After years and scores of living in such a wonderful place (feel both my sarcasm and honesty - yes. Manila is a wonderful place), do we assimilate the gray-ness of EDSA into our very own lives and personal character? Do we do things in a humdrum manner - consciously, unconsciously - because the place does not call for imagination? Do we forget about our respective "inner child" and stop dancing in the rain because of pollution?

Yes, we may get sick and, yes, acid rain is reality, but what about excitement? Laughter? And just plain fun?

The place has taught us how to be independent, practical, and resourceful but I feel that it has also taken away a big chunk of our spirit. It's saddening, when you actually think about it.

Or then again, maybe "sad" is just a tad too romantic a word. And after much effort, we still feel nothing: not the loss of spirit, not the drowning of imagination. We stare into the crowd and see not one soul. But, still, we belong here - in this comfortable routine of indifference and pragmatism.

Still.

Like those gray concrete pillars along the stretch of EDSA.