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The night I heard Caruso sing

And I thought the preceding post could have been my last.

We were cruising the SLEX last night and on the way to the Magallanes interchange when my friend realized that his plate number ends in 1, meaning he is banned from driving major highways that day. Before going out of the office we agreed that he will drop me off the Ayala MRT station as I make my way to the first night of the UP Fair. So we ignored EDSA, drove ahead and made a right turn at Don Bosco, praying all the while that MAPSA's eyes won't be on us.

It was a just-in-time situation and it did not end there. I was thinking of joining the diaspora of Makati employees via the long Ayala terminal escalator but chose the multi-level SM route instead, as it's breezier to walk to than the polluted air of the terminal (talk about how kaartehan can sometimes save you).

By the time I was inside the station the warning buzzer has gone off but I determined to squeeze myself in--not in my usual defeatist self to let others in because I have the maturity to wait. It was only at Shaw and an SMS that something sank in. The smell of fear.

At the extreme my family could have been composed of a young widow and two fatherless boys. Never mind that the world would have one less hearthrob to swoon to.

Multiply that a thousand times, in varying degrees, and you'll see the essence of noble causes fought for in the most senseless way ever imagined.

Not even the fact that humans are the only species in the planet who can devise creative ways to destroy each other can console me now.

...But even as we speak, they're loading bombs onto a white train. How can we afford to ever sleep so sound again? (Everything But The Girl, The Night I Heard Caruso Sing).

“The night I heard Caruso sing”