Death of An Idea

As I wait for a jeepney ride bound to Quiapo along the not-so-crowded E. Rodriguez Avenue, I pondered a lot of things that presented to me in full detail. Its as if I opened a pop-up book all of a sudden. The stopping and forwarding of vehicles. The few seconds wait for that green light to go down from red. The blackest of smokes from the mufflers of a dilapidated PUJ. The look of the passengers as I was about to step inside and find a vacant (most of the times warm) seat. And when you look at them as well, they gaze upon another thing or person next before me as if they didn't see me. My careful breathing suggests calm. Or wonder.

I wore my fake Rayban Sunglasses because there was too much light out side. It was from the angry sun. Or was it from the shiny car's exteriors? I'm blaming both.

I wonder why women wearing skirts as high as their thighs could hug, still has the guts to ride a public vehicle. The worst part was when she sat opposite you. And when you accidentally looked down between their legs, that's the time they cover it with both of their hands and give you a shy and yet tantrum look. Its as if it was your fault why they have to wear such or why they need to tighten her belt and bear riding a public utility vehicle. I looked away. But I didn't pretend that I saw a black underwear rudely smiles at me. Should I apologize for the lack of my discreetness and having an observing male eyes? Should I make the sign of the cross and mock an Halleluia?
I'm no saint. Was it my male hormones? These things happen. Charge it to experience, then.

I walked the path to where I work, a catholic school passed me by. A few Commercial Banks are all around me. And the scorching sun reminds you to shield him/her with anything. I reflected on all the things I have observed and concluded that every detail, structure and living or moving thing that surrounds me has some story to tell. An idea. And this was the beginning of an idea of mine about dying ideas. Or the death of it. Much more questions arose when I thought about it. Like if an idea ends or dies, are we doomed to redundancy? Is it really possible? Is extinction of life means the end of ideas? Or ideas came before our existence?

I pushed the glass door and simultaneously, the bell that signifies someone just arrives or leaves the premises, rang in its discreet way. I head on to the kitchen and located my time card and wrote my arrival time. My penmanship sucks. I honestly wrote the time on my cellphone. Not the time on the wall, which was 15 minutes ahead from the standard time.

Time. Hmm.. now that's another idea I'd like to ponder about.

I conclude that it may seem impossible to have a requiem for ideas. It looks endless. The death of an idea itself is already an idea.