Dead End

Dead End

The Commuter Experience

Written by Ariana Enriquez and Reign Iris Centeno

SUNKISSED AND sweaty, passengers flock to the crowded and unkempt stations before rush hour, ready to endure another long and grueling commute.

Heads down and defeated, this is the price Filipinos pay to get to work and have a shot at living a better life.

The cramped procession to schools and workplaces has become a familiar scene in the local metropolis in recent decades. As the dystopian Metro Manila public transportation teems with car-centric roads and pedestrian-unfriendly sidewalks, commuters continually hope they dodge unexpected roadblocks throughout their journey. However—in the face of petty crimes, unhygienic vehicles, and unpredictable flooding—a decent ride remains frustratingly out of reach. It’s enough to drive commuters crazy if they let it.

Denise Langurayan (2 BS PSY) wastes an average of four and a half hours a day for a round trip to-and-fro school.

Start

6:15 AM

From her starting point, Langurayan walks for 10 to 15 minutes to the tricycle terminal at the entrance of the village.

7:15 AM

She hails a ride to Pasig Palengke then takes a utility vehicle to SM Megamall. By this point, she has spent one hour on the road.

7:40 AM

Five minutes more of walking leads her to the nearest Metro Rail Transit Line 3 Ortigas Station. Within 10 to 20 minutes of riding this, she disembarks and switches to Light Rail Transit (LRT) Line 2 at Araneta Center-Cubao Station.

7:50 AM

Upon arrival at LRT-2 Katipunan Station, she either rides a tricycle or walks again to Ateneo de Manila University Gate 2.5, depending on her budget.

At the end of the round trip—now ready to begin her school day—she has already taken 20,000 steps according to her pace count.

End

Back and forth, all of these would cost her a maximum of

Php 250 per day

depending on whether she chooses to go by foot as a replacement for the tricycle.

Alternatively, fees for car-hailing services could reach

Php 900 for a trip to school

Vehicle booking applications offer more convenient rides, but these alternatives may not be sustainable long-term vis-à-vis inflation. While motorcycle-hailing platforms are cheaper, Langurayan considers them as more dangerous options. In fact, one time she rode a motorcycle, she almost fell from sleepiness.

Commuting was like going to war.

Nothing eases the inevitable fear felt by Langurayan in commuting, something which she likened to “going into war.”

To minimize health risks, she avoids public restrooms throughout the commute, brings a pack of extra masks, and sometimes holds her breath when people go near her. Although it might hurt, she puts her bag in front of her to protect it from possible snatching. Shoelaces are secured, and the exact amount of fare is kept in her pocket.

The expenses of commuting also affect outfit choices and personal time for hobbies. Langurayan trades self-expression for safety, mobility, and comfort. “I’m more cautious of what I wear. I am a very fashionable person. Pero [wearing tank tops,] hindi na ‘to puwede ‘pag magco-commute ako, unfortunately (But wearing tank tops is not suitable for commuting, unfortunately),” she shares.

I

can't

wear

this

can't

wear

this

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Aside from not being able to study on the road for many reasons, commuting sacrifices time for relaxation. Sometimes, Langurayan skips breakfast in the morning to leave as soon as possible. She has also rejected a number of gatherings and after-school bonding activities with friends because the commute was discouraging. The moment she arrives home drained and exhausted, Langurayan devotes the rest of her evening to academics until she is overwhelmed by sleep. The routine then repeats the next day.

From her village in Cainta, Rizal, Langurayan used to navigate the Pasig and Katipunan commute every weekday to attend one class on campus during Intersession of AY 2022–2023.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

Eat. Sleep. Commute. Repeat.

The accumulation of physical and mental exhaustion that came with commuting on top of a heavy workload prompted Langurayan to look for accommodations near campus. Now, she stays at a dormitory since the first semester of fully onsite classes.

Effective transportation is a crucial component of the Filipino dream, but for many commuters, it has become synonymous with suffering.

Langurayan’s commuting tales are a depiction of the reality that Filipinos have to go through every single day.

According to Joshua Vargas, a Filipino student taking up Urban Studies at the Yale-National University Singapore, Filipinos have restrained choices when it comes to public transportation: Either they get stuck in a never-ending line, fighting for a seat just to get home, or they pay exorbitant fares from ride-hailing services. The choice—or more often than not, the lack thereof—boils down to what one can afford.

Drawing from personal experiences, Vargas states that Singapore’s transportation model is “very hard to translate in the context of the Philippines.” While Singapore boasts its reliance on successful long-term urban planning, too many of the Philippines’ public sectors have ties to private sectors, hence proliferating the avenues for corruption.

Moreover, as cities’ various transportation systems are operated by separate corporations and thus remain disjointed from one another, most people spend 15 to 20 minutes walking to reach the different public transportation stations sprawled across the city.

Such issues in public transportation extend to the supply side: the transportation workers themselves. This is according to Hyacenth Bendaña (AB MEC ‘19), who is part of the Move as One Coalition, a group of Filipino organizations and individuals who advocate for a safer and more inclusive Philippine public transportation system. A proud daughter of a jeepney driver, Bendaña shares that they suffer limited support from the concerned institutions.

Operating on a boundary system, which requires jeepney owners to pay their drivers a minimum daily income,

jeepney drivers are forced to spend at least

15 hours on the road to meet this level of pay.

Bendaña expresses that if the driver wants to take home money, they need to

work extra hours.

This means sacrificing mealtimes and immersing themselves in inhumane conditions—part and parcel of their jobs in the informal sector.

Bendaña laments that jeepney drivers have long been antagonized for broader issues such as their contributions to environmental degradation—even when private cars also share the blame. She points out that it is the country’s car-centrism that greatly impacts the environment. One of the manifestations of this is San Miguel Corporation’s plan to build the Pasig River Expressway (PAREX), which received flak despite its claim to construct a six-lane road “sustainably and safely.”

Proposed PAREX

Taken together, such issues with public transportation have become ruinously expensive for both commuters and drivers. The lack of effective action in recent decades has made the country’s priorities clear: the private individual, the private vehicle, and the place it has to be—even if it means erasing public space and public lives.

At the end of the day, all roads of calvary lead back to inefficient governance.

For instance, road-widening projects—with their cost-efficiency and visibility—have become a common avenue for local governments to spend their budgets. In reality, Vargas claims that these projects actually worsen traffic congestion and commuting, as more roads lead people to want more cars. Despite the implementation of traffic reduction strategies such as the Number Coding Scheme, systemic changes barely happen since high-income families can purchase multiple cars to evade coding.

To alleviate the situation, Bendaña proposes that road lanes should be divided accordingly, instead of all being allocated to private cars only. For instance, in highways like EDSA or Commonwealth, the first lane should be one where people can walk freely without the hindrance of faulty fire hydrants and trash bags. The second lane should be allocated for bike lanes, and the third and fourth lanes should be intended for public transport vehicles. The last two lanes should then be allocated to private vehicle owners.

1

People

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Bikes

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Public Transport

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Private Vehicles

Bendaña also highlights the importance of the private sector when it comes to public transportation. “A lot of the [incentives] to shift to different modes of transport really comes from the private sector,” she expresses.

The commuting woes of Langurayan, Vargas, and Bendana all provide a glimpse into the long-standing wrongs of the local transportation scene. Transcending mere personal problems, their narratives emphasize where the urban planning, budget allocations, and policy implementations went wrong. The government may impose temporary solutions such as the Libreng Sakay, but with its criticized unsustainability, public funds may be better allocated to systemic reforms that yield long-term results.

Langurayan’s commuting tales reflect a lived reality experienced by a lot of other Filipinos. With that, she draws on the power of the individual in holding the government accountable:

Filipino resilience has been overworked [that] they keep using it as an excuse to never prioritize the Filipinos…

[We] don’t deserve to be ignored by people supposed to be servicing [us].

Denise Langurayan (2 BS PSY)

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