December 16th, 2009 
Jojo Agot 
Reposted from my old Friendster blog, dated December 23, 2007.
“Oh no, not again,” my brother sighed for the nth time as he stepped on the brakes of the car. We were driving along the convergence of Abad Santos and Rizal Avenue in Caloocan City and before we knew it, we just got into the bottleneck of heavy traffic. It was late in the afternoon on the 23rd of December and like us, people were headed to the nearest bargain centers to do some last minute shopping for giveaways. Outside, the cacophony that so defined the streets of Metro Manila blended together in wild chorus.
“Typical,” I mumbled as I reached forward to adjust the volume of the stereo playing another hit by Linkin Park. I was the self-appointed DJ and operator, or more appropriately, volume adjuster, for the trip.
We sat there unmoved for a few minutes impatiently waiting for the car ahead of us to move. As usual, out of sheer habit, we tried to while away time by telling funny stories we already knew, most of them recounted more than a hundred times already. It didn’t matter though, we still thought they were funny anyway and from time to time, peals of laughter would burst out from inside the car.
“Yeah, remember the time when Bob went to…” my other brother from the back blabbered away as we all listened as if we were hearing the story for the first time. We were eagerly anticipating the punch-line when we were interrupted by a soft knock on the window near the driver’s seat. Outside, a scrawny little boy with an improvised tambourine in his hands started singing a popular Christmas carol.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun, tadat tat tat
Tadat tat tat tat
Oh jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way…”
I could not help but burst into laughter as I sat there like a captured audience to his own version of the famous Jingle Bells song. Not that I was mocking his funny lyrics but that I found his improvisation amusing as he not only sang but added some dance moves to his repertoire.
He concluded his performance with a slurred version of “…we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year” and knocked on the window again for his Christmas gift. My brother who was at the left side of the car was so amused that he requested for an encore.
“Kuya, pamasko nalang po, pagod na ako eh…” (“But sir,” he pleaded, “I’m too tired to sing. Can you just give me something so I could go? Please?”) He was serious.
As the car moved a little forward and the atmosphere inside it shifted to another round of familiar stories, the image of the child doing an improvised solo performance in the middle of a congested road was glued in my head. The traffic light far ahead us went green but we barely moved. The stories got repeated yet again but in my mind, a flurry of mixed thoughts raged on.
“Yes, that was tiresome…” I thought to myself as I fought off the lump in my throat. I tried to look away for some diversion and after a while, I attempted to get into the conversation again. I succeeded, at least at the moment.
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