Stations of the road
I prayed for peace and for MMDA to finally optimize the timing of the traffic lights on Ortigas extension. One miracle at a time
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Daily TribuneI prayed for peace and for MMDA to finally optimize the timing of the traffic lights on Ortigas extension. One miracle at a time
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Enrique Garcia
They say Holy Week is a time for prayer, reflection, and escape. Most people go north, some go south, and the rest of us stay behind to watch the city… disappear. No honking, no number coding, no car or motorcycle cutting you off. Just the hum of your engine and the rare miracle of finding the other lane completely… empty.
I didn’t go to Baguio. I didn’t camp in Zambales. I didn’t even brave Tagaytay’s traffic vortex that begins somewhere in Sta. Rosa and ends with your patience. I stayed. In Metro Manila. And I drove.
And what I found was — dare I say — spiritual.
There’s something holy about cruising down EDSA without a single bus trying to race you. Guadalupe was clear. Shaw was silent. Even the flyover felt like it was floating on a cloud of blessed cement. For once, I didn’t need Waze to beat the traffic. And for once, I heard my own thoughts.
I did visit a church, too. Just to clarify, this was not purely a motoring pilgrimage. I lit a candle, said a prayer, and reflected on the essence of the Holy Week… then wiped my head because the heat inside the church felt like being slow-roasted into holiness. I prayed for peace and for MMDA to finally optimize the timing of the traffic lights on Ortigas extension. One miracle at a time.
And while others were on a real pilgrimage, I was out here discovering Metro Manila’s hidden miracles. Behold:
Like the Seven Sorrows, but with lots of parking and peace of mind.
That spot in front of the drugstore that’s usually guarded by a sidewalk alpha male and a plastic chair is yours. For free. Parallel parking becomes a pleasure. Even in Salcedo village.
You know that left at Kalayaan Avenue in Makati that feels like it’s always wrong even when it’s right? This week, it felt allowed. Like the city finally gave its blessing to turn left safely.
EDSA turned into the expressway it always dreamed of being — smooth and uncannily quiet. No swerving vehicles and very few brake-checking buses. You even have time to admire the billboards.
No waiting. No tissue confetti on the floor. Just clean tiles and solitude. Like a tiny retreat house, but with urinals and an air freshener.
Ortigas. Shaw. Kalentong. All green. In a row. A sight rarer than a barkada outing that starts on time. You don’t speed up to beat the red. You float.
The fishball carts disappeared like sins after confession. Even the kwek-kwek was on leave. The usual corner vendors are gone. Probably somewhere cooler, holier, or both. I considered frying at home. But it’s not the same without the manong’s sauce and the mini paper plate.
Your crispy danggit arrives hot, although honestly, everything’s hot this week. The sun is cooking the sidewalk, but somehow, your rider still made it on time. No delays, no confusion. Just heat and a bag of kindness.
At one point, I pulled over near a familiar underpass. Normally, it’s a war zone of honking and merging dread. But that day, it was empty. I rolled down the window. No smoke. No shouting.
I thought, this is what this city sounds like without the noise. And with temperatures above 40°C.
It was so quiet, I swear even the poorly covered manholes and potholes looked... contemplative. Like they, too, were taking a break from breaking suspensions.
Roadside parking was a breeze. Banks were shut. Streets were clear. A little eerie, a little peaceful. Like a Sunday morning that lasted for four days.
You begin to wonder what if it was always like this?
Then you remember that Monday is here. Coding is back. The road resurrection ends, and they resume their role as the nation’s biggest stress test.
But for one fleeting week, we lived in the Metro Manila we all dream of.
And I got to drive through it with A/C working overtime and a peace so rare it felt like a four-wheeled salvation.
