It was in trying to make my life easier that they actually made it harder.

             I grew up being brought to and from school because they didn’t trust the school bus service. If I had taken the school bus, I might have met classmates, friends, upperclassmen who lived within the vicinity. But I didn’t, so I never met anyone outside of my immediate classmates. I grew up cliquish –always playing with my cousins—and shy, not knowing how to act when left in a room of strangers.

             I wasn’t allowed to carpool with friends because “if ever there’s an accident, your friend’s parents won’t save you.” If I was allowed to carpool, I might have learned how to relax around my friends’ parents, and I might have learned that friends had lives outside of playing during recess time and lunch. But I didn’t, so I never really met my friends’ parents, and their lives were always confined to what I could immediately see about them. I never quite learned to inquire about what was happening in the family, how they were outside of school, because I never felt privy to that information. In some ways, I never learned how to be a friend that would stick to you through thick and thin. I never knew enough about the person to stick around that long.

             I never commuted in my life. I never grew up wanting to learn how to commute. If I did, then jeepneys and all forms of public transport would not have become alien to me, and I wouldn’t have grown up thinking that anything alien was bad. If I refused to believe that exposure to pollution would aggravate my asthma, maybe my immune system would’ve gotten used to it and I would’ve gotten over my asthma. If I had enough confidence in myself, I wouldn’t allow myself to get caught up in the paranoia that jeeps are dangerous: a lot of hold-uppers know when you’re a first-time commuter, and there are a lot of malicious people that will try to cop a feel at you. But because of all those warnings, I never learned how to commute and I never got up enough guts to try. So even if I know which jeep to ride so that I can get home, even if I know that I can probably take a taxi home, I will always be overtaken by the paranoia and the fear, and I will probably succumb to calling someone to pick me up. Because that’s what I was taught, and that’s all I know.

             And now I’m learning how to drive. The funny thing is, they’re acting as though I’ve known how to drive forever. I’m supposed to know just when I can change lanes, just how much pressure to apply on the brakes and the gas, and just how to turn the corners properly. But I don’t. Because I was never taught how to. Because driving on my own would have been too dangerous, too scary. Why learn how to drive when your parents can bring you to places? Parking is difficult to find nowadays, especially in the business district. Having a driver will make things infinitely easier.

             Isn’t that how it’s always been? It’s always been about making life easier. But where am I now? I’m too helpless to know how to take care of myself, too scared to even try, too paranoid to trust in the real world.

             How has that made life easier? Can anyone tell me?