EVERY MORNING AT 6 A.M., AN OLD MAN RIDES A JEEPNEY AND PAYS FARE FOR TWO PEOPLE—EVEN THOUGH HE IS ALWAYS ALONE AND NO ONE SITS BESIDE HIM
Every day, exactly at 6:00 a.m., Mang Carding waits at the corner of the alley.
The jeepney drivers on that route all know him well. He always wears a neatly pressed polo shirt, carries a rosary in his pocket, and smells faintly of pomade.
When he boards the jeepney, he always sits at the very back, near the entrance.
And he always performs the same ritual: handing coins to the driver.
“Driver, fare please. Two people. One senior, one regular,” Mang Carding says.
At first, no one paid attention. But Ben, one of the drivers, eventually noticed that Mang Carding was always alone.
No companion. No one sitting beside him.
One Monday morning during rush hour, the jeepney was packed with workers and students.
Mang Carding got on and sat in his usual spot at the back.
A male student boarded next and tried to sit in the empty seat beside him.
Immediately, Mang Carding gently raised his hand to stop him.
“I’m sorry, son… someone is already sitting here,” the old man said softly.
The student looked around.
There was nothing—just an empty seat and air.
“Huh? Sir, I don’t see anyone,” the student said, confused.
“This seat has already been paid for,” Mang Carding replied firmly.
Driver Ben grew irritated. The jeepney could have taken one more passenger.
Looking at him through the rearview mirror, Ben raised his voice:
“Sir! Let the kid sit down! There’s no one there! The jeep is already full! Why are you doing this?”
The entire jeep fell silent. All eyes turned to Mang Carding.
Some thought the old man had become senile or confused with age.
But instead of getting angry, Mang Carding only gave a sad smile and handed over more money.
“Driver… here’s the fare. Double. For me, and for this seat.”
Ben turned off the radio.
“Sir, it’s not about the money. Why won’t you let anyone sit here? Is the person with you… a ghost?”
Mang Carding took a deep breath.
He gently placed his hand on the empty seat beside him, as if holding someone’s hand.
“Son… fifty years ago… on this very jeepney… in this exact seat… I met my wife, Elena.”
The passengers listened closely.
“She dropped her handkerchief. I picked it up. Our eyes met. That’s where our story began.
Every day, we rode this jeep together to work. We argued here, made up here, and dreamed of building a family right here.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“She passed away a year ago… God took her home.
But every morning, on my way to church… I still pay her fare.
Because during these fifteen minutes of this ride… I want to believe she’s still beside me.
That she’s still alive.
That we are still traveling through life together.”
He looked around the jeep.
“I’m sorry, everyone… this is the only time I still get to be with her.
I can’t bear to let anyone else sit in the place of the one I love.”
The entire jeepney went silent.
The student who had been annoyed earlier lowered his head, tears falling.
A woman who had been rushing clutched her chest.
And Driver Ben quietly wiped his eyes with a small towel.
The jeepney started moving again… but more slowly this time.
“It’s okay, sir,” Ben said, his voice trembling.
“That seat is reserved for her. No one else will ever sit there.”
When Mang Carding got off in front of the church, Ben handed back his change.
“Sir, you don’t need to pay next time. Both of you… ride for free.”
Mang Carding smiled.
He turned toward the empty space beside him, gently helping his “invisible companion” step down, then slowly walked into the church—
alone in everyone else’s eyes,
but whole and complete in his heart.