Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

passenger seat pt 1

Driving through the chaotic, gridlocked streets of Manila had become second nature to Mikha.

It wasn't something she'd ever imagined herself doing, but after two years, she found a strange comfort in it. Driving had always been her escape—an unlikely form of therapy. Even with the constant honking of horns, the diesel-laden air, and the occasional street vendor weaving between cars, she felt a small sense of control here. It was a far cry from the suffocating life she'd left behind.

Her decision to quit her fast-paced, soul-crushing corporate job had been impulsive, the kind of move you'd expect from someone in the thick of a quarter-life crisis. It was cliché, sure, but Mikha didn't care. Her parents had been disappointed, her friends confused. She hadn't let it bother her then, and she sure as hell wasn't letting it bother her now.

The law firm had been everything she thought she wanted—prestige, money, and a clear, mapped-out future. But the grind had eaten her alive. She could still remember staring at her laptop at 2 a.m., her boss's three-word email lighting up the screen: You can do better. It wasn't just the work; it was the silence of the office at night, the hum of the air conditioning, and the ache in her back from sitting for fifteen hours straight. She'd cracked somewhere in that moment, the weight of all her carefully laid plans crumbling. By sunrise, she'd decided she couldn't go back.

When she'd announced to her friends that she was becoming a Grab driver—a temporary gig to keep the bills paid while she "figured her shit out"—the looks on their faces had been priceless.

"A Grab driver? Mikha? Seryoso ka?" Colet's jaw had nearly hit the floor, her incredulous tone making Mikha chuckle even now. She might as well have announced she wanted to run for president.

Mikha had just shrugged, taking a sip from her ice-cold beer.

Gwen had tilted her head, genuinely baffled. "Mikhs, you hate letting people in your car. You're so OCD about it. Plus, you like driving—but on your own. Parang hindi match sa personality mo."

"Guys, look," Mikha said, waving off their protests. "Temporary lang naman. While ano, I figure out my shit. I just need something to pay my rent."

Colet leaned forward, her face serious but not unkind. "But Mikha, no offense ha—"

"I feel offense coming," Mikha interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"Eh bai, hindi pasok sa branding mo..." Colet gestured vaguely, alluding to the fact that Mikha, who'd grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, didn't exactly fit the profile of a ride-share driver.

"That's the point, Col." Mikha's voice wavered slightly as she held her beer tightly. "I tried to do what was 'on brand,' and look where it got me. I almost lost my sanity in that law firm. I don't want expectations or prestige right now. I just want to live."

The room had gone quiet. Gwen had been the first to break the silence, her voice soft. "Sorry, Mikhs. We get it. We may not fully understand why you want to do this, but andito lang kami. Kahit ano pa. Kahit hindi ka pa makapagbayad ng rent, di ka namin itatakwil." She tried to make a lighthearted jab, but the sincerity in her eyes softened the blow as she hugged Mikha.

Colet followed suit, her tone more subdued this time. "Yung sinabi niya. Yun na yun."

Mikha had blinked back tears then, just as she blinked them back now, navigating a particularly gnarly traffic jam. She'd haphazardly thrown away everything she thought she wanted, but somehow, in this messy in-between, she finally felt like she could breathe.

//

Mikha drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she cruised through the familiar streets of Bonifacio Global City, the warm afternoon sun glinting off the sleek glass facades of its skyscrapers. The soft hum of her playlist filled the car, a slow, mellow tune she'd chosen to keep herself grounded during her shift. Her long, red hair flowed freely, caught in the wind from her open window, the slight breeze cutting through the city's humid air.