In Motion

Chapter 7: I Wanted You to Feel the Same by The Radio Dept (2006)

I was full of stupid ideas.

Rainshowers and long study nights came in full force by July. I had started chugging down instant coffee from the kiosks to keep awake in class.

But climbing up to Int Dev with a cup full of hot coffee? Like I said, stupid ideas.

By the time I got to the classroom, my hands were shaking from the heat of the cup. I rushed to my seat and set it down on my table.

Martin looked up from his highlighted readings, to me, then to the cup.

"You drink 3-in-1 coffee?" he asked, the same tone as "You know how to commute?"

"Martin," I said, trying to even my tone with a smile. "I can't afford Starbucks right now." Honestly, I could. But did I really want to be the student carrying a mocha frappu whatever in AS?

I plopped down to the seat right next to him and drank my coffee in silence, until I drained the whole thing.

Martin's fuzzy forearm shot out of nowhere and reached for my empty cup. He took out a pen and began drawing on it. For a few minutes, I watched him create little square boxes, scribbles, and the Starbucks logo. He finished it off by writing "Kyle."

"Now you can afford Starbucks," he said, putting the cup back on my table. His right cheekbone was raised to a half smile.

I took the cup and turned it around in my hand. Martin wasn't just a hobbyist. He was talented, the type who could probably make money off his art.

"Why are you not in Fine Arts?" I asked. "With talent like this."

He squinted, eyeballs looking up and searching for an answer. He shrugged. "Economics is more practical," he answered, voice measured and final.

I nodded, understanding what he meant, but not letting on that I knew more.

Professor Ferrer entered the class as Martin leaned down to his backpack, switching his readings for his notebook. I took the chance to take out a paper from my bag—and stashed the cup before he could see.

This was getting more embarrassing by the weeks.

We were done discussing theories so Professor Ferrer had moved on to the first subsection: solving extreme poverty.

"Is poverty a choice?" she asked the class. Before any of my classmates frothed at the mouth to answer, I felt my arm shoot up. I knew that I had read enough to redeem myself.

"Yes, Mr. Ramos?" Professor Ferrer called.

"It never is in a country like the Philippines," I began. "Sure, people could point to the batugan or the gastador caricatures. But even if, let's ask what is making them choose the way they do. That's structural."

Encouraged by her approving look, I continued: "Have we ever heard of an ordinary jeepney driver increasing to two, three, a fleet of jeepneys? A farmer owning land and benefitting from the value chain?" Did I just use "value chain" outside of a business class?

"Before we point out that they're not as hardworking," I declared, on a roll. "We have to ask: Where's their access to capital? Where's their chance to own land? Where are the services that would send their kids to school and protect them from sickness?"

"People in power need to create functioning structures for them. So no, one can't say that it's their choice," I drove home my point, convinced that I wasn't bullshitting my way out of a recit for once.

Professor Ferrer seemed to think so, too. "Well said," she commented.

Martin's hand shot up. But before she called on him, he said: "But it is also a choice."