The "Hatid" Factor

Years ago, I couldn’t drive. I tried driving school five times. On a recent visit to the Land Transportation Office (LTO) to get a student permit, the computer clerk said to me after he typed my name, “Ay, ma’am, may record na kayo dito.”

For a while, I was a yearly visitor to the LTO to apply for a driver's permit.

“Oo, nga eh,” I sighed. “Wala kasi akong practice, lagi kong nakakalimutan yung itinuturo sa akin. Kaya ulit ako nang ulit sa driving school. Ulit rin ako nang ulit sa pagkuha ng student permit.”



If I had more resources, both time and money, I would use it to buy a good car, learn to drive, get a license and drive myself. I don’t like imposing on family and friends so I could hitch a ride with them. Gasoline is not cheap. My house or my destination could be out of their way. And sometimes—I might be wrong though—I feel even the slightest hesitation or annoyance when I muster the courage to ask, “Ah, puwede ba akong sumabay?”

On other occasions, I can’t bring myself to enjoy the company and conversation at parties because the venue is inaccessible to public transportation and half of the time I would be wondering to myself, “How will I get home?" 

I definitely don’t want others to feel they need to bring me home. I don’t want to be seen as an obligation. 

So it’s always a pleasant surprise for me when, at the end of a gathering, a new acquaintance would ask me with a smile, “Do you have a way home?” and offer to drive me to a point where I could safely get a ride. And I feel very thankful when the Good Samaritan brings me all the way to my destination.

I’ve been blessed to know many of the latter.

When I was working at the promo department of a movie company, I often accompanied actors and actresses to the TV shows where they promoted their upcoming movies. One time, I booked a then struggling drummer/sidekick to promote a big-name action star’s flick. We met at the sports compound/home-base studio of a noontime show. The sidekick’s wait took longer than the actual interview. After saying his spiel about the movie’s playdate, I thought that we would simply part ways. He would head off to his next appointment and I would ride the taxi back to the office. 

“Saan ka?” he asked.



“Sa office sa Jusmag,” I answered.

He then said,

“Hatid na kita.”



We hardly talked during the 30-minute ride. His onscreen persona was a noisy comic. In the car, he seemed quiet and sad. 

Years later, he became a host of his own noontime show, got involved in many controversies and made enough money to build lavish homes and buy a fleet of vehicles, including a yacht and an airplane. Many negative comments have been said of this brash, loud host but I will always regard him as the fellow who drove me to my office. 



More recently, I interviewed a celebrity whose acting debut was playing a masseuse in a daring film that became the toast of the international filmfest circuit. Handsome, sincere, and very close to his grandmother who raised him. His lola must have raised him well because when our pictorial-interview ended, he also offered to drive me to the publishing company where I worked.

Today, he’s called the teleserye prince and no longer needs to disrobe for a film. He’s proven his talent, and he backs that up with a good character.

I find it odd whenever people that I am not close to would offer rides. Like the doctor to the barrio (another interviewee) who immediately volunteered to drive me home when I met him in Paco, Manila. He retold his experiences as a volunteer provincial health officer while he drove me to my residence in Quezon City. He even willingly took a side trip to Loyola Heights so I could deliver a letter to my college teacher.



A film director-friend who I rarely see brought me home after an event in Makati. During the hour-long drive, he happily related how he fell in love again and persisted in courting a colleague after numerous rejections. Of course, his efforts paid off. In spite of his tough demeanor—and the bold movies he’s made—this guy’s really a “softie,” a romantic and a real gentleman.

I find it a bit odd that the ones I am close to are more hesitant to offer me a ride. Maybe for good reason?  

There was a guy I was crushing on. I listened when he wanted to talk about his problems. I tried to be supportive when he was in between jobs. During one night out, he suddenly invited a female friend of his to join us. That was fine with me. What got my ire was when he asked me, “Okay lang sa iyo kung ihatid natin siya?” That coming from a guy who never even accompanied me to get a taxi or hailed a taxi for me. 

Maybe it was his indirect way of telling me he didn’t feel the way I did for him.

I’ve asked myself why this “hatid” issue is a big deal to me. I realized it’s connected to my father who passed away in 2008. I wasn’t close to my dad. Yet for all his weaknesses and undesirable traits, he always drove for me. He took me to and from school; he brought me to my high school parties and events, and my activities and meetings for our high school paper.

My dad was not expressive. He was a man of few words. But he always drove for my siblings, my mom and me. That is one fact I always hold on to. I’d like to think that in spite of my dad’s weaknesses, he really loved us because he drove for us.

In as much as I shouldn’t, I’ve made this concept of “hatid” a yardstick of kindness and care. I know it’s unfair because people have their reasons for not giving me a ride. I should not feel bad if they don’t give me a ride since love and care can be shown in other ways.

That’s what I tried telling myself when a friend of mine refused to drive me home, even if my residence was only a 20-minute drive from his.

You see, I helped this friend a lot and I was there when he needed someone the most to make one of his dream projects come true. My assistance was borne out of a deep affection and love. I knew he saw me only as a friend so I did not expect him to reciprocate. I did favors and walked the extra mile for him because I believed it was the right thing to do. As a friend. And as a human being. I saw firsthand how he agonized over this big life challenge, and concluded that it was not good to leave him at his most vulnerable.

“Pero hindi ka man niya lang hinahatid,” a female friend pointed out to me.

Maybe it was a just a matter of time that my guy friend and I would have a falling out. I couldn’t handle seeing him getting close to his special girl, so I upped and left.

Later, he explained to a common friend that he refrained from driving me home because doing so would only raise my hopes. Had he told me that, I would have replied, “I’m not asking you to love me back. I just wish you’d drive me home once in a while.”

In any case, my “hatid” issues were resolved in 2013 when I finally got my driver’s license. To me that plastic card is not just a symbol of independence for I could now comfortably go to where I please without relying on others. More important, the license has become my access to be kinder, nicer, and more considerate to others. I certainly know and appreciate how a simple offer to drive can go a long, long way.

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